I woke up gasping for air, not an unusual feature of my morning rise ever since it happened. The occurrence was regular and unchanging, every so often I would wake, gasp for air and then seemingly die again, although that is a concept I'm yet to grasp as death should result in the end not a continuous stream of a brutal beginning.
I don't know how much time has passed anymore since I had died, it's hard to keep track of time when you can't see the sun or the moon and of course, continually dying. It could have been minutes to a millennium for all I knew, or to be honest, really cared to know.
All I know is at this point I've almost gotten used to the thirst I feel, for both oxygen and water. You would think that I wouldn't feel the need for such things, considering I'm dead, but I guess it's just the world's way of adding to my torture. The one thing I hadn't been able to overcome is the overbearing loneliness as I suffered through my torment. The only comfort that I could salvage was allowing myself to dream of what could have come of my life, if I hadn't been killed in such a brutal manner.
In my dreams I loved to believe that Dalton and I would have been married by now, he was the love of my life and I was the love of his during the time when I was still happy- when I was still alive.
I dream that I'd had two kids with him, one boy and one girl. The boy would be older than the girl, so he can scare away all of the boys who are unworthy of her attention and harm those whom would harm her. His name would have been Felix and he would have dark curly hair, just like his dad's. He would have my eyes, a vibrant green, which would be the only thing that resembled me- the only thing he would have that showed that he was my son.
My little girl, well, she would have been perfect- the exact opposite of me.
She wouldn't be scared like me- I'd never let anyone raise a hand to her, she would be bold and outgoing, a powerhouse in her time. She would have my hair, long and wavy and blonde. She would have her father's eyes though, but hers would be a darker shade of blue. She would have a cute little button nose; a musical voice and her name would have been Ella.
She would have had a better life than me, I would have made sure of it.
In those moments that I allow myself to dream of such things I am always brought out of them by the crushing realization that that life could never be as this is my life now. Every time, the realization of the truth hit me harder then my father ever could.
I was dead and for all of eternity this is what I was condemned to. Dying over and over again was my destiny, it was my truth and there was nothing I could do that would change that fact. I would never have the chance to marry my love, Dalton. Never again I would hear his laugh- see his smile. Never again would he hold me in his arms and tell me that he loves me. I would never have a chance to lay with him for the first time- show him just how much he means to me. I would never bear his children. I would never have my little Felix and my precious Ella- they will forever be a dream of mine that will never come true.
Oh, how much I needed him to hold me like he used to and tell me it's all going to be okay, comfort me through my pain like he had done so many times in the past.
A tear that was rolling down my cheek was what made me realize that I was crying- crying for the life that was taken away from me by my own father, ripped away without any mercy at all.
It's forever etched in my mind what he did to me.
For years he would slap me, never going any further physically, and tell me that I didn't deserve to live. I never got mad though, I allowed him to abuse me because I knew that when mum was taken by cancer it destroyed him and he needed something or I guess someone, to release his pain onto. Now I wish I had fought back, maybe then I might still be alive. I might have had my children, might have had the life that I had dreamed of for what feels like an eternity. But even though my father tore me apart inside until there was nothing left throughout the last few years of my life, I couldn't bring myself to hate him. I couldn't hate him because I remembered what he was like before.
I remember when he would scare away the monsters under my bed and then comfort me until I fell asleep.
I remember when he would sneak me candy when my mum wasn't looking- she always hated thought of too many sweets for her little girl.
I remember when he would call me his princess and when he would tell me that he would never let anybody hurt me- but that's exactly what he did, he was the real monster in my life.
But for all those reasons I couldn't hate him- even though I really wanted to.
I should hate him.
He was the one who had promised me I wouldn't ever be hurt by anybody and yet he was the one to hurt me the most. The last memory I have of him is his hands around my throat like a noose, ripping the life out of me before I even really had a chance to live it and that is a memory a daughter should never have to endure.
The memory seemed to trigger something within me, rage filled my body and soul like a furnace in the dead of winter, filling me up with a fire that seemed to engulf me whole.
Why did he do this to me? Why did he take my life away?
I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted to hurt him just as he had hurt me, anything that would take away this screaming feeling of hate that was raging through me like the ocean at the apex of a storm.
My throat started to burn and for a while I thought it due to my angry screams, but it was because of the lack of oxygen circulating through my body. I began to gasp for air just as I had when I had died so long ago. My vision became blurry, so I knew that it wasn't going to last for much longer. But this time it was different from the several times it happened before because this time, I accepted it.
I accepted that I was dead, and I accepted that I would have to suffer through this torment for the rest of eternity.
I smiled as I felt myself drifting away once again, maybe this was freedom after all.
