27. Lydia
Lydia
I thought today would feel more liberating, more freeing, more like I was starting the process of letting go. Yet the grief feels even heavier when I wake up this morning. How does anyone expect someone to just go back to a normal life after this kind of thing?
Why does the marked amount of time someone has been gone feel so monumental? Like it should determine how you feel? As if the amount of time is a measure for where you should be in the healing process.
People sit around and constantly compare how much grief they feel, how much they miss him, how much time they’ve been without him, and how many memories they shared together with him, like it’s all some sick competition.
What about comparing how much he hurt you?
Well…I would probably just be competing with myself there, huh?
Why don’t we compare how much he ruined you?
Just me again? How about when he’s still fucking with your head so badly that you wake up from a dream of being wrapped up in the sheets with him, happy, with his skin against yours, just to come back to the reality that that person not only isn’t here anymore but never actually existed.
You’re dreaming about a ghost, literally and metaphorically.
And then you feel shoved right back to square one of moving on in the thick of all the pain and confusion around his death.
Anger always tends to follow the sadness.
Anger at him, anger at myself, anger at everyone who has ever failed me…
like it’s all of their fault my life is this screwed up.
I was supposed to be starting today off stronger than this.
I was supposed to start the day with my head held high for the first time ever.
But he still found a way to make sure that doesn’t happen.
Eli may be dead, but he’s very alive in the way he’s still here torturing me.
He’s doing exactly what he told me he would do, killing me slowly… every, single, day.
I promised Simone and, in turn, myself that I would go back to school after a month. I would face the noise, face the hate, face the army waiting to still take me down. And even though I was able to manage dragging myself out of bed this morning…I really don’t want to do this.
Do I have to do this?
My phone rings, and I answer it without looking, knowing it can only be one person.
I’ve deleted all of my social media and had to get a new number after my number was leaked, and the online bullying and harassment became too much to handle.
So no one else besides Sarah, Mark, and Simone even has my new number, and I’m staring at Sarah and Mark right now in the kitchen.
“Good morning sunshine,” Simone sings on the other end after I pick up.
“Mmmm,” I grunt back at her, grabbing a banana from the counter and nodding at Sarah, signaling that I’m leaving.
She smiles back and whispers for me to have a good first day back.
“I love it when you’re so cheerful. It looks so good on you.”
I roll my eyes, smiling. “One, you can’t see me, and two…cheerful is beyond a stretch. Dreading being forced into the lion’s den is more like it.”
I hear Simone sigh. “So…not in the best mood this morning?”
“I dreamed about him,” I tell her quietly as I close the front door behind me.
It’s silent for a moment before she speaks. “The bad kind?”
What she’s asking is, was it a flashback dream, of the abuse, of his hands around my neck, of his fist sounding like they were breaking bone, of me begging him to stop, of that final night, the sound of gunfire I’ll never be able to erase from my memory—all things I regularly dream about now.
“No. Well, I mean, they’re all bad, I guess…
but no, not in a physically painful way.
I dreamed about the good, about the highs with him, about when he made me feel like I was worth loving.
I think those dreams are more painful, though.
At least when I wake up from dreaming about the real pain, I wake up to that still being my reality.
That’s what really happened. When I dream about the good, I wake up even more broken, like the heartbreak is fresh, like all the wounds come back at once, slapping me into the more cruel reality. ”
The silence is deafening as I slide into the driver’s seat of my car and throw my bag into the passenger seat.
I know it’s a lot for her, she’s just a kid too, like me.
We shouldn’t be having to process shit like this at our age…
I think it’s hard for her because she never lived it, she doesn’t know how to make it better for me, and she doesn’t even know how to feel about the things I’ve told her over the last couple of weeks.
I don’t blame her when she doesn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry, Lydia…”
I shake my head. “I know…It’s okay, though. I guess he just knew it was my first day back and wanted to give me a proper send-off.” I giggle at myself.
“You have a weird, dark, almost concerning way of coping with things, Lydia.”
“Yeahhh,” I say, shrugging. “Laughing about it is easier than crying about it. Quite frankly, I think I’m all out of tears anyway.”
I connect my phone to the car and let her voice spill through the speakers as I head to the scene of all my worst nightmares.
The place that introduced me to the devil himself.
I don’t even know why I’m going back. If I could finish out school online, I would.
If I could drop out…even better. Sadly, A I can’t imagine a change of heart or a come-to-God moment for any of them since Eli died.
The hate will just be heightened now. I’m going to be the target for their fake-ass sadness.
It’s always the people with no lives and shallow personalities who like to play into this false sense of grief and anger for some justice, just to feel important.
“You can do this, Lydia. You know the truth. Anything they say is just noise. Don’t let it get to you. They aren’t worth your time or emotions.”
I’m trying to believe her. I’m trying to take her advice. I have to. I can’t let them win. I can’t let him win.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Simone,” I tell her, starting to panic as I pull into the student parking lot.
There are already so many people standing outside. It’s not unusual. I guess I was just hoping for a small sliver of peace before walking back into this place.
“You only have a couple more months, babe. Then we’re off to Texas. College will be your clean slate. I promise. You just have to make it to graduation. But I still think you should keep your head held high on your way out. You deserve to do that.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah…these people can smell fear, though, and I really don’t want any more problems.”
“You got this,” Simone says softly, sensing my doubts. “One day at a time, remember?”
“One day at a time,” I repeat, flatly.
“I have to go; I’m walking into my class. But text me updates. I mean it.”
“I will,” I promise, hanging up.
I stare at the school building, summoning every ounce of courage left in me.
Then I lean over to my passenger seat, where no one can see inside my windows, and open the glove compartment, pulling out the vodka-filled water bottle and taking the biggest swig I can, hoping for a little numbness to get through the morning.
I step out, keeping my head down through the parking lot, sensing all the eyes on me already, but not wanting to acknowledge them. I can’t tell if they’re angry stares, pity stares, or just curious stares, but I don’t really want to find out.
Walking through the entrance doors feels surreal.
I’ve spent this whole school year without Eli here, going about my days while he was at college.
Nothing felt weird without him here, but now I see him everywhere.
I see every inch of space he once took up, every spot he flirted with me in, every spot he kissed me at, every spot he made me feel safe and protected, every spot he made me feel uneasy and insecure, every spot he made me feel terrified to do or say the wrong thing.
I thought all I had to worry about with coming back was what people would say about me.
I didn’t expect to be haunted by him here, too.
Haven’t you taken enough of my peace already? You just can’t let me go, can you?
Heads start to swivel toward me as I walk down the hall, eyes widening. Some expressions are shocked, others disgusted. My heart is racing, but I try to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
Just get to class. Just get through the day. Worry about what you’re here for. Don’t let them affect how you move. You can do this.
First period is tense, a couple of whispers and glances thrown my way, but mercifully, no one says anything directly to me. When class ends, I take a deep breath as I approach my teacher, hoping for some grace with what I’m about to ask.
“Mr. Collins?” I say softly, getting his attention. “Is there…um, anything extra I can do to bring my grade back up? I know I’ve been out for a while, but I really want to graduate on time, so…”
He studies me, softening his expression. “Of course, Lydia.” He hands me a couple of worksheets from his desk. “Complete these, and it’ll count toward your grade. We can reassess if you still need some extra help to pass.”
“Thank you.” I hesitate, surprised by his kindness.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
The sincerity in his words catches me off guard.
“I’m…trying.”
He nods. “Keep doing that.”
I muster a small smile before slipping from the classroom.