I sat at the foot of my bed, tears pooling in my eyes. I could hear the words echo in my head as if nothing was ever there. The thoughts crowded my mind until I could feel them bulge out of my skull. Was this a sign that things were going wrong? Should I have listened a little closer? Maybe I should have paid attention. I tried to convince myself it wasn't my fault. But it was. It was entirely my fault.
I sat in mostly silence, the calls of small voices echoed from the screen. I replayed the video over and over, but still no closure. I watched as the shaky camera panned across the screen. A memory saved on a file, forever stuck in technological space. Nothing but ones and zeros. They float along as I just watch the recording on a constant loop.
I felt tears run down my face. I couldn't hold them back any longer for they were like rushing water bursting through a dam. The droplets fell onto the phone screen, splattering over the glass like waves. Tiny waves, washing away the pain. The sea salt burning through open wounds, permanently leaving scars. More and more tears cascaded off my face. Most being caught by the phone, others soaking my shirt.
I put the phone down and ran my slender fingers through my ebony hair, the tangles breaking at the seams. I breathed in deeply, trying to stop the tears but I couldn't. The burst through my internalized walls and showered over my cheeks. I wanted to fall over. I wanted to replace him. He didn't deserve to be like this. I should have been the one dead, not him. He helped me through so much. He deserved better.
I walked downstairs to find my parents arguing, again. This wasn't a surprise. It was always like this when he died. It's been two weeks since he left and it still burns. It stings to know that he's gone forever. I should have answered him. I should have picked up the phone instead of ignoring it. I should have listened. Instead of being irritated I should have answered. I should have helped him. I should have saved him. But I didn't. Mom tells me I couldn't have but she's wrong. I could have saved him. I could have helped, but I didn't. And now he's gone. There was a soft knock at the door before it creeped open.
"Xaiver, sweetheart? We need to talk." The shaking in my mother's voice only led me to believe it was about my father. She only got this way after a fight.
" What this time? You want me to see a therapist?" I snapped. I didn't look at her, but I knew she was upset with me.
"Your father and I are getting a divorce," She replied. I turned around and looked at her. Her face tilted downwards, staring at her feet. I didn't know what to say, so I just looked at her. My eyebrows started to furrow. Yeah, I was upset but there was nothing I could do about it.
I expected this after he died. He was the one to hold us all together. He was a peacemaker if anything. After he died, dad became an alcoholic, mom became a heavy smoker, and I was stuck in the middle. You can imagine the house smelling like cinnamon and maple sugar to smelling like alcohol and stale cigarettes. I liked to call it the smell of regret. That's exactly what it was though. They both regretted things more than ever now, and who was I to blame them. I looked back down at my phone. The screen was still black, but warm from the constant replays. I heard the door click shut soon after.
I held my head in my hands, my silent sobs turned into deep cries for help. There was nothing I could do now. Everything in my life is trickling away. Everything I believed was good in my life slowly fell apart. I got up and walked towards the closet, packing a small duffle bag with necessities. I knew what I had to do. I know this was how it was going to be after my parents split and I didn't want to be in the middle of it. I tucked away clothes, shoes, toothbrush. I whipped out my phone, quickly searching for the next bus ticket to Jersey. Maybe I'll find salvation there. I had my aunt who lives there so maybe I had a better chance. Maybe I'll find a way to better myself. Either way, I was going to Jersey and that was final.
