Chapter 5 – Ainsleigh
five
AINSLEIGH
Ineeded a minute to myself.
I walked up the creaking wooden stairs, then down the familiar hallway. Past all the other rooms, to the last one on the right. The door was shut, keeping the space hidden from my wary eyes.
I will not break down.
I will not break down.
I will not break down.
I kept whispering those words until I almost believed them. With each step that brought me closer to the worst memory of my life, I kept saying them to myself. I reached for the handle that would open wounds I wanted to keep buried.
Mustering every ounce of strength I had, I twisted the handle and opened the door.
Peering inside, I noticed that my mother changed the layout of the room.
Posters still hung on the walls of quotes that I loved. Pictures were still placed on various shelves, but the furniture was new and the bedding that covered the bed was a lilac color instead of the white it was before.
Unsteadily, I crossed the threshold and closed the door behind me.
So many good times were had here.
Gossip stories between my girlfriends.
My first kiss.
Confessions of love.
And in one instant, so much pain.
Walking over to the twin bed against the wall, I sat down on the mattress, almost refusing to look at the nightstand. I needed to look. Needed to face the pain. But I just wasn’t ready.
Tears fell down my cheeks. But I didn’t brush them away.
Four years of bottled up emotion was now breaking free.
It was way overdue. The only way I remained strong while I was away was because I pushed my emotions down and redirected my focus solely on school.
If it wasn’t for my studies, I would’ve been a mess.
I should’ve been falling apart, but facing what I’d lost would’ve killed me on the inside.
It did kill me when I allowed my thoughts to wander for too long. Which wasn’t often.
I snuck a peek at the piece of furniture that held one memory I knew would be the hardest to face. Instead of seeing the picture that I was afraid to face, I saw a familiar memory in its place sitting atop the weathered Bible my grandfather had given me years ago.
With shaky hands, I picked up the wooden frame.
I took in the picture of myself and my brothers.
My mother hardly ever got a picture with all of us in it, but on this day, we complied.
Just for her. We were sitting on a sturdy branch on a tree on the property.
A place I loved to visit. We all loved to visit.
The times that we shared under that tree brought a smile to my face.
We shared so many secrets there. Had so many laughs.
Shed so many tears. Expressed our fears.
We often called it the confession tree. And for good reason.
Whenever one of us had something to share, we all met up under that tree and spilled our guts.
Right or wrong. Good or bad. We shared our deepest, darkest thoughts.
And everyone listened. No one judged the person confessing.
The confession tree was a judgment-free zone.
In this particularly rare captured moment, Brooks, Holden, and Leo were all sitting on the branch, and they’d pulled me down for the photo.
I was laid across the sturdy legs of my three brothers, laughing because they made sure I didn’t get up and leave so my mother could get the picture.
The sun was setting in the distance, causing a summer chill to hit the night air.
All four of us were smiling, laughing even.
As I stared at the photo, I wondered where the young girl in this photo had gone. So young and carefree. I missed that young girl. Maybe somewhere deep inside she still existed. I just shoved her down and carried the weight of my loss on my shoulders.
My mother must’ve placed this here knowing I couldn’t handle seeing the photo it had replaced. And I couldn’t be more grateful. Someday, hopefully soon, I’d have the courage to ask her where she’d hidden the other photo so I could face the memories. However unhappy they might have been.
With one last look, I returned the wooden frame to the nightstand. I stood and walked around the room.
All my books were still on the shelves. My desk was still cluttered with notebooks and journals with inspirational quotes on the covers.
I picked up the spiral journal on top and studied the quote.
“Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all,” Proverbs 31:29.
I hadn’t felt like I’d done anything noble at all in these past four years or surpassed anything.
I sat the journal back in its place and let out a weary sigh.
The door creaked open behind me, but I didn’t turn to face the person brave enough to enter.
I wanted to be alone. For just a moment, I wanted to wallow before I had to put that brave face on and act like being here didn’t bring me so much pain.
“It’s good to see you in here again,” the voice confessed behind me.
It didn’t feel that great to be in this room again.
It felt soul crushing.
“I know how hard this is for you,” Holden whispered as he walked closer to where I stood.
His hand on my shoulder, he turned me around in one swift move. I missed how close we used to be.
He pulled me toward him, wrapping me in the comfort of his arms. It was then that I fully broke. Letting all the emotion come forth yet again.
I cried for everything we’d lost.
For everything I’d put us through by leaving.
But most of all, I cried for me.
Shedding tears that should have long been shed felt cathartic. Like a piece of me—albeit a small piece—was healing.
“You need to let it all out, Ainsleigh. For once, just let it all come. You don’t have to hide from me. I know being here hurts. I know the memories are consuming you. But let them. For once in the past four years, face them head-on so you can heal.”
How did he know I hadn’t?
How did he know I was still so consumed with grief, that I was still so lost in it?
“It’s not healthy for you to keep it all in. Scream. Kick. Cry. Do something that helps you, instead of hindering you from moving on,” he whispered against my hair.
“What do you do that helps?” I choked out, wanting to know so I could hopefully find some way of my own. That was the only way I’d get over being home.
“You’re not allowed to laugh, okay?”
Now he had me intrigued.
Tilting my head, I looked up at him and waited to hear his answer.
He reached up and brushed the remnants of tears off my cheeks.
“I won’t laugh,” I promised, knowing damn well depending on his response I wouldn’t be able to hold the laughter inside if it was something crazy.
“I meditate. I do yoga. I pray daily. And I ride.”
He did what?
I couldn’t picture someone as buff and gruff as Holden meditating yet alone doing yoga.
Looking at him, I’d have never guessed he’d do something of that nature. Riding. Yes, that I knew he did. But yoga and meditating?
I smirked because the thought of seeing him in some crazy, bendable pose would be priceless.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh. Remember that. But, believe it or not, all four have helped.”
“I didn’t laugh. I smirked. There’s a big difference.”
“Not by much. Just remember, find somethin’ that helps you. What helps me may not be beneficial for you. I want you to heal. And seein’ you just now. Feelin’ the pain you felt as you cried. You need to heal, Ainsleigh, or you’ll never feel whole again.”
He might have been right.
Damn him.
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You just never listen to me. Mama made your favorite, and it’s ready. That’s why I came up here in the first place. Last one downstairs is a rotten egg,” he yelled with a laugh as he stepped away from me and started running in the direction of my bedroom door.
“What? Are we five now?” I screamed back as I took off after him.
Another small piece of me healed as I laughed and chased after Holden. They say laughter is the best medicine. Maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to believe that now.
Our mom’s pot roast was the best, and I couldn’t say no to tasting my favorite meal on my first night home.
I thought long and hard about what Holden said.
I just didn’t know if I wanted to move on.
To me, moving on meant forgetting.
And there was no way, no how, that I wanted to forget her.