The Shadow of Our Past

Never Rest

No matter what I do, nothing is comfortable as I try to sleep. Something hurts, whether it be my arm, ribs or leg. After what feels like an eternity, I sit up and fling my arm over lazily to check the time on my phone. 1:46. Saturday, May 23.

"Shit," I grumble, carelessly plopping my phone onto my blankets. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and take a few moments before standing up. I cross my small, overly cleaned room. Because this room is the only part of the house I can control, I tend to clean it more often than is probably needed. It's a complete contrast to the rest of the house that is a total mess. I open my door as quietly as possible, but the old hinges persist in making noise. After making my way down the creaking stairs, I move to our small, dingy kitchen. I sleepily grab a glass of water and soothe my dry throat. Setting down the glass, my hand raises up to pinch my nose. Exhaustion is weighing my mind down, but my body won't stop aching.

Tears began to run streaks down my cheeks and I let them. The pain is on the brink of unbearable, even with the strong resolve I've grown over the years. I look at my hands and the scars that had accumulated on them.

My gaze travels to the dusty window that views the front lawn, thinking of what it would feel like to leave and never come back. I want to go, badly, just leave my anguish behind me as if it had never existed. I'm old enough to live on my own, but I have ties that kept me here and no way to leave. If I left, Jason would endure more pain and I couldn't bring myself to let that happen. I would rather put myself through hell than see him in more pain.

I break myself from my thoughts, taking the glass of water in my hand. Tired, hurting legs carry me to the stairs and I grunt with paint as I climb them, creaks accompanying my steps. I'm careful to be quiet as I walk down the hallway to the door of my room. Once again, the hinges squeaking causes me to cringe.

I cross my room to my bed and place the glass on my nightstand, then sit on my mattress's edge. I pick up my phone and turn it on once more, the light still blinding. The only message that is showing surprises me. Kira's name and a short text is the only thing outside of the time on my lockscreen. I click on the message and type in my password.

Kira - Hey. I know it's late but are you up?

You - How did you know?

Kira - Woman's intuition

You - Haha ok. Whats up?

After several minutes of Kira typing, I begin to grow worried. The three dots at the bottom of the screen come and go, until a short message shows.

Kira - Nothing crazy, just can't sleep right.

I know that's a half truth, but I don't pry. I understand having secrets you wanted to keep, things that you just can't say.

Kira - Why are you up?

You - Can't get comfortable enough to fall asleep

Kira - oh... right, sorry.

You - It's alright. Plus, it's not your fault anyways

I lie back in my bed, groaning in pain as I attempt to situate myself again. My ribs are on fire and I'm sure something has been bruised. I flinch as I think of the relentless kicks I endured, the jaw breaking hits I was lucky to get the better half of.

I look at my phone again, starting to type once more. Kira and I continue to talk as if we are enjoying each other's company at the shop. She complains to me about how Maxine chewed through another of Kira's wires, and how she will have to get yet another replacement. She tells me stories of her friends Jess and Ethan and their beach. I talk to her about a new song I'm beginning to learn, and she asks me how I got my guitar. I gladly reminisce on how it was originally my mother's who gave it to me on my twelfth birthday.