Chapter 21
twenty-one
I’m sitting on the floor, my back pressed against the door, when a knock rattles behind me. It jerks me out of my quiet meditation, and I scramble across the floor as if the walls will tip over and crush me.
“Cait, it’s Evan.” His voice is muffled on the other side.
I tense, still coming out of a haze. Unprepared to answer him, I remain quiet.
If I forget this, forget him, everything will return to normal.
He’ll just be another neighbor to endure until I move out.
He should be okay with that. This is what he wanted from the beginning. What I wanted from the beginning.
He knocks again. “Cait, open the door. We need to talk.”
When he jiggles the handle, I crawl farther away. I’m not afraid of him, only what he represents. Will he let himself in? Will he use his master key?
He releases the locked handle and silence returns. I know he hasn’t budged because the essence of him remains. There’s a thickness in the air that surrounds me whenever he’s near. I didn’t realize it existed until this very moment when I wished it away.
“Listen.” Evan lowers his voice. “I don’t want to talk through a door, but if you’re here, make some time for me. Okay?”
It takes a few moments, but he finally gives up and leaves. Heavy footsteps descend the stairs and fade. It’s then that I release a breath, and the stress I held dissipates.
I rise, relying on the sofa’s back to steady me.
A shadow veils the apartment, or perhaps it’s covering me.
This place has never been this lonely, now that I’m positive I can release Evan and the hold he’s had over me.
I do it because I must. This is how I survive.
I did it with my parents, shutting them out, and I’ll do it again.
And if I can’t come to terms with sharing with Aggie, I may do it with her as well.
Relationships are crippling. The pain of this acknowledgment shoots through my limbs and eats at my soul.
The wall I built to protect myself returns.
It may have faltered for a brief time, but I fortify it again.
I tell myself this vulnerability is okay.
To keep watch and protect it takes energy.
It’s exhausting. This time, I only let my guard down for a short while.
Next time, this mistake will serve as a lesson to keep my personal life private and only emerge for acceptable escapes—like work and running. They’ve kept me sane and will again.
Weakened, I head to my bedroom and lie on my bed. Tucked between the sheets and locked in my bedroom, I’m safe. It’s my cell and personal hell. My eyes close, and I allow myself to shut off my mind.
Sharp angles of light give way to a patch of grass.
It’s bright green, new, and beautiful. The sun shines, warming my skin.
I close my eyes and lift my chin to soak it in.
Heat radiates behind my pink eyelids and burns my cheeks.
Sunshine and pleasant temperatures are a rare gift in a Chicago, even for late April.
When I find an empty spot among the sea of lounging students, I shrug out of my backpack and open the zipper.
Inside is a colorful serape blanket, schoolbooks, and a cell phone.
I spread the items on the ground and kick off my sandals, using them to anchor the edges of the blanket in the cool breeze.
A group of girls giggle about a recent frat party.
A football slices through the air, crossing the park.
One boy catches it but another tackles him.
They tumble to the ground, and a group cheers for them.
Another person plays a guitar in the distance.
The song is a peaceful soundtrack that matches the day.
I have to finish my thesis this week, but I’m having a hard time focusing.
I lie on the blanket and roll on my back, staring at the sky.
Inside, I’m bubbling with happiness, but I can’t grasp the exact reason.
But it’s there, a tangible thing growing inside me.
The buildings of Northwalton University frame the blue sky.
Gentle white clouds plume and roll. This day is perfect, but not because of the weather. It’s something to do with my happiness.
My cell chirps with a message.
I reach for it but can’t find it. It chirps several times as I dig in my backpack and under my books. Where is it? Where is it?
My need to find it grows desperate. The sound is driving me mad. With every option searched, I stand and rip away the blanket, but all I find is a large rectangular hole. It’s the same size as my blanket but looks more like a grave.
At the sight of it, my cell’s forgotten. The day turns cloudy, and the people around me fade away. My gut tumbles. I should step away, but I’m drawn closer to the hole. I peek in. It’s so dark, I can’t see the bottom.
Someone pushes me, a forceful shove on my shoulder blade. I hurl forward, plunging into the darkness. I scream. The piercing sound drags on as I plummet.
Panicked, I reach for the walls crumbling with dirt, but I’m unable to grasp them. My legs kick frantically. My T-shirt lifts, exposing my chest, and my hair whips around my face. Looking below, I find light at the end of the tunnel beyond my feet.
The light swallows me whole. I squint, unable to see.
Am I still falling? I have no sense of speed.
Blaring light becomes hard angles. Large shards of glass twist and spin around me.
Mirrors reflected on mirrors reveal images that make no sense.
They bend my reality in a confusing kaleidoscope of emotions that have colors.
A mirror halts before me. I see myself and stare. Blood covers my abdomen. I reach down to touch it. My hand rises, dripping and stained red. Confused and losing consciousness, I stumble back and smash into a wall.
Frightened and my heart pounding, I turn to a new mirror.
I place my palms on the glass, leaving two bloody handprints.
In the reflection, an inky crimson spot plumes like watercolor across the front of my white shirt.
Then new spots form. My leg. My arm. Blood continues to seep, converting my clothes into a gruesome tie-dye.
It’s everywhere, and I can’t stop it. My heart launches into my throat, throbbing in a painful ache that’s splitting me from the inside out. A rumble wells from deep inside me, and I release another scream.
Screaming, I wake from the nightmare. The shrieks transform to heaving, and my stomach lurches.
I leap from bed and sprint to the bathroom.
Clenching the chilled seat, I vomit into the commode, disgorging the contents of my stomach until nothing but an achy hollowness remains.
When the muscle spasms subside, I slide to the floor exhausted with my back against the tub.
The tile cools my damp skin, and I breathe heavily.
Still panicked from the nightmare, I peer from my bathroom and out the door to my bedroom. I reassure myself it was only a dream, and I’m safe. But my sense of safety is fleeting.
When I replay the vivid dream, I’m sure of one thing. The parts that made sense were true.
After all these years, a few memories of that awful day have returned.