Unspoken

Chapter Twenty-Three: Aubrey

My mom smiles at me from across the table, pasta sauce gathering in the corner of her mouth. The smell of the chicken and pasta combination is heavenly and I take a deep breath through my nose to enjoy it just that much more.

It's dark already, the sun is setting earlier every day, and I watch as the calm serenity of the cloudless skies loom over the trees just outside the windows.

I find it calming that the cold is settling in and the darkness is getting comfortable with sticking around for so long.

I like to watch as the sun sets on my drive to Tina's, how the darkness is fully consuming the world by the time I get home every day.

And although it's not setting as quickly as it will, the sun has shown its disinterest.

I take another bite of the chicken parmesan my mom and I have made. It's delicious with hints of garlic and parsley.

I smile back at her and wipe off the corner of my mouth just to ensure I don't mirror her and subconsciously she does the same, getting sauce off of her lips before it smears onto her cheek.

We both smile at each other silently again.

The sweet jazz music is playing low on our speakers as we eat and I find my mind completely blank.

Usually, I am swarmed with books, stories, with words of venom and medicine all at once, but tonight all I can think about is the chicken and the darkness of the pine trees.

My eyes have been dry, my brain has been calm, and my heart has been hurting since the day I was born, but I'm okay.

I think.

I know I'm going to be okay because my father looks at me with adoration and my mother looks at me with pride. I know I'll be fine because my friends and Tina all talk to me like I am not a broken toy.

I know I'm fixed because my brain no longer tells me all of the things it could.

I know I am broken and happy.

My grades are high, my mental health undeterminable, and my body aches with the loss I have suffered for years.

But as I eat my chicken and pasta and watch my parents watching me, looking for signs of trouble, I realize I've never really felt better.

And yet every time my mother asks about him, my brain fumbles and my heart starts to race.

"What happened with him?" she had asked the day after he left my house that night all those weeks ago.

I shook my head which was filled with nothing. Nothing at all. Emotions are pointless, and when I realized that, I couldn't feel them anymore. Just the feelings in my body where they should be. Just the empty space I now have.

"I told him to leave, to not talk to me anymore," I had admitted. There was no regret in my mind, it was the right thing to do, I saved him from them, but still, I catch myself daydreaming about what my life would be like if that night never happened. If he had never kissed me, if we had never fought, if he had never shone up at my house and begged me for acceptance of his apology. If we were still just friends with overwhelming sexual tension, saying things to each other every once and a while until it eventually faded out and we were just old acquaintances.

Not much would be different, but everything would have changed.

My mom watches me extra close now to make sure I won't break.

My dad hasn't mentioned the encounter. I have a feeling girl drama isn't really his strong suit, and in any case, I'm happy he hasn't. Talking about him still makes the blood rush to my head, turning my cheeks a deep red, and looking at him during the day isn't much better.