CHAPTER 52
OLIVIA
I can’t do it.
I’ve been standing on the porch of my parent’s house for fifteen minutes. I just can’t make my feet move.
Carter, bless his heart, has been stood with me, patiently waiting for me to be ready to cross the threshold.
This is the closest I’ve gotten in ten years.
The door is open. I can see the entry hallway. I can see the empty coat hooks and shoe rack by the front door.
I really wish Savannah was with me right now. She’d know exactly what to say or do in this moment to help me through the internal battle I’m currently dealing with.
I look at Carter and reach out to him. “Can you, uh…” I wet my dry lips and swallow thickly, “hold my hand?”
He gives me a comforting smile and wraps his large hand around my small one. “Of course. Just let me know when you’re ready, yeah?”
I look back at the looming hallway and close my eyes, trying to imagine what my mum would say if she could see me right now. She’d probably call me a pussy and tell me to get on with it and the thought alone brings a small smile to my face .
I can do this.
I open my eyes and give Carter a firm nod. “I’m ready.”
Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, I hold it and take the first step into the house. And then I take another. And another, until I hear the front door close behind me.
I drop Carter’s hand and exhale sharply as a million different memories slam into me at once. The familiar smell of home teases my nostrils and my eyes burn as they fill with tears.
I continue down the hallway, running my fingers along the walls that are still the same colour as they were all those years ago. I make my way into the living room and gasp.
Everything is the same as it was the night I left for the party. Apart from the few items that Carter has left lying around in the time he’s been living here, there’s nothing to indicate my parent’s ever left.
My dad’s armchair sits in the same spot. The worn grey leather still holds his imprint from the years he spent sitting in it. Pictures of the three of us line the mantel above the fireplace, and I approach it, picking up the last photo ever taken of us.
I trace the lines of their faces with my finger and the first tear falls from my eyes, quickly followed by another and another.
I barely notice Carter leaving the room as I stare down at our smiling faces, so happy and unaware of the horror to come.
I never understood why they were taken from me. It’s a question I’ve asked the universe many times. They were the kindest, gentlest, most loving people I have ever known. They dedicated their lives to helping other people. There is so much evil in this world. Rapists, paedophiles, murderers, all who deserve the cruellest fate. But it’s the people least deserving that suffer.
They say everything happens for a reason, but there is not a single reason on this earth that could justify my parent’s being torn from me when they were.
I place the frame back in its rightful spot and leave the room, heading for the stairs. I take the steps slowly, remembering each and every time I pushed past one of my parents when I was in a rush.
When I reach the top, I go in the direction of my childhood bedroom, reaching for the handle and pushing the door open slowly.
As expected, it hasn’t changed one bit. My makeup lays scattered across my dressing table. Pictures of teenage versions of Savannah and me are stuck to my mirror. There are a few things missing since some of my belongings were packed up and brought to Savannahs house when I moved in, but other than that, it’s exactly how I left it.
I take a seat on the edge of my bed and drop my head as grief barrels into me with the force of a mack truck. Sobs wrack my body and tears stream down my face as I let the despair take over.
And as I sit here, on the bed of my fifteen-year-old self, I mourn.
I mourn the loss of my parents.
I mourn the life I could have had if they hadn’t died.
And lastly, I mourn for the girl that woke up from a coma and wished she never had.