These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends [h.s.]

Chapter 1

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"I hold your parents in my prayers."

"They were such good people and devoted so much of themselves to this town."

"They will be missed."

"So, who else is starving? I was thinking burgers maybe? I know how much you both love burgers," Aunt Jo says as Ethan sighs with annoyance.

"I guess not..." I know Aunt Jo was trying to cheer us up, but my appetite had diminished since the funeral.

"No thanks Jo, but it was a nice gesture," I lightly smile.

"Yeah, a stupid one," Ethan says in spite. She rolls her eyes as she glares at him through the mirror.

"Hey," I swat his arm.

"It's okay Ethan, I just thought you'd want something to eat that's all," says Aunt Jo.

"I don't want burgers, I want my fucking parents back." Jo and I look at him in shock.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like that," Jo shouts. Ethan mutters something under his breath. The last thing I need is for my brother to cause a scene, not today.

As soon as we pull up to the driveway, Ethan slams the car door. I try catching up to him as he speeds to the house, but I'm met by another slammed door, sighing in defeat.

"Alex, it's fine. Just give him some time." I weakly nod and proceed walking to my room.

I check my phone and saw a couple of missed calls and voicemails from Bella and Cassie. They've been amazing friends considering what'd happen, but nothing interests me to call back at the moment. Noticing that my room is still stocked with family pictures, a feeling of sorrow takes over.

Come on Alex. Keep it together.

I clench my fists to hold back the tears from falling. My knuckles turn white as I clench harder, then finally the moment of weakness fades. I inhale deeply then exhale attempting to keep my cool.
You got this.

I had dug my fingernails so deep that it cut the inside of my palms, yet I felt no pain.

The water stings as I clean my wound. I peel back the bandage, ready to apply, but I notice how distraught I looked in the mirror. I take a moment to breathe, blocking all the feelings away knowing I can't afford to let in. Not now.

As I leave the bathroom, I spot a mint colored book under my bed. Instant memories flood of my mom handing me a newly bought diary after telling her I wanted to become a writer.

"I want you to keep this close darling. Write down every thought and feeling that's too strong to ignore. Write it all down so that when the years come to pass, and your life has changed, you can look back and remember who you were in the moments that made you feel alive."

In a way, a part of me wanted to write it all down, but the mere fact that I received this gift the week she died frightens me. Nevertheless, I grab my pen and begin to write for the sake of honoring her wish.

June 4th, 2020

I'm met facing a disturbed girl. One who's bewildered and frightened given the past days yet wears confidence as a disguise to distract herself from the internal emotional whirlwind that grows while breeding foreign sentiments of anger and despair. One who's unfamiliar with grief yet greets it like an old friend. She mirrors my exact expressions and movements as if it were her own...then realization strikes. I perceive her not a stranger, not a shadow, but a reflection of my true self. Apart of me despises what I see, but for my own sake, I need to accept that my world has shifted. For my soul has darkened through the dismay and loss that'd occurred, driving me to lose all sense of sanity and hope.