Chapter -
Lennon
Igot to stay with Auntie Brenda for two whole days.
Mommy said the baby was ready to join our family, so I patiently waited with Auntie Brenda for two whole days.
Auntie was a lot funner than Mommy and Daddy lately.
She coloured with me, she baked cookies with me, she made playdough out of flour with me.
We were having so much fun when I saw Daddy’s car pull into the driveway.
Watching from the window seeing the sunny blue skies, Daddy was getting out of the car, looking so sad.
Why was he sad? Opening the front door, I thought I would cheer him up by giving him a big hug and shouting how excited I was to see him.
His eyes looked extra puffy, and as I shouted ‘Daddy’ at the top of my lungs, he began to cry and got down to my level while giving me a big hug.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Shaking his head, he pulled me away from him, his red, swollen eyes looking into mine. “Baby Miles couldn’t make it here today. He was so excited to go straight to heaven, so we won’t be able to meet him, pumpkin.”
Tears rolled down his face. I didn’t understand.
Why wouldn’t I meet my baby brother? “Why wouldn’t he want to meet us, Daddy?
” Daddy tried his best to hold himself together, but his shoulders were violently shaking while he sat on his knees in front of me.
Auntie Brenda came over to rub my shoulders.
Whispering in my ear, she asked me to go up to my bedroom.
“Why didn’t he want to meet me?” I began to shout. My dad didn’t even respond to my outbursts. Aunt Brenda just continued to walk me to my room, shushing me.
I don’t remember how long I had spent in my bedroom alone, but when I decided I was finally hungry enough to come out, it was morning time.
I quietly went down the hallway toward the kitchen, where I found Daddy standing at the sink with a coffee in his hand. “Good morning, pumpkin,” he said, making an attempt to sound cheerful. His smile looked fake.
“Morning, Daddy,” I whispered.
“What can I make you for breakfast?” he asked. I didn’t know what I wanted. I just knew that I was hungry. I shrugged my shoulders. Not meaning to make his life difficult, but I didn’t have much else to offer.
“How about pancakes?” he settled on, to which I nodded.
I sat at the table as he prepared the pancakes, in between batches bringing me orange juice. It’s my favourite. “Where’s Mom?” I asked shyly, worried she might have gone to heaven, too.
Daddy offered a tight smile, pressing his lips together. “She’s sleeping. Let her rest, okay? Mommy is sad.” I nodded. I was sad, too. I drew pictures and made playdough and even put my favourite blanket in his room for him to have.
After having breakfast, hours went by and the house felt cold. There was no love like there was before. Where was everyone? Why did I feel alone? Was I home alone?
Coming out of my bedroom, I looked both ways down the hall, but saw no one.
I couldn’t hear anyone either, nor could I sense the television playing.
I came out and tiptoed toward the kitchen, no one was there.
I walked toward the living room, no one was there.
I ran down to my parents’ bedroom, no one was there.
I checked the driveway, panicking, and saw that no vehicles were parked there.
Did they leave me behind?
Beginning to cry, I ran toward my room, slamming the door shut. How could they leave me behind? I flopped on my bed, scared and alone. Crying into the covers, I screamed at the top of my lungs, hoping someone, anyone might hear me. But no one came.
The next day came, and I could hear nothing once again. Walking out of my room, I called for my dad. He peeked his head out of the living room, shushing me. Confused, I walked out toward him, still in yesterday’s clothes. “Where did you go?” I asked.
He didn’t seem to understand my question. “What do you mean? I’ve been right here, pumpkin. Also, keep your voice low. Mommy is still resting, okay?”
Anger that was rooted deep inside began to grow. “No, you weren’t there. You were gone!” I shouted. My dad’s brows furrowed as he looked at me sternly. “What has gotten into you, young lady? Can’t you see Mommy and Daddy are sad?”
I shook my head, not understanding what was happening. “You left me alone!” I screamed and then took off toward my room. He didn’t chase me. He didn’t even make the effort to get up to comfort me. He let me run off.
Entering my room, breathing heavily, I slammed the door as hard as I could.
I let out a guttural scream that I felt deep in my belly.
Still, no one came. I didn’t know what to do.
Why was no one hugging me tightly, telling me everything was going to be okay?
