Midnight Butterfly

nine.

Two more days went by, or should I say four. Crying had become a habit now. The blue feeling washed in like an unwanted wave, knocking my sandcastles flat. I would sit in my room and stare out of the window, more tears, no surprise there. I just let them fall, not raising a hand to stop them. They splashed down onto my bed in a rain-like pattern and soaked in leaving dark spots on the sheets. For hours there was no emotions, no movement, just tears falling from my eyes and me sitting there letting them. I couldn't eat and the only time I slept was when I saw that damn butterfly. It always put me in some sort of trance. Even when I was asleep I was restless. Always screaming and waking up sweaty and gasping for air. My life was falling apart. In these past few days I've been completely sober despite the never-ending urge I had. I had a lot of time to think, so that's all I did, and I was hit with an abundance of emotions.

I had never been so isolated. Even when I was in rehab I could talk to someone. Now no one would believe me. Loneliness really eats you alive, swallowing every ounce of hope you had yet to spare. It feasts upon any happiness you have left, leaving behind an empty corpse; full of despair and memories you can't seem to hold onto anymore. It takes your heart into its claws, squeezing out every bit of life you had circulating throughout your veins. It craves for you to suffer a life without any warm hands embracing you, or any shoulders to go cry on. You're left to feel nothing but those cold fingertips tracing your soul, getting close to you, yet leaving in the end; abandoning you, once more, and you have no power over it.

Is this what Carly felt? All those times Charlie and her would argue. Did she leave the argument feeling defeated? Feeling so crazy that no one would believe her? Living in this house with him did she feel like no one would believe her if she told them what he was like behind closed doors. Is that what our mother once felt too? I never talk to Charlie about childhood but I do miss some of it. The times before dad started drinking. When we were kids and one of us lost our tooth but the other didn't, he would still put a dollar under both our beds. When we would fight over the smallest things he would always stop us only to teach us how to really fight, not just throw punches or slaps. He knew that if we knew we could really hurt the other we would stop fighting with our hands. I miss those days so much. I miss being so close to my only brother. I even miss our dad. Charlie resents him ever since the day he first picked up the bottle. Yet I was the one who was there the most to deal with him during his tough times and I still feel a little love for the man.

Thinking about dad made me remember one of my dreams. The one of mom and dad fighting. I didn't understand why I saw myself in dad's shoes. I wasn't hurting Carly, or was I? All I've ever done was try to help her. Was I so ignorant that I couldn't see what I was really doing to her? Of course I was hurting her, ever since I moved in all I done is get her in trouble. She hid the truth from my brother all for me, and whenever he found out he would take it all out on her.

Carly was always so filled with life in high school. She knew everyone, she was always participating in school events and activities, truly the nicest girl in high school. She wanted so much better for herself. Despite her family's money she wanted to go to college and make a career for herself. It's all my fault she's stuck here now, in the same town, sacrificing her life going to college hair. She could do so much better. Hell, even Charlie could.

I didn't want to think anymore, all it would do it force me to blame myself. This guilty feeling was like gasoline in my guts. My insides died slowly in the toxicity, needing no more than a spark to set it ablaze. The fire burnt me out so badly there was nothing left but a shell, an outline of a person. I wish I could make things right, I really could. I'm not just talking about saving Carly anymore, I wish I could make things right from the beginning.

Regret washed over me like the long slow waves on a shallow beach. Each wave was icy cold and sent shivers down my spine. I longed to go back and take a different path, but now that was impossible. There was no way back. There was no way to make it right. The remorse ate me up every single day and I was tired of it. I envied the pebbles, hard and lifeless, unable to feel the torments of life. I want to disappear.