Everything and More

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 4

           The weather took a turn for the worst when we got home. The sky became angry, roaring with thunder as the house shook and lightning struck, the external rage of the storm mirrored the one in my heart.

           All I want to do is watch a movie with Mary and soak up the remaining time I have left in New York. This was the only home I'd ever known, and alongside my parents, Mary was the only person that tied me here, to the life I had before.           

           Even though I choose the couch and comfort, Mary decides against it and forces me to head up to my bedroom.

           I stand here looking at the place where I'd often escape to, where I'd curl up and read a novel. My safety, my comfort. Now all I see is the child I once was, the safety and comfort gone.

           It's strange looking around my room with a different set of eyes, lost eyes, grieving eyes. It looks like seventeen years of memories that all evaporated in an instant. I understand it's mine. It looks like mine, smells like mine, but I suddenly feel like I don't belong here anymore and I can't bear the thought.

           My eyes settle on the brown moving boxes that are scattered everywhere, half of my belongings already packed.

           I walk up to the large bed that sits in the center of the room and take a seat on the edge. I slowly lay back with the overwhelming need to fall asleep and never wake up again.

            I hear Mary's footsteps as she approaches my bedroom. I sit up meeting her eyes as she stands looking as lost as I feel.

           With a sigh, she pushes her way into the room.
"Just put your books in here and you'll be good to go. I'll get the maids to help me with the rest of your things and we'll send it once you settle in."

           She comes to stand in front of me, witnessing the dark storm that hangs like a brick around my neck. She places her hands on my shoulders silently asking me to stand as she squeezes them with reassurance.

           "Come on," she says with a gentle sigh, I'll help you." She lowers me to the floor with shaky hands and helps me unfold the boxes, packing all my books inside.

           Every book holds a story of how I've come to own them. Most from Mary and quite a few from Mama and Papa, from their journeys.

           They'd collect books in all sorts of languages for me to keep as souvenirs. I'd pick up a few words here and there, and I'd cherished them as if they were delicate porcelain dolls. It's ironic how I've never been to the places these books came from, yet I hold on to them as if they're fleeting memories of adventures I'd actually lived.

          "Do you know when he's coming to get me?" I all but whisper to Mary as my stomach sinks with dread.

          "Let's not think about that, just enjoy the rest of the time we have, Hun."

           I wish it was that easy. I wish I had the ability to not think about any of this, but the fact is, it was happening.

           I try to switch to autopilot because it's a safer place to exist, especially when reality is loud and unrelenting, a constant niggle in the back of my head that reminds me of everything I have no choice but to leave.

           I grab armfuls of my treasured paperbacks and carefully place them into the boxes. I may as well rip the bandaid off and get the packing over with. Even though I don't want to face reality, it doesn't mean that I get out of participating in its cruelty.