Anchor (Book 1)

Chapter Three

My problem is that I ask too many questions; Questions that don't hold a specific answer and are often open to different interpretations.
I ask questions that frustrate people like my psychologist, who devote their everyday lives to solving people's problems. My questions confuse their occupation. After everything that happened with Melissa, my mom signed me up for therapy. She said it was important to process my emotions, but I never found it helpful. Today was my first day back after my attack.
During my session today, my psychologist urged me to let go of the past; hold off on looking towards the future, and allow myself to live in the moment. I asked her why she suggested that and she told me that it's because it's the only thing I really have control over. I didn't argue with her on that, but I did wonder why humans were always so quick to subconsciously contradict themselves. She asked me what I meant by that, so I elaborated. I told her that people throw around the phrase 'live in the moment' like it's the only answer. One second later, they're asking the question 'will it matter' and really, will it? Why should we be living it so passionately? If we aren't learning anything from from trivial things that happen in the present, why is it so important to remember? Why not think of the future if you know about it? I only know that I want my future to be nothing like now and nothing like back then, but isn't that enough to start a plan?
She told me that it's not healthy to think the way I do, so before walking out, I told her it's not healthy to be holding up a fake front and basing her professional advice on her epitome of reasonable thoughts for a young adult.

I knew I would disappoint my mom when I told her I wanted to quit going to the sessions. She thought I needed a place to completely open up and sort out my unique circumstances. The thing was, I didn't want to open up. The only thing I wanted was something you couldn't fix. It was permanent damage that couldn't be undone.
During dinner that night, mom asked the spurring question.
"So how was it with Marcie today? Were you able to loosen some of your bottled emotions?"
I considered lying, assuring her that it went fantastically, but when Austin eyed me from across the table, I knew a truthful response was inevitable. He had a way of coaxing something out of you without having to know what it was. I figured it was something he picked up in the army, as I've heard he was referred to as "papa bear" there. Nevertheless, I resented it.
"Natalie?" My mother's voice snapped me back into the moment.
"Um... I don't want to go back there."
My mother set her fork down and stared at me, very confused.
"But, you've been going there for months! I thought it was helping. I thought-"
"Well, you thought wrong mom, you thought wrong." I snapped, taking a sip of my water hoping it would wash down the horrible regret I was feeling now.
"Natalie!" My brother scolded me.
My mother didn't say a word. She just quietly got up from the table and started clearing her dishes.
"Mom, I'm sorry." I apologized sheepishly.
"It's alright." She sighed, "I guess I can't make you confide in someone you don't feel comfortable with. Can you just tell me what happened?"
"I'd rather not." I confessed, "I'm pretty embarrassed."
"Okay, now I'm interested. Natalie, what did you do?"
She wasn't playing around. She was going to get an answer, I knew that much. So without delaying it any more, I proceeded to tell her the day's events. After telling her everything, I didn't get much of a reaction. I expected yelling, a lecture, and certainly a punishment but there was nothing. I guess disappointment overtook her or something because she just silently slinked out of the room without another glance in my direction. Feeling defeated, I headed for my room. Austin, I noticed, was not far behind.
I was really not in the mood for a sibling rebuke, but I couldn't tell him that. It wouldn't have mattered anyways. He would do what he wanted. I walked into my room and Austin followed, shutting the door behind him. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for impact, but surprisingly, the words didn't come harsh at all. He spoke in a tone full of sorrow and despair as if he was blaming himself.
"Natalie, it was wrong what you did." He started and his gaze floated to the floor.
I know. I thought, I'm stupid, I'm stupid, I'm SO stu-
"... but I understand why you did it."
Well, I wasn't expecting that.
"Believe me, when I first joined the army, I did a lot of lashing out like that." He continued.
"I didn't think they would allow that kind of behavior."
"Oh, they don't, and eventually I exploded on the wrong person."
He chuckled in recollection, "Yep, I definitely shaped up after that."
He ran his fingers through his brown hair, "I'm sure grateful for him though. If he hadn't interfered, I'm sure I'd still be a bellowing freak."
I laughed. I couldn't imagine Austin in that frame of mind.
"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I've been there too and I'll help you through this I promise."
"I just miss her." I finally said.
I miss her a lot.

Mel was brave, but cautious.
Mel was quiet, but empowering.
Mel was exceedingly intellectual, but never boastful.
Mel, Melissa as she was usually known, was the greatest sister in the world, but she had been treated unfairly.
She had been brutally attacked by someone cruel.
Something, I should say, took my sister from me. It's hard to say when it developed, but the doctors are sure it happened after Melissa began interning at an experimental laboratory only a bus ride away. My sister was an aspiring scientist and the laboratory was really interested in gaining her talent. She was extraordinarily good with chemicals and she wasn't exactly an easy grab. Almost every chemical laboratory wanted her. Somehow, this particular one was able to nab her and then they killed her. It all happened one night when Melissa was appointed to lock up. Some idiot chemist had forgotten to tighten the lid on an experiment. Melissa accidently bumped the lid off as she was heading for the door and she screwed the lid on instantly. It doesn't take long for dangerous chemicals to evaporate into the air, though. She inhaled it unknowingly; that stupid, idiot chemist.
When Melissa arrived home that night, she appeared normal as ever. In fact, the next day, she was fine as well. It wasn't until the tenth day that the sickness sunk in. We're still working on getting the guy charged, but it isn't an easy case to win because there were no witnesses.

The day she died was a day like any other. Mom had just started cooking her world famous lasagna. Melissa, who had been sick for weeks, was barely able to go to the table, but we had gotten news that things were finally starting to look up for her. Naturally, everyone was overjoyed. Everyone, except me. I held a pessimistic outlook, as always. I like to think that it saves me from a lot of harsh heart breaks. That boy will never like me, when he doesn't, I'm not hurt. I'm gonna fail that test, when I see the dark red F come back, I'm not surprised. When things do go my way, I'm shocked and allow myself a celebratory dance. I am very grateful. You see, it's quite beneficial. Maybe you don't see, oops... there it goes again. I'm sorry, it's sort of a reflex.
This is the perfect example. Ninety nine percent of you probably have already drawn the conclusion that I must be very troubled to find this thinking acceptable. To you, I say thank you for proving my point. To the one percent that think like me, thanks to you guys too. You're my only validation that I might not actually be as insane as I thought. Second, my heart goes out to you because it's almost certain that you will be ridiculed and prodded and questioned a million times over. It's extremely hard to explain yourself to a person who thinks normally. If you want my advice, I'd tell you to stop. Stop trying. You'll get nowhere because you can't combat a one track mind with a one track mind, just like you can't fight fire with fire; you will always get burned.

About eleven o'clock that night, Melissa started perpetually wheezing. Mom was at her bedside at once, but the wheezing wasn't subsiding. A few minutes later coughing joined the wheezing and I was up out of bed. It was a horrifying sight. Mom was struggling to get the respirator but it was too late. Melissa was red, then purple, then gone. You should've seen the way the house changed that night. Mom burst into hysterics, dad started working as that was his only coping mechanism, Austin was off on base totally unaware of the tragedy, and I, the pessimist, the one that always anticipated the worst, cried the hardest.