Becca
Chapter 15
Becca
December 10th, 2014 – Death Day
Ignoring the big pop-up for 988, I scroll down and open the thread again that details how to do it just right. None of the crying for attention shit. I don’t want that. I want to go into the abyss discreetly. I crave a quiet exit. Everything’s been too loud for too long. Ever since that night. The night when my luck soured, when the cards turned against me.
Just a few months ago, everything held so much promise. Twenty-three meant getting ready to graduate. Twenty-three meant getting my own place with my friends. Twenty-three meant the start of the rest of my life.
And why should I have expected anything different? The last twenty-two years have gone pretty well. I’ve never wanted for anything. I have a happy family. It’s never been difficult for me to make friends. I’ve always been conventionally attractive. School came easily to me. I didn’t get into trouble. I was on the path to a successful future. Some would go so far as to call me a golden girl.
That was before. Before that night. Before Nate. Before them.
As we all know, moisture tarnishes gold. The salt of their sweat and other fluids coating me, rubbing me raw in more ways than one. All that forced friction dulling my shine. I’m mottled with metallic abrasion. It’s a morbid mosaic of black and green discolorations, this body of mine. That’s why the skirts and tops that put me on display are resigned to the back of the closet. There they can’t attract perverse attention. There they’re not inviting unwanted touches.
Death looms close, its breath on my neck. A shiver rolls over me as I remove the sweaty clothes I’ve been wearing for the last few days. My sweatpants follow, then hesitantly, my underwear. What used to be a mundane act feels too exposing despite being in the privacy of my own bedroom. Even without other hands snatching them down.
Distant thumping of bass drifts into one ear and out the other. With it, I sway between this moment and another. In the other, heavy breathing heats my chest just over the spot where my heart is shattering. Instead of song lyrics, it’s the placations of a fragile ego.
You like that, Murphy?
Not so hard to get now, are you?
Guess I can cross twins off the list.
That last one is punctuated with a sadistic symphony of laughter. A trio of blurry faces taunt me as my drooping lids struggle to remain open.
Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. An offbeat chant in my head. Something even I can’t quite understand comes out between numb lips, coated in thick saliva that clings to every syllable.
But searing pain in my mouth disrupts the mirage of suffering that’s been a loop in my mind for months. My throbbing cheek roots me in reality as I put distance between myself and those things I don’t want to remember. The problem is, they’re ravenous and they’ve caught my scent, they feel the lure of my fear. They’ll find me again; that’s why I need to go where they can’t find me. That’s why I need to stay focused.
With great effort, I drag my gaze from the floor where it’s been anchored for months—I nearly pant with the exertion to reel it upward—and meet my reflection. When my eyes meet in the mirror, all my muscles go taut, on alert. A looming blackness creeps into view at the corner of my vision. Blinking, I try to dispel the gauzy presence that brings a familiar heaviness with it. But it remains persistently at my back. I don’t dare stare. Instead, I shift my attention to the shallows of my gaze, where I see a familiar figure drowning. I might be able to save her; she’s still flailing. I watch as waves come in, rolling, stacking, growing. It’s now or never. But then three sets of strong hands slither over her—clawing up her legs, latching around her wrists, choking around her throat—so I back away. I’m no match for them. I wasn’t in June and couldn’t be now in the bitter cold of December. Still, my feet stick in the dark, sucking sand. She parts her lips on a scream but it’s just a gaping void of emptiness; I see myself there, in her sore, hollowed throat. Even still, I don’t move to help her, and the opportunity is lost as a hand claps over her mouth, stifling her calls for help for good. We stare at one another wide-eyed and filled with bone-deep sorrow for several seconds as she sinks down, down, down into the murky waters.
With a shuddering sigh, I turn away. I’m already too cold; no sense in getting myself wet when it won’t do any good. Instead, I do her a different kindness; I prepare the body for its final rest.
