supernova

27

TW: racism

He said he was going to do it and he did.

I was sleeping and in my dream, I felt something.

My dreams have never been this vivid before.

My eyes opened, and I realized that it wasn't a dream. Atlas was holding the vibrator, and massaging the tip of it around my clit.

"I know you're awake," he said applying more pressure and I let out a noise.

"Hi," I breathed out and he laughed.

"Hi."

"I didn't think you were serious."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" I rushed out.

"Good girl," he whispered and applied more pressure to my clit.  I was holding onto the blankets, and my grip only got tighter.

"We'll that's enough," he casually said removing the vibrator and I felt cold.

"Fuck you," I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

I looked into the mirror.

My mom is dead.

My mom is dead and all I could think about was sex. It felt so terrible, but so good.

My curly hair, nose, and skin color, the features I got from her, were a constant reminder of who I had lost.

I remember being a freshman looking at my eyes, begging my mom for contacts. I couldn't bear to look at my grey eyes, a constant reminder of my dead dad.

Now I look at myself and see two dead people.

Their death was a consequence of my stubbornness.

If you really thought about it, it was my fault.

I brushed my teeth and head over to the kitchen and grabbed an apple.

I had nothing to do today.

I walked out of the house with my phone and made sure to grab a pair of headphones before walking to the park.

It was a small park. The swings were rusty and squeaky and the paint was oxidized and chipped.

It was an old park and it was ugly. The kids preferred the newer park on the other side of the neighborhood.

I sat there alone on the swings with my headphones in.

I sat there for fifteen minutes before heading home to shower.

I threw on a black dress and walked out to see Atlas in a black button up shirt and pants.

"You know you're going to have to speak, right?" I nodded. I knew what I was going to say.

I also knew I was going to open the envelope after the funeral.

I shuddered at the thought of it.

We got into his car and drove to the center. People were going to start arriving soon.

~~
I stared at the crowd in front of me, my hands behind the podium were shaking as if I had injected caffeine into them.

"Anaya Nguyen Turner liked dreams. When I was a child she would talk about her own dreams whether it was in her sleep or things she wished to accomplish. She was fascinated with the thought processes of different people and the way we have our own own conscious and formed our own opinions. I haven't heard my mom talk about dreams since the day my dad died." I paused to take a breath but covered it with a drink of water.