I was home alone. The small fraction of me that still felt happiness was relieved that Mum was at work. I wouldn’t have been able to fake it. I wouldn’t have been able to convince her I was anything other than disheartened.
I landed on my bed. Tears fell down my chin. I was remembering everything. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have a chance to cease the memories. To halt their presence. It was too late.
It felt like the world’s water rushed over my body. I was losing oxygen fast. I closed my eyes and tried to shut it all off, but the flashing memories sparked through my mind. I saw it. I felt it. Skin. Screaming. Begging. Pleading. Blood trickling. His hands locked around my wrists, holding me in place. His black stare piercing my soul. His heavy breaths as he forced himself into me. I opened my eyes but didn’t find relief. I still saw it. I still felt it. Pain.
I was breaking.
I could no longer hear Kai calling out to me. I could no longer hear the knocking on the front door. Not that I was going to let him in. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I couldn’t let him see me like this.
It was morning. My eyes cracked open. I woke with dry eyes. Had I used up all my tears? Somehow I had slept. I woke up with a small fighting chance of hope. But what was the point?
My phone beeped.
The echo made me jolt. I almost released a scream.
I knew who it was. I looked at the screen and saw eight unread texts.
Kai: Peyton what’s going on? 8:59 pm
Kai: Please open the door. 9:02 pm
Kai: I’m going home now. Let me know if u need anything. OXOX 9:33 pm
Kai: Talk to me. Let me help. 10:27 pm
Kai: Please call me. 11:00 pm
Kai: Did I do something wrong? 11:13 pm
Kai: Do you hate me? 11:15 pm
Kai: Peyton, this is breaking my heart. Please respond to my messages. 7:14 am
I didn’t respond to any of them. I couldn’t. That would only encourage him to drive to my house and plea for an audience with me. I couldn’t have him here. I couldn’t handle him here. I couldn’t handle what had happened.
It was afternoon. I fell asleep, drained of everything. I needed rest. I woke knowing I had to cut Kai off. Cut him off completely. I didn’t want to drag him through the mud with me. A guy like him shouldn’t have to put up with someone like me. Especially given his past with his father. I knew it was best if I just ignored him. Let him forget about me.
My phone beeped.
I ignored it.
Minutes passed and it beeped again. I couldn’t take the risk of not reading the message. It could have been Mum or Liam. I could tell Mum knew there was something going on. That morning I had kept my distance from her. I had locked myself in my room and told her my creative juices were flowing. That I was creating a masterpiece and needed space. The truth was, I was crumpled on the other side of the door with my back against it – ready to push if she tried to open it. The truth was, I couldn’t bear to look at her. I couldn’t look at her beautiful face or be around her kindness. I couldn’t look her in the eye, as I was drenched in the remembrance of my darkness. I wasn’t strong enough to mask myself with bravery. My armour was broken and I knew she would see through the cracks too easily.
Mum had sent me a message earlier that read: “I love you. XX”
I knew she loved me. We liked to send random messages to one another – it was a Swift-family thing. But that day, her three-worded text felt like it was coming from a different place. Maybe because I was in a different place.
The text wasn’t from Mum or Liam, it was from Kai.
Kai: Can I come over? Y or N.
I waited several minutes before I replied. I knew my response would bring him disappointment.
Me: N.
He replied immediately.
Kai: Why?
I wiped the tears that fell down my chin.
Me: N.A.
Don’t hate me.
The house was soaked in silence. The dull sound of the ticking clock was all I heard. I stood in the lounge, compulsively staring at the air in front of me. I couldn’t shake away my past. My long dark hair drooped over me. I felt like a creepy-zombie-girl from a horror movie. My body swayed. I didn’t stop the movement. It kind of soothed me.
My phone beeped.
I knew it was Kai. This time, I didn’t even check it.
In the middle of the lounge, my eyelids grew heavy and my thoughts were searing. Every heartbeat hurt with the moments leading up to the accident. The details of my secret. My pain. The reason why I forced myself to see grey.
I found myself in front of the door. The door that led to my artwork. My fingers trembled as I reached for the handle. It felt like ice against my skin. I opened the door and moved inside. The strong aroma of paint and pencil sharpenings attacked my nose. My hand found the light switch. My teary eyes searched the space. It was exactly how I had left it. Exactly how I remembered. Two large tables were filled with art supplies and pieces I had been working on. Shelves were stacked with new stock. The overhead light brightened the room. It used to make me feel warm – safe – but in that moment it was just a light. Something for me to see my past with.
I warily stepped towards the canvases at the easel. There were three. The largest was displayed on the wooden stand and the other two leant against the legs. I glared at the paint-stained squares. It felt like I had been shot in the chest.
One canvas was attacked with red paint splattered one layer upon another.
The image on the second canvas was a giant eye. My eye. Blue like the dark layer of the ocean and detailed with patterns showcasing the bloodshot. The eyelids were raw. Crystal-like tears filled the brim and looked like they were about to descend onto the floor, leaving a large puddle that would need to be mopped up. Over the eye were messily painted words, written thin enough that the detailing of the eye colour, and the hurt it embodied, shone past them. The words read everything I had been feeling. Everything I am feeling: Broken. Vulnerable. Lost.
The third canvas was the largest of the three. It sat on the arms of the easel. As I examined the piece, a horrid taste filled my mouth. It was the portrait of a boy. The boy. His face was drawn from an angle so you wouldn’t know it was him, unless you really knew him. I knew it was him. I hated him. I had painted his dark eyes the way I remembered them. The way his jaw clenched looked like it could cut you. His face was painted decoratively and aesthetically pleasing – and I hated that I had made it look that way: as if someone could actually find it – him – pleasant. Good. Covering the canvas were paint-written words. All honest. All true. The words read: You Hurt Me. Evil. Thief.
I studied the three paintings. All my thoughts, all my feelings swirