Secret Lucidity(74)

“Anything.”

In an unwavering tone, he says, “Promise me that you won’t let this destroy you. That you won’t hurt yourself.”

My face crumples because we both know I’m not capable of that.

“Try,” he begs.

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have—”

“You did absolutely nothing wrong, do you hear me? Don’t you ever blame yourself for this. We fell in love. That’s all. And only you and I will ever know the truth to what we are.”

I choke down his kiss through fear and love, clinging to him with fractured hope that this won’t be our last. That somehow we will come through this. That our love for each other will be strong enough to survive whatever awaits us.

“I’d stay here forever if I could,” I whisper against his lips.

“I know you would.”

“I love you.” Our tear-filled eyes lock, and I give him the goodbye I never thought I’d have to give him. “A part of me wanted to die before you came along. My world was so dark, and then there you were, and I swear to God, David, you saved me. You opened me up and showed me a love I felt so undeserving of, but you gave it to me anyway.”

“You’ll always have that love. With or without me, I can’t image living in a world where I don’t love you.”

With my insides drowning in heartbreak, he helps me out to the garage where we touch and kiss and cry, all while praying with everything we have that nothing bad will come of this. That this isn’t our goodbye. That we will come through this, because how could we not with a love as powerful as ours?

I then drive away with a heart that no longer beats inside me because I left it on the ground at his feet. And I know that my soul will be forever stained by his like a piece of art, forever marked in his love.





TIME NO LONGER EXISTS.

Hours.

Minutes.

Seconds.

They don’t mean anything anymore. They’re just useless markers, doing nothing to push time forward, because time is nonexistent when your world has crumbled into nothingness.

I find myself staring out my window, watching as the sun and moon trade shifts in a warless tango. A dance so beautiful, so simplistic, that it never fails. You can depend on them to show up again and again. And they do. Casting heat and light down upon me—the suffering.

Four new cuts adorn my marred canvas. And here I sit, again, on the floor of my bathroom about to add a fifth with a brand new blade that shines in my dad’s straight razor handle.

I’m down to the last messages. For the past few days, I’ve slowly been erasing evidence of David. Slowly removing texts, one by one, reliving all the conversations we’ve ever had. Reading them . . . and then deleting them.

I told myself days ago just to delete everything in one foul swoop, but I couldn’t erase him so quickly. So instead, I drag it out, reminiscing and then eliminating, and when I can’t go on, I cut myself to release the pain.

Delete

Delete

Delete

And then there was one.

Me: Where are you?

It’s been three days since I sent that text. Three days since my universe came crashing down. Three days since we said our goodbyes. It was supposed to be another typical day; it was anything but. Both of us were completely blindsided. First him and then me. He was so scared to give me a heads up or a warning of any kind that he never responded to that text.

I want to call him so bad. I want to hear his voice, but I already deleted the voice mails that I had saved to my phone. All I can do now is wonder: How is he? How bad is he hurting? Has he been brought in for questioning?

I’ve yet to talk to the police. My mother never even mentioned the message I left on her cell, so I can only assume she never bothered to listen to it. I decided not to say anything to her out of fear and panic. Instead, I’ve been ditching school, waiting in a constant state of despair, wondering if, or when, the police will make another appearance.

I’m living in the unknown, and it’s a scary place to be.

Delete

With a stroke of my wrist, the blade sinks deeply into tender flesh.




“Camellia!”

My mother’s loud calling wakes me, and when I blink my eyes open, I see the sun has returned yet again.

“Camellia!”

“Coming!” I shout as I roll out of bed after another restless night’s sleep.

Dragging my feet across the floor, I open my bedroom door. When I look over the railing at the top of the stairs and see my mother standing next to two police officers, I know my time is up. Their eyes cast upon me, and my stomach twists dreadfully.

“What is going on?” my mother questions accusingly.

I take a hard swallow and turn it around on her. “Maybe you should answer your phone once in a while.”

“Watch your tone, young lady.”

“If the two of you could be at the station in an hour,” one of the officers says.

“Of course,” my mom agrees in a much sweeter tone than the one she saves for me.

The cops give a nod to my mom and one last look up to me before walking out the front door.

My mom waits a moment before marching up the stairs. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing when the police show up at our house and ask us to go to the station so they can question you. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time: What is going on?”