I reach for comfort as I prepare for the end with death’s eyes heavy on my back. I slip on a pair of denim shorts that close easily over my hips where the bones are sharper than they were the last time I wore these. Next, I pull a white tank over my head, running my fingertips over it, smoothing down my torso where I can feel my ribs if I put too much pressure. I finish the outfit with Aiden’s black and white flannel; it’s always been a bit oversized but it’s much airier than before. Regardless, in its embrace, I’m safer than I have been in months.
Focusing on my task, I pick up the black brush on my desk—not bothering to clean out the dead strands that clog the bristles—and run it through long, tangled hair. My teeth grind as I rip through knot after neglected knot, but I persist until it’s smooth once more. I go for the straightener next, forcing the strands into the sleek silkiness that appears naturally effortless. When I’m finished, chestnut brown hair gleams. Perfect; just like the mane of a prized mare.
Next, I sit sideways at my desk and unzip my makeup bag, the contents are foreign to me after all these months. The brushes fit awkwardly in my fingers at first, but thankfully, muscle memory takes over.
As I proceed with the practiced motions, I’m careful not to look into the intent milky gaze of the drowning girl. Instead, I focus on the individual parts starting with the eyelids, carefully blending the varying shades of nude to create a soft, neutral look. The brush sweeps on foundation, and then a subtle blush to the cheeks; forcing a smile to apply it is uncomfortable, the awakened muscles groaning as they stretch. Down-turned lips are lined in nude and topped with a light, low-stick gloss. The girl next door never wears too much makeup.
Walking over to my jewelry box, I lift the lid and assess all the beautiful pieces collected over the years. My fingers hover over my favorite pair of earrings, the ones with the dangling butterflies, but I pass over them—those are too special to tarnish with my touch now. Instead, I select mismatched sun and moon huggies—the ones that remind me of my brother and me; two of a kind but so vastly different. Absentmindedly, I stroke the many other studs and tiny hoops that adorn my ears at all times as I look for the ring my parents gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I haven’t worn it forever but I don’t want to leave it behind. I slip it on my middle finger, admiring the smoky quartz heart on its braided gold band. To finish it off, I layer a set of thin gold necklaces around my slender neck.
Disgust is sticky in my throat as I stand in front of the mirror.
There she is, their little doll once again; all bright and shiny, just like new.
“Don’t look so sad, Becca. You’re going to feel so much better. Come on, we have to go.” The sweet voice that tickles something at the back of my mind encourages.
With a deep breath, I prepare myself to leave. On quiet feet, I begin picking things up, putting them in their place; my mother shouldn’t have to deal with it, not on top of everything else. Sheets and blankets are pulled tight and smoothed over. Pillows are stacked just so. My book is set at the foot opened to the page I left off on. With straining arms, I collect the mountain of laundry I’ve long neglected and shove the heaping pile into the now-overflowing basket in my closet. And finally, I line up my notebooks, stick my pens and highlighters in their holder, and stack my dusty textbooks so my desk is tidy just like I used to keep it.
Everything is as it should be. With a click of the remote, I turn off my sprawling fairy lights, plunging the room into darkness.
There we have it, a lifetime made into a museum. Becca Murphy forever enshrined.
On my way out, I trail my fingers over the surfaces of my nightstand, my bedspread, my desk, letting the memories that have settled in the dust coat my palms. It clings to me like everything I need to forget.
Carefully, I open my bedroom door, the string of butterfly charms that hangs from the knob tinkling quietly. I freeze, my worn heart in my throat. The maddening thumping makes it difficult to hear movement in the house as I peer through the crack. My eyes dry as I watch vigilantly. When sixty seconds pass with only the blackness at the end of the hall watching me in eager anticipation, I close my door behind me, diligently maintaining my focus on the bathroom as the heartbreaking melancholic cries of young girls emanate from it. Every instinct within me urges me to get as far away as possible. But my mind and my heart are on different pages.
Magnetized by some greater force—the one that circumvents my careful planning and any regard for self-preservation—I find myself resting against the door to my brother’s room. There’s no telling if he’s actually in there or in the bed of his latest hookup, but I can smell two-plus decades of him sealed into the wood—a playful mixture of paint and that warm, citrusy gender-neutral perfume he loves.
