"Just be happy."
Sure. Tell a dead person to just be alive. They'll magically resurrect. Right? Of course.
***
Rain splattered like paint on my shirt. Or perhaps they were tears. Or both. Either way, I didn't care. My glasses were foggy and droplets...
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listen to chasing pavements ~ adele for this chapter
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I screamed. I screamed for it to stop, but no words escaped my lips. It was as if my lungs were out of breath, hands clasped at my throat, words lost somewhere between my lips and my throat. The sight before my eyes tore through me like millions of shards of glass piercing my skin, bleeding me bone dry. My hands were clammy, and I dug my nails into the palms of my hands. I tried to move, but my feet were rooted to the ground by some sort of force. I couldn't do anything but watch. I watched as the scene unraveled in slow motion, pain hitting me like knives with each moment. I knew what would happen. The headlights, the sound of the tires skidding, the sound of screeching brakes, the body lying limp in a pool of blood–the whole thing was etched into my mind, like an indelible stain that wouldn't fade.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
I woke up with a start to the sound of my mother yelling at me. I flinched at the sound of her words. She grabbed me by my shoulders and dug her nails into my arms.
My eyebrows furrowed with worry and fear as I whimpered, "M-Mom, w-when was the l-last time you t-took your m-medications?"
"SHUT UP! I'm perfectly fine; you should get yourself checked, screaming like there's no tomorrow at 2 AM for absolutely no reason!" she screeched with annoyance, "The past is in the past, just forget it."
I blanched at her words. I knew that she was having one of her episodes, but it still hurt, especially since she knew exactly what happened. I didn't reply, knowing that it would just fuel her rage even more. I simply looked down, tears silently rolling down my cheek. These episodes were normal, and I knew things would be okay in a while.
My mom couldn't control her outbursts, and I knew it wasn't her fault. She had IED, which was Intermittent Explosive Disorder, for which she had to take antidepressants in order to suppress her mood swings. They didn't always work, but since there was no cure, antidepressants were the closest thing.
I mumbled out an apology and shuffled towards the bathroom to wash my face.
"I haven't slept in THREE days, and this waste of a child decides to make it four," she rambled in the background as I washed my face.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I called out from the bathroom. She grunted in response and walked out of the door, grumbling something about today's kids being disrespectful and insensitive. I sighed. Well, so much for being apologetic.
I got back in bed and tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't, not after that nightmare. I groaned in exasperation and rolled over the bed to grab my phone from the nightstand. I turned off the Do Not Disturb mode and decided to scroll through all my social media. As I turned the night mode off, my phone went off with dozens of notifications rolling in. A particular one caught my eye: