Chapter 3
THREE
AIDEN
It’s times like these when I have no idea why I chose this career.
As little Jeremy runs around with poop on his hands, smattering it on the walls and across other students, I sigh. This is the third time I’ve had to clean up literal shit. Sure, he’s adorable and well-mannered, except when he thinks that we all want to be privy to his bowel movements.
“Jeremy,” I start, walking up to him, hesitant to get any closer because I like these pants and don’t particularly want to burn them. “What did we say about properly going to the bathroom?”
He giggles, holding his shit-covered hands in the air. “Look!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Reason isn’t getting us anywhere. But, then again, it’s difficult to try and rationalize with a three-year-old.
After calling over my teaching aide to supervise the class’s finger painting, I take Jeremy to the bathroom to help him clean up what he’s done. Much to my dismay, but not surprise, he’s also covered the entire toilet seat, and I’m pretty sure there’s piss on the floor too.
I hate my life.
The day after that is uneventful. Normal. Tantrums that I have to defuse, children who compete for my attention, and nap time that’s my favorite part of the day. It’s five o’clock by the time I go home, having stayed late because apparently we need to grade preschool fucking art projects for some goddamn reason.
I say my goodbyes to my fellow teachers, a cheery smile on my face as I tell them I’ll see them tomorrow, all the while wishing the world would swallow me whole. I get in my beat up car and head home, brooding as usual at the fact that—even on this ritzy island—a teacher’s salary will only get me a small one bedroom on the outskirts of the town.
I park my car, exiting with all the teacher crap I trudge back and forth from the school, and head to the front door. I’m greeted by Zeus when I enter, the pudgy cat purring as he rubs against my legs, and I finally smile for real. I let out a deep breath. I’m in my happy place now. I can relax and just let go.
Let go, Aiden.
I shake my head, my inner thoughts quieting to a whisper as I dump my stuff on the entry table and head to the kitchen. I rifle through the contents, unimpressed with the healthy meals and greens I find. Jennifer has me on a diet, even though I feel like I’m thin enough, but she’s passing it off as if I just need to eat better.
That fucking bitch.
Once again, I shake my head, my fingers tightening around the fridge handle. Happy, shiny, peaceful thoughts. I can’t let the darkness win, can’t let it seep through me like it threatens to do every time my mind strays.
Breathe in and breathe out. Butterflies and unicorns and shit.
I wait until those nagging thoughts disappear before smiling. This is okay. Everything is alright. Just a momentary blip. I don’t know where they come from or what they mean—the intrusive thoughts that echo in my brain—but I can’t let them win.
Darkness will not win again.
“It’ll be our little secret.”
The memories. The… I start to scratch at my skin, feeling the disgust creeping up my arms. I decide against dinner and head to the living room. I plop down on the couch and pull out my knitting kit from the little basket I keep in the corner. My distracted hands force my mind to blank, trapping me in a haze of garter stitches and purls. Maybe I’m making this for Jennifer or my mom who’s grown to resent me. Maybe I’m making it for myself.
Or maybe it’s just an escape and doesn’t need any other explanation.
My phone dings in my pocket and I pull it out with reluctance. There are only a few people who bother texting me and none of the options sound very appealing at the moment. My principal, my mom, or my girlfriend. Each one has their own reasons, especially when I just want to be left alone.
Babe: Are you home yet???
Babe . Her choice when she took my phone, not mine. Pet names are… corny? I don’t know. They fill me with this idea of mushy happily ever afters and gag-inducing perkiness. But I didn’t bother arguing with her because it wouldn’t have gotten me anywhere.
Jennifer hovers. She says it’s out of care, but I think she’s just paranoid that despite my reputation for being a recluse, I’m somehow cheating on her. I also know that if I don’t respond within three minutes, she’s going to call, and I’m feeling particularly gloomy tonight and don’t want that headache.
Me: Yeah! Was just about to text you!
That’s a lie, and the exclamation points are a bit much, but it’ll appease her.
Babe: Ok, sweetie! I love you so much!
Love. Is it supposed to feel this suffocating? No, not suffocating but something else. I’m not consumed by it or drawn to it. I’m smothered but not in that warm comfortable way when you snuggle under the covers. I don’t know how to explain it or my relationship with Jennifer. Why I’m with her is a mystery, but I stay. I stay despite the somewhat verbal abuse, the knocks to my weight, and the suspicion. Maybe because I hope she can keep me in line and keep those… unfortunate thoughts and deep-rooted memories at bay.
I continue my knitting after texting her that I love her too. I don’t know if I believe it or not. I don’t think there’s any point in trying to fight it. All I’ve wanted since…
A normal and happy life. I should welcome the mundane. Enjoy these perfunctory days. Like the simplicity of it all.
So why does my mind scream ?