Why wasn’t anyone here for me anymore? Did no one love me anymore?
I opened the door and slammed it again. My breathing came fast and quick standing behind the door, waiting for someone to tell me to stop.
Nothing happened. My brain was spiralling.
I couldn’t make sense of what my life was anymore.
If Baby Miles never came, Mommy and Daddy would still love me, but now they’re sad.
They don’t love me anymore because of him.
Opening up the door, I belted out at the top of my lungs, “I HATE BABY MILES!” and with that, a door swung open and out marched my mother, looking a mess. She grabbed me by my shirt collar and swung her fist as it collided with my cheek.
Instant pain radiated throughout my face, and I began screaming and flailing my body.
Moments of my mom hitting me in the face passed before my daddy ripped her off of me.
There was yelling. So much yelling. I was screaming in pain.
Mommy was screaming. Daddy was screaming.
What was happening? Why did she do that? Mommy never hurt me.
“What have you done, Heather?!” my father shouted.
She was wild-eyed and her brown hair was tossed across her face, covering her eyes and mouth.
The only sound in the room was everyone’s breathing for a brief moment.
Then she looked at me, anger filling the void in her dark eyes.
“I wish it was you instead,” she whispered before she got up and charged back to her bedroom, slamming the door just as I had moments before.
“Lennon, let’s get you cleaned up,” my dad said with pity laced in his voice. I sniffed my nose, sensing the sharp scent of metal. I winced and my dad wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Daddy, my face hurts,” I whimpered before bursting into tears.
“I know, pumpkin, I’m sorry that happened. Your mom isn’t feeling good.”
Crying, we walked into the bathroom where I caught a glimpse in the mirror of my face. I opened my mouth and screamed.
Jolted awake, I tried to catch my breath.
My bed was soaked in sweat. Exhaling, I began to realize the nightmares were becoming more and more frequent.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I slunk out of my bed, crawling across the floor toward the hallway and heading for my purse where I knew I could find the pills that would rid the dreams away.
Grabbing my purse, my breath began to steady, knowing help was close—within reach. Rummaging through, I caught sight of the bottle straight away. I didn’t carry a lot of things with me, just what was important to getting me through each day.
I decided to just take one today to try and stretch them out. Yesterday was hard. The group alone was enough to make me homicidal, but that fucking asshole had chased me out and tried to take me out for lunch, or dinner, or whatever the fuck he was trying to do. Whatever it was, I wasn’t having it.
Taking the pill and bringing it to my lips, I decided to just swallow it today.
I didn’t want to feel like I was addicted to it—I wasn’t.
I just needed a little support. A gentle hand, leading me through the darkness.
And I made the rules in this life. I didn’t have control of much, but this much I did.
What had he seen in me that made him follow me out like that?
I felt his stare throughout the duration of that hell they called group sessions.
I was also still feeling unwell from my stupid choking episode, where Asher had felt the strong desire to have the entire group watch me, making me look idiotic.
Did people enjoy this shit? Making others feel small?
It seemed like he did; as if he always wanted to exude the image as the rescuer amongst his friends.
Fuck that.
Wearing only an oversized t-shirt, I had scrolled through my phone, seeing if I could find him on socials.
I wanted to know his story so I could feel like I had somewhat of an upper hand.
He hadn’t divulged why he was in group, like the select few of us had.
Some had mentioned their therapist encouraging them to take this group; others, like me, mentioned having to attend as a mandatory portion of other programs.
He hadn’t mentioned anything like that. He had just said he loved hockey.
Wow—like we all couldn’t guess that by the looks of him.
He looked like every hockey player, outside of the short hair.
Asher had a chiselled jawline, rigid cheekbones, and a soft smile that, although appeared mean, also reflected some sort of kindness.
He was every jock’s leader of the pack. The alpha of the group. It was annoying, and I didn’t know why.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I didn’t want to think about having to go to group in two more days. My anxiety would once again be at an all-time high. I would have to speak out loud more. I would have to dig open these wounds for everyone to watch me bleed. And I’d have to face him again.
The good thing was that I left an impression that said back the fuck off, and I couldn’t fathom him crossing that boundary. If he tried to, he would feel the wrath of this angry bitch.