If I could be enveloped in the safety of that scent now, maybe I would feel a little less lost. Hovering around the knob, my hand quivers. There’s a tug on the string of fate knotted around my heart; that bond urging me to stay.
But this isn’t a thing love or family can fix, even a twin. There’s nothing left to salvage. I’m not a sister, or a daughter, or a friend, or anyone—I’m a ghost of my former self and she haunts me relentlessly night after night. I get glimpses of the girl I used to be, but there’s nothing real, nothing tangible . I’ve become detached, floating untethered, roaming further and further from that golden girl. I don’t even recognize her anymore; I question whether she ever existed. I’m hollowed, shallow, void. Nothing but echoes of threats between teeth, the friction of dirty sheets against my back, and the weight of bodies baring down on mine. I long for something else, anything else .
It’s like they say, nothing gold can ever stay.
I need to be melted down, the essence of me to be made into something new. There’s only one way to do that.
In a silent goodbye, I apologize for not making more time for him. He was a good brother, but I had my reasons. Muscle memory moves my fingers across the door making the shape of one of the few words I remember from our childhood secret language. The one we both understood before our paths diverged at the crossroads of adolescence. Before he was Aiden said on a sigh and I was Becca said with reverence.
None of that matters anymore. My path has ended in a cliff and there’s nowhere to go but forward. Off. To the other side.
Goodbye. It’s a whispe r on the wind; I hope the sincerity holds when the echo reaches him.
“Becca,” that reassuring little girl’s voice calls to me, leading me onward.
With a heavy sigh, I take the final steps to the bathroom. Once inside, I catch my breath, savoring these remaining moments with me and my lungs and the way they work to defy me.
“Hurry, Becca. You have to do this before they catch you. They won’t understand.” That sentient void looms ever-close behind me, creating shadows where there shouldn’t be any.
With determined hands, I keep moving through each step of my plan. I start by closing the drain and releasing the water, not bothering to turn it to the left. The icy hold of death will have me in her grasp soon enough. The tub fills, pummeling water rivaling the pounding in my chest, my ears, and my wrists. As my nerves ratchet higher, so do all my senses. The water is rushing like the blood boiling in my veins, loud and relentless. My rapid breaths are swirling winds that rush around my face. I press forward through the onslaught.
Slipping one foot beneath the water, I brace myself for the chill that stings across my skin. It takes some convincing, but the other follows. As the water rises, I peer down into the shallow basin and I think I see her there, the drowning girl. She’s come to collect. I’ve avoided her as long as I can. My knees crack as I lower myself into the water, no longer limber from so many days spent clutching them to my chest in a pathetic effort to keep myself together. Absorbing water, the oversized flannel clings to my body, a burial shroud. Shivering I lean back and gather my hair at the top of my head that I lay against the hard tile wall. My fingers quiver as they close around the razor. It gleams like the North Star in my hand. “You’re almost home,” the void leaning close soothes in a child’s voice that rings familiar but quickly slips from my mind as I drag the blade through my pale skin.
And it does feel right and warm and peaceful as I draw the final line in the sand. I’ve had enough, I’m done.
Blood blossoms in my mouth as it does from my veins, nourishing me one last time.
With heavy limbs, I give my final bow; I watch the curtains close through tired eyes, relieved when everything falls away.
Death feels familiar, like an old friend. I sink into the warmth of its dark embrace where I’m free of poisonous words and pursuit of perfection. But like anything good, it doesn’t last. With a jarring crash of the open door, I’m ripped back into the cold reality of my circumstances set to the soundtrack of my twin’s hushed devastation.
My eyes bounce from the gruesome state of my lifeless body finally reflecting the way I’ve felt the last few months to his crumpling features.
“Becca!” My name is a bullet tearing flesh as it launches from his throat. “Becca, stay with me.” Aiden’s quickening breaths crowd his words. “What have you done?” The last ounce of color drains from his naturally pale face as he rushes to the side of the tub and drops to his knees. The thudding blow to his bones makes me flinch but he doesn’t even register the impact. His hands hover over me as his eyes stare into my vacant ones. “Becca?”
