Chapter 7
Lilla
Present
I’m used to quiet, but I’m not used to stillness—the still air, free from cleaner, and my Mom’s perfume.
I’m not used to the lack of her morning coffee filling the quiet house.
It’s still. There is no movement other than my own.
She always comes home. Even when she stays away overnight, she eventually comes home.
I can do quiet, but the stillness is loud; it reminds me how alone I truly am.
This time, she isn’t coming home.
The worst part is that my dad doesn’t know that while he’s away, she stays out and comes home with smudged mascara and an Old Spice smell. He doesn’t hear the moaning that comes from her room, and now he’s taken her on a lavish journey, leaving me, the good one, behind.
Does it pay to be bad? Is that what people want? All my life, I’ve tried to be good. A good student. A good daughter. A good friend. And for what? Here I sit in an empty house meant for a family.
Instead of spiraling into the black hole of sadness, where I've sulked all day. I decide I need an outlet, so I’ll run.
I’ll run from all my problems, hoping like hell I can outrun them and the way they make me feel.
Throwing on my running shoes, I grab my sweatshirt, throw up the hood, and start running as soon as my feet meet the concrete that used to house the ‘Happy Home’ rug.
Rock music floods from my earbuds, pulling me into the only safe place I’ve known, where the yelling is in passion down a microphone. Where the words make me feel powerful, loved, hopeful— everything my parents never made me feel.
With each hit of my foot, I accept the absence my parents brought; I accept the fate of being alone, and the cold truth, I am unlovable.
I run for my safety, for release, but what happens when running is no longer enough?
When it no longer feeds the emptiness, unraveling the pain and lacing it with a more substantial hit of adrenaline?
The more I run, the harder I push, begging for it to always be enough.
I’ve seen what unfulfilment does; it teases you with desire, with promises of more, until it destroys everything good in your life.
Like an infomercial, ‘you think you have it all, just wait, the brand new state-of-the-art life you should be living.’ It makes you believe your perfection is imperfect, your achievements mediocre, and your satisfaction with the life you have dwindles until you destroy everything in it.
Unfulfilment, the disillusion that wrecks you.
My feet dig into the ground, stopping my sprint on the bridge overlooking the river.
The night creeps over the town before me, blanketing it with darkness.
Leaning over the bridge, my breath burns like a fire in my chest, my lungs begging for oxygen.
Taking out my earbuds, I listen to the water rushing beneath, sweeping away branches, leaves, and sticks.
I watch as it takes away the fallen, and wonder how it would feel to drift away into the unknown so effortlessly.
I run this bridge every day, and every day I think about it, floating.
Looking down at the water, I picture myself amongst the branches, being swept away into the unknown, entirely out of my control.
I think about the leaves, and how dirty they must have been, and now, are cleansed from the earth they came from.
I want that, to be absolved of the harsh words of my parents, for the hole in my chest that should fill with love to flood with water.
Floating effortlessly looks appealing with each pass over this bridge.
I fear one day running won’t be enough to suppress the ache inside my chest. One day, I will falter, and instead of sinking with my emotions, I’ll float.
“Don’t jump.” A deep voice startles me from my daze. I turn to look at the person who interrupted my spiraling thoughts; instead of stopping, he keeps going.
“I wasn’t going to!” I holler at him. Not today.
“You were thinking about it!” The tall figure, fading away into the darkness, yells back.
Taking a step closer, I squeal at his back, “I was thinking about floating with the sticks, actually, not jumping!”
He turns swiftly at the corner of the bridge, and the nightfall wraps him up, hiding him from my eyes.
He shouts back, “You’re too pretty to be floating with sticks.
” He turns and walks away, leaving his voice engraved in my thoughts and pulling at the possibility that I could be enough for someone. Anyone.
I just want to be enough.
Running back home, I grab my brand-new Nokia phone— a gift because my parents won’t be back for graduation— and call Haley, filling her in on everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Of course, she’s pissed for me, and her thought process is right in line with mine.
Get drunk and party. I want to feel free, to feel released from the chains that weigh me down.
Have you ever been unloved by the people who were supposed to love you most?
Have you ever been bullied so badly that you actually believe the words they harass you with?
I have. I have been broken down my entire life, and even when I feel like I can’t take another day of being a walking disappointment, I don’t quit. No matter how badly I want to, I fight.
I fight for myself because no one else will.
At the end of the day, I am all I have.
Haley pulls up an hour later. I wore my most expensive outfit.
I opted for my designer jeans, rhinestones cover the back pockets, making my ass flashy.
My shirt is a Chanel quilted half-tank; it’s bright orange, contrasting with my dark, straight hair that falls down my back.
Sliding into her car, the Backstreet Boys play loudly as I open the door.
“Hey girl, you look HOT.” Haley leans forward, turning up the music; we belt ‘Tell me why’ at the top of our lungs as we drive to the back of a neighborhood I’ve never been to.
Strolling into the house, we weave through the crowd, making our way to the kitchen for drinks.
I grab two cups and begin pouring a generous shot of vodka, making Haley laugh.
We hold up our cups, both laughing as we say our most famous line, “Don’t let assholes win.
” Then we chug the shot, letting it burn until it erases every trace of frustration, replacing it with a fire that makes us beg for more, and we give in to its temptation.
I don’t know what time it is or how long we’ve been here.
All I know is I’m feeling good, and I’m a beer pong champion.
I learned that while I can’t chug beer, I can sure as shit chug vodka.
While Haley and I played game after game, my eyes kept wandering to the corner where Ava stood wrapped in his arms. Every time my eyes would drift over, he was looking at me, watching me.
I wanted him to watch me; I wanted him to want me, the way my body so badly craved his.
When the music changed, Young Joc began singing It’s Goin’ Down.
Immediately, Haley and I were on the makeshift dance floor.
We start to grind together, making our bodies one as we dance.
My back pressed against Haley as she grinds against me, belting her heart out, gliding with me to the music.
Bending down, I grab my knees, working myself back.
When I look to the side, I see him watching me; his lips press together tightly as he watches my body move with hers.
I turn to face Haley, whispering in her ear.
When she looks over my shoulder, she grabs my face, her lips damn near touching mine, “Let me help you set the hook.” She holds the back of my hair, pulling my face into hers, and kisses me.
My lips glide against hers, tasting her cherry-red lipstick.
We kiss in sync, our tongues dancing to the music, as the alcohol flows through our blood.
The guy Haley was hanging out with tonight comes over, stealing her away from me. She giggles, wrapping her arm around his neck. She starts swaying against him as she winks at me.
She laughs as she throws her head back, “Don’t be jealous, baby, everyone has to share me with my best friend.” I smile at her, winking back, because I love her so damn much.
Haley nods at me, then follows the guy upstairs, leaving me on the dance floor. Just when I’m about to exit, two hands wrap around my waist, pulling me in.
“Ready for me to show you what you're missing.” Jeff’s cocky voice whispers into my ears. Honestly, I could use a release, and Haley does it all the time. Why shouldn’t I? I’m young; it’s my time to live my life.
I deserve love, too.
I turn to Jeff, wrapping my arms around his neck, pushing myself against his already hardening length.
“Better be good, because I’m not looking to be disappointed tonight.
” He smirks, then takes my hand, guiding me to the staircase.
Looking back, I see Ava and her man both looking at me, sending a quick smile. I follow Jeff upstairs.
Stepping into the room, my heart is racing, my palms are sweaty, and my mind is spiraling.
I always wanted this moment to be perfect, to be with someone who truly loved me, funny, when I don’t know what that even feels like; to be loved.
Yet, I crave the feeling, all while knowing it isn’t in the cards for me.