Chapter 42 – Emerson
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
EMERSON
The night blankets me but doesn’t provide the reprieve that I came out here to find.
There is no escape from my past.
There is no distance from the memories.
There is only the pain.
Only the isolation.
Only the need to make it go away.
I look down to where the blade of the box cutter rests against my scarred flesh. Just the sight of it there allows me to breathe easier. Just the feel of it gives me a tiny sip of control.
Shame has me squeezing my eyes shut. Fear has the tears leaking out. The incessant hurt has me pressing it against my skin.
And cutting.
The sharp sear of pain is instant and yet when I open my eyes and see the bright red blood highlighted by the moonlit sky, I feel like a weight has been lifted for the first time in forever.
The tears fall fast and hot down my cheeks as I watch the red bead up. As I inflict the pain on myself instead of letting someone else do it for me.
I stretch out my other arm, and my fingers itch to repeat the process.
To feel relief.
To gain control.
To match my pain with new pain.
Head up. Wings out.
My mom’s voice rings in my ears and has me clenching the knife in my hand as hard as I can.
Don’t do it.
The need owns every muscle in my body.
Don’t give in.
The want has me vibrating with desire.
My mom’s face flashes through my mind. The determination in her eyes. The encouraging murmur on her lips. The warmth of her touch as she’d hold my hand and wait with me for my urge to pass.
The promises I’d made to her that I wouldn’t cut myself anymore are now broken. Shame blankets me. Smothers me. I wasn’t strong enough to keep them.
My hands ache as I battle restraint. So does my heart .
I’ve let her down.
I promised her I would be strong. I swore to her I’d never cut myself again.
Don’t do it, Emmy.
With a wretched sob, I take the box cutter and chuck it as far as I can into the thick foliage at the base of the runway. It takes everything I have not to run in after it.
But I don’t. I can’t.
The shame is instant.
The regret immediate.
But the want still thrives despite knowing I broke my promise to her.
And to myself.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.”
I double over and cry with every part of my body and repeat the words she used to whisper in my ear as she’d hold me after she’d find new cuts on my arms again.
This hurt doesn’t take away my pain, only being strong will.
I am in control of me.
I will survive despite it.
I am loved regardless of it.
And at the end of the runway in the early morning, I rock myself back and forth, repeat my mother’s words, and hope I can find my strength once again.