The Flower
The amount of pain Axel experienced is shattering. Broken as a child, never once glued back together. Never had the chance. Is this some game that fate had? For him to cross my path? For me to be the one to help him?
Regardless of destiny, this is real. It’s just him and I against the world now. And what’s more, against our own minds. There is an exercise that I have some patients take part in that always ends up relieving some heavy weight off.
The thing is, I need Axel to pour his heart into it. As much as I love his sarcastic personality, this is something I feel may help him. Especially since his parents are no longer here.
After an hour-long panic attack, he has calmed down. I’m glad I was able to be here when it started. I’ll admit, I came here for my own reasons. Not expecting him to be on the brink of a possible melt down.
“I want to try something with you,” I whisper in his ear. We are now resting on his long sofa. The floor was safe, but not nearly as comfortable as the couch. I also want to make sure I’m close to the door in case anything happens to him. Like what? Not sure, but you can never be too safe.
“Little Flower, I think I’m beyond help at this point. I appreciate your efforts, though,” he says. He’s convinced himself that he's incapable of being healed. Well, luckily, he has me.
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” I declare, getting up from the couch. I reach into my bag and take out a pen and paper. Axel looks at me confused and sits straight. I give him a determined smile, hoping for my plan to work.
“I need you to promise me something,” I make my way toward him, holding out the possible moment for a breakthrough.
“I need you to promise me that you’re going to give me your whole heart.
Not a sliver, not a half, the whole thing.
For this to work, I need all of you. Can you promise me that?
” I continue. My face pleading with him to listen.
His eyes are hollow and swollen. Eyes that have seen and experienced way too much, but I see right through to the softness.
No matter how much he barricades the person he really is, I see him. A flash of compliance shines through, and he gives me a gentle nod. He and I both know that everything I try is only to help, not to make things worse.
“I want you to write a letter,” I say, handing him the stationary.
“A letter? Baby, I’ve written you so many. If you want another, I’d glad–”
“Not to me. To your parents. Or to one parent,” I cut him off. He stares at me like I’m batshit crazy. Like I just asked him to do the most absurd thing ever. I can faintly see his tan skin paling.
“I can’t do that,” he protests.
“You promised me. Are you a promise-breaker? The Axel Gray is a promise-break–”
“Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t ever call me a ‘promise breaker’ ever again. My word is my bond,” he announces. I give him a warm smile. He and I both know his word is all he has. If I have to use that against him, then I will.
“I’m going to leave you alone to write. Will you be okay on your own? You’ll let me know if you have another episode, right?” I ask, insisting that he better call out to me if he does. I’m here for him in any capacity.
“I’ll be fine, Little Flower. Although I’ll miss you already,” he says, giving me a wink. My cheeks redden and I turn before something else happens.
Ten minutes later, I return to his living area, catching him deep in thought. I pause, taking him in. There's a little crinkle etched between his bushy eyebrows. The pen taps against his perfect, full lips.
He looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine. Words can’t describe the way I feel when he looks at me. It’s like he sees the inner Dahlia too. It takes my breath away every time.
“I’m done.” He says softly. Giving me a sheepish smile that caves a dimple that I want to burrow in. I sit next to him on the couch and take the letter. He folded it in half, shielding it from everyone but him.
“Is it okay if I read it? I won’t if you're not comfortable. Regardless, we will burn the letter. Leaving behind who you once were, and how you felt, to pave way for a new beginning,” I explain. I want him to know my intentions regarding this exercise. The purpose behind it.
“Fuck. What are you doing to me angel? You can read it. I promised I would give you my all, didn't I?”
The words leave his lips as if they were hoping to never see the light of day. I know letters like these come from a place of protection. Words that never came out, now revealing oneself wholly. My heart pounds as I unfold the paper.
To: Dear Mom,
You wrecked me and walked away like it was normal.
As if love is supposed to leave bruises.
You made glimmers of normalcy feel like Christmas morning, though I only knew what that felt like through others.
I don’t need to hold hope anymore. Hope that you would've been the mother you were supposed to be. The mother that is supposed to love me unconditionally and unapologetically. Sometimes I feel like I burdened you when I was born. I survived every night I swore that would be the end. And no, I’m not going to apologize for existing.
I want you to feel that I survived you. Survived things you shouldn’t have done in the first place.
You don’t deserve my forgiveness. And if this makes me a monster then I’ll bare those claws.
I would rather be a monster in this world full of beasts.
No child deserves to sit in their bedroom wondering what it’s like to die.
Like if I just ended it all, then I wouldn't have to feel anymore. I wouldn't have to remember anymore. Every birthday I would wish for something that I couldn’t tell anyone. All I can say is, I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wished for.
You and I both never asked for me to be brought into this world.
I just wish you never acted like you didn’t.
I hope you're turning in your grave. I hope that your purgatory is watching my life as I live it.
Knowing that I took yours away. The life I have may not be what I planned.
Battling with demons every single day in my mind, and me being the only one who gets exhausted, while they can torment for eternity, is consuming.
I will beat this, and I want you to know that. I will beat you.
And just like that, my heart shatters into a million pieces.
My words stumbling with heartbreak at each word as I read the letter out loud.
I look over at him, tears spilling from both of our souls.
They never expect me to read the letters out loud, but it makes it all the more real.
He needs to hear his own words. Did I get through to him? I really hope that I did.