OUR FIGHT

2 • haunting and healing

WARNING: the following chapter contains detailed descriptions of anxiety attacks and PTSD. if this may be hard or triggering for you to read, then please skip to the next chapter!

* 1 month after "graduation gifts" *

• • • • • •

Shopping for children is a lot harder than I remember.

Frankly, it shouldn't this difficult considering the shelves in front of me are stockpiled with all kinds of toys, but here I am pacing up and down each aisle a million times like an idiot. I don't remember the shit I was into when I was little kids, so I can't use that as a reference.

My little sister Aurora turns five next week, and I want to redeem myself from last year. For her fourth birthday, I got her a mini kitchen set that came with a stove, pots, and a dozen of plastic foods that she could pretend to cook. I was proud of myself for scoring that thing, but Little-Miss-Spoiled definitely didn't feel the same. When she found out she couldn't actually eat the food, she started throwing the pieces everywhere in a fit. Luckily there were no casualties besides Jack taking a hotdog to the eye.

I hang a Barbie doll back on its rack with a defeated sigh. Aurora hates dolls; she thinks they're scary. Other than Dad's IPad, she doesn't play with much. Wait, but she does enjoy coloring. She and I completed half of a coloring book together just last week. Bingo!

I scurry to the art section and browse through their selection. After more unnecessary second-guessing and thinking, I finally decide on a "deluxe art kit" that includes everything from crayons to stencils. As I head upfront I pray that I'm making the right choice.

Because if I'm partially responsible for another one of her raging ambushes, I doubt I'll receive an invitation to next year's birthday party.

Along the way to self-check-out, a basket of scented candles catches my eye. I screech to a halt and begin to smell each candle with precision like any normal person would do.

"Ooh!" I gasp in awe after taking a good whiff of Granny's Homemade Apple Pie. This scent would align perfectly with the rustic, wooden theme of our kitchen. I bet it would help me deal with the stench of Saxon's awful protein shakes that he makes almost every morning.

"It's good, isn't it?" I look up and realize I'm not alone. He's a rather large middle-aged man with balding blond hair. "That's me and my wife's favorite."

"Understandable," I smile kindly, giving the candle another sniff. "I think I could smell this forever and never get tired of it."

"Me too," he chuckles. He sticks his hand out. "I'm Ivan, by the way."

His sudden introduction catches me off guard, but I shake his hand anyway. "Aaliyah. Nice to meet you."

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you, Aaliyah?" he asks, crossing his arms with a grin.

Okay, this is already getting strange. "Early twenties," I reply. I flinch when he erupts with laughter.

"You're in your early twenties and you're spendin' your free time shoppin' for candles?" Ivan slaps his leg with a hoot like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "You should be out partyin' with some handsome fellas or somethin' crazy like that. Don't waste your good years buying' candles!"