Unravel(85)

My body is leaden. Walking seems like too much effort. Yet, somehow, I’m moving. I stare down at my body as it’s pushed across the room by some unseen force. I hover right above Lana and her dad. Her eyes, that are now identical to mine, meet my gaze. The pain throughout me starts to double.

The first bullet punctures her dad’s skin. I watch in horror as his body jerks once before he falls backwards onto his daughter.

That’s when the impossible happens: my body merges with Lana’s.

It’s so painful, like I’m being squeezed through a small opening. My skin pulling, resisting. Nerves are tingling. I scream at the top of my lungs. My body starts to twitch. I grasp the air above me frantically.

Reach, reach, reach. I’m trying to grab onto anything to get me out of here. The pain inside of Lana is soul destroying, filled with demons waiting to smother me. It becomes too much and my hands drop limply to the floor.

My eyes feel heavy and swollen from tears. I blink a few times trying to adjust. But reality doesn’t give me time to adjust. It slams into me.

I’m not Lana. I’m not Lana. I’M NOT HER! My mind screams.

I’m too numb to hold onto anything, except for the fact that I can’t breathe.

“Get him off,” I pant. “Get him off me.”

There’s too much going on. My brain is on overload. It’s ready to explode. I feel so much pain. Little moans escape my mouth.

I feel a wet, sticky substance on my fingers. When I lift my hands, I see that my skin is paler and on my wrists are horizontal scars about four inches long. The skin is red and puckered.

My lips quiver.

“I’m not her,” I croak.

I turn my hand around and can see the bluish veins running underneath my skin. That sticky substance? It’s dark, warm blood and it’s on my fingers, slowly traveling down my hand, onto my arms. “Naomi.”

I look up at Max. He’s pushing Lana’s dad off me. When his weight is off me, I greedily suck up all the oxygen I can. Max drops the gun and stares down at me. His face is pale and his eyes are wild. There are flecks of Lana’s dad’s blood on his cheeks.

Not my dad. My dad wouldn’t hurt me like this, I think.

Max holds my face and looks into my eyes, saying my name again, this time with more concern.

“Talk to me,” he pleads.

And then I blink. It’s just one simple blink. But when I open my eyes back up, Max is Lachlan.

Impossible.

My mind is playing tricks on me. Or maybe the world is playing one big trick on me? Either way, I blink frantically, hoping that I’m wrong.

But Lachlan is still here, dressed in the clothes that Max had been wearing seconds ago and with flecks of blood on his face. His hands hook underneath my arms. He pulls me onto his lap, cradling my head. I lay there like a rag doll, my arms hanging at my sides. My eyes close and when they do, I see a memory.

It’s reeled in front of me slowly, giving me no choice but to absorb everything that happened. Lana is playing on the black asphalt, but it can’t be her because I remember sitting there and drawing. I remember the pieces of chalk spread out around me. I hum a song that my nanny had taught me. I was only eleven. The sun is hot on my back but it feels good. I continue to draw and trace and when my creation is just right, I curl up in a ball, right in the middle of my creation, on that hot asphalt, and fall asleep. The memory ends there. I remember it being a good summer day. But Lana gives me the rest of the memory. She shows my dad finding me later on. He was furious. He asked what the f*ck I was doing. I nervously tell him that I was sleeping. His eyes narrow slightly. He looks down at my creation and asks what I created. I move off my creation and look down. On the black asphalt was the outline of a body. I didn’t give it eyes, nose, mouth or even hair. But I gave it a heart. Because in my 11-year-old mind, that’s all that it needed, and it had been holding me tightly in its arms. On this black asphalt was a parent I had always wanted. It accepted my love, and in return loved me unconditionally. On this black asphalt was something I could never have.

My dad had screamed at the mess I made on the driveway. Told me to get a hose, clean it up and then to go clean myself up. When I was clean, he raped me.

My body starts to shake.

All the pain I felt was one dark soul unraveling and intertwining itself around the other soul—the clean soul. The darkness hands over its black memories, hoping that purity of the clean will obscure all its pain.

I feel arms squeeze me tighter. Keep pressing, keep holding, I think to myself. Maybe then all this pain and agony will leave my body.

I look down and finally accept that it’s my own dad’s blood spreading across the ground, seeping into the cracks of the wood floor.

The body holding me pulls away. I’m looking into the eyes of Lachlan.

“I’m so sorry,” Lachlan whispers hoarsely.

This pain is mine and only mine. My body starts to shake until I’m practically convulsing.

Time speeds up right after that and I see Dr. Rutledge standing in the doorway. Her face instantly pales as she takes in the room. Her eyes go from the gun to Lachlan. She’s putting the pieces together quickly.

Then she looks at me. Not with her doctor eyes, she looks at me with so much sorrow and understanding. I realize then that she knew all along. She walks into the room, kicking pieces of splintered wood aside.

“What happened?” she asks.