Lamentations #Wattys2020

4

4

I knew it.

I knew they wouldn't really believe me.

Detective Tames comes to tell me that they have proof Katarina was on the flight at the time of the fall, putting an end to the 'investigation'. There was nothing I could do to convince him otherwise, to him, to all of them, I was just the girl who was too embarrassed to admit that the fall was my own doing.

That's all I can think about for the next couple of weeks. How do I convince them? How do I try to show them? But as time goes on I realise that there's no sign of Katarina and no sign that she'll ever come back. Maybe I could get past this, I think. Maybe I could be happy again.

But that's not how it works. Every night I'm plagued by the same nightmare, and every day I face the same fear. This isn't something that can be repaired; whether or not Katarina's coming doesn't change the fact that she broke me. And it doesn't change the fact that I can never fix this; what's she's made me into. That's the thing that bothers me most: the fact that the same person who would hold my head high and tell me that I was the strongest person on Earth is the same person who's turned me into nothing but a shadow.

'Get better.' Detective Tames had told me. 'Just focus on yourself.'

The counselling sessions don't start until next Thursday and the group sessions the next one after that. When Doctor Richards was informed by the police that I'd supposedly made everything up, he didn't hesitate to do another evaluation on me. They deemed me fit for release after I decided to act as normal as possible, as if nothing was wrong in the world, and so now here I am. Free but not free, trapped within the confinements of my fear.

It's important for you to try and return back to your old routine, Richards had said. But my old routine only consists of reminders that she's still out there.

I slam the door to the car shut as my dad pulls out some of the stuff that they'd brought to the hospital for me during my stay. Home sweet home. It's supposed to be the place where I feel safest yet I can't deny the fact that I know this is where I'm most vulnerable. I look around me, taking in the view of the neighbourhood that I'd so dearly missed. The houses are all shaped the same and only differ in colour and the cars that are parked outside.

It makes me think about the car that I'd fallen onto and the huge shard of glass that had pierced through my stomach. I shiver. I must have been unconscious at that point, but I can still feel the coldness of the glass and the squelching sound it must have made when it came into contact with my body.

'Akwaaba!' Mum shouts from the door, a ginormous smile plastered on her face.

The smell of jollof rice, my absolute favourite, hits my nose as I walk into the house. Sweet scents of fried plantain soon follow me around as I head to the bathroom to wash my hands. Coming back out, I give my mum a hug and let her lead me into the kitchen. I know how much she wanted our family and friends to be here so that they could all welcome me home, but I'm glad she listened to my request to not invite anybody over. The attention people were giving me was disheartening because that's what they thought I wanted: attention. When in reality, I could go the rest of my life being around as little people as possible. Every smile that I pull is a smile that requires effort, none of them are genuine. I don't want someone to give me attention. All I want is for them to listen to me.

To believe me.

But as I eat my jollof, all I can think about is how my parents would react if I tried telling them again. They'd immediately call the doctor.