“Aiden,” I gasp on a sob, but of course, he can’t hear.
“No, no, no, no…” His slender fingers wrap around one sliced wrist, and he presses them into the mangled skin, searching for a pulse. I watch helplessly as hope dies in his eyes. A fleeting shooting star in a dark night sky.
“Aiden, it’s okay—” I choke. The empty apology I’m tempted to offer like ashes on the wind.
My mom’s concerned voice carries down the hall. “Aiden, are you okay? What’s wrong?” The slap of slippers on wood flooring grows closer.
“No.” He kicks out a long leg, slamming the door shut, just moments before it would have crushed my mom’s fingers. He strains, pushing his weight into the door like it’ll save her. Maybe just this one horrific memory. Sorry you weren’t spared, Aiden.
“Mom, you can’t come in here. Not yet.” He quickly positions me, so I won’t slump back into the water and then leaps up to lock the door.
I turn away from the door, from what I know is unfolding on the other side. I can feel the panic pulsing through the air like a living thing. A mother’s love is tangible, but her fear, that’s suffocating.
I focus on my body, grimacing at the way my soggy hair clings to me like an insect caught in a web. All that effort for nothing.
“Becca, fuck; no this can’t be real. Wake up,” Aiden sobs.
“Aiden,” my mother says breathlessly, and the metallic shaking of the knob stops. “Aiden, what’s wrong with your sister?” It begins to move again. “Open this door right now.”
“Mom,” Aiden sobs into the crack of the frame, turning away from my lifeless body. “Please…” His raspy voice that’s always been steady and sure, snaps and crackles, lightning splitting an old oak. “Just trust me; there’s nothing you can do. You need to call an ambulance.”
Death snuffs out all sound, all movement. A mother’s greatest fear settles into place. Our little house goes cold, the loss echoing through their hearts and into its foundation.
The shrill dial tone throws everything back into motion. Aiden’s uneven breaths fill the bathroom, and I choke on his panic. Pale blue eyes search mine, finding them empty and wandering. A piece of himself gone. Shaking fingers lace with mine—my body’s—we’re not connected anymore but through memory. Aiden must feel it, too. When he tightens his grip, blood trickles down his bare forearm and he crumbles. Our blood on the outside doesn’t sit right. He looks so small as he pulls his legs into himself, forgetting his hold on the door as grief finally overrides his protective instincts.
“Aiden,” I whisper as I crouch to stroke his hair. “I—” Shock jolts through me when I realize I can’t feel the feathery softness of the unstyled strands or the heat of his scalp. My mom walks through me at the same moment and looks through me too as I gaze up at her from the floor of that bathroom that’s turned into a sarcophagus.
“My baby!” Her curdling scream is a powerful agony that could cave in the roof, shatter the walls, and bring it all down around us. “No, Becca. Please, no.”
The horror compounds as my dad sprints into the bathroom; his features contort with loss when he takes in the scene. “What—” A crackled wail leaves his throat that will haunt me for eternity if I’m forced to remain here like this.
Their pain is thousands of bullets piercing what’s left of my mangled heart.
What.
Have.
I.
Done.
“Mommy,” I cry out, begging her to fix my mistakes just one more time. She can’t hear me over layered sobs that surely sound like the pits of Hell sinking into my ears and clawing their way inward until they shred whatever’s left of my sanity. “Mom!” I claw at her clothing. “Mommy?” My throat burns from the screams that tear through it. “Please, see me. Don’t you feel me? I’m right here.” My frail hands wrap around her wrist in a vice grip and it’s like holding onto air. She slips through my fingers as she holds Aiden close, burying him into her chest, trying to shield him. They huddle around one another, their grief a tight circle that somehow revolves around me yet doesn’t include me. The reality of that distance between me and the people I love breaks something in me too. I cave in on myself beside them.
I did this. I imploded my family with one decision, one that I can never take back. If I’d known I’d be here to see the fallout or my detonation, would I have done it?
I let the truth of it anchor me in this moment, in the solidity of my regret. There’s nothing else to do but play the role of corpse just like I’d hoped.