Three Words

Chapter 1 - Air

KAYLA

"NO!"

I jump out of the bed I was laying on seconds ago. My eyes were wide open, but heavy due to lack of sleep. I try my damnest to keep them open because the second they close, it becomes a never-ending nightmare on fucking repeat. 

The sirens.

Blood.

Shattered glass.

Oh god.

But, of course, my efforts fail and I do the exact opposite of what my therapist advised me to do: panic.

I stand up, heaving over each breath I strived to take, and managed to slap my hand against a wall. It was too much work, doing something as easy as breathing and living. And I'm angry. I'm angry because it should not be this hard! Being alive is not supposed to hurt daily.

And I pleaded with myself to be selfish for once, just once, and allow myself to simply un-exist. But I made a promise. I intended to keep a promise since the day my whole world tilted on its axis, and to keep this promise, I needed control.

And right now, I don't have it. 

My heaved breaths became more labored with each passing second and tears flooded my eyes. A slick, sheen of sweat coated my back, making me feel as though I was suffocating. My vision became blurred, though it didn't matter 'cause it was dark anyway. Too dark.

I made my way to the window and opened it, letting cool air make its way into the room. The breeze washed over me until I started to shiver, so I grabbed the blue afghan on my bed and hung it around my shoulders whilst standing. 

Like the air, I felt the ecstasy of the silent night sky. I let myself revel in it for a while, before tugging the blanket into me until I felt like a human burrito.  

A broken human burrito, who has been torn into pieces over and over again through the years.

Okay, so bad visual. Who would dare break and waste a burrito?

I sigh quite loudly and decide to close the window before my nonna wakes up, screaming bloody murder from the November cold. She's quite feisty and loud for someone so ancient. She would also kill me if she ever heard me say the word 'ancient' at her. 

I audibly scoff. Like I would ever have the courage to say that, knowing I would end up in a body-bag. But despite all that, I love the devil that I call nonna dearly because I just know that I would not be standing here if it were not for her.

Though we may be close, she doesn't know about my recent panic attacks that have started since we moved from my home in New York. I should be grateful to have a new start someplace else, away from my hovering father, but I'm not. The whole point of moving was to rid me of the memories New York holds. Moving to a town that I have seen too many times before does nothing but amount to the memories. 

As a kid, my mom always visited her best friend, who has a son that use to attend the high school I'm starting, in this town, Riverton. Nearly every other weekend we would drive up to Riverton and spend time with their family. Mom and Aunt Tina were like two peas in a pod from the very beginning and it helped that their mothers were also friends, which is how Mom developed that instant friendship. 

It only seemed reasonable to move to a familiar place so Nonna would be comfortable knowing she had someone to turn to. Plus, I had visited this place more times than I can count on two sets of hands before I moved in full-time with Dad. The amount of memories I have in this town is too overwhelming at times. It is as if at every corner I turn, I see a sliver of my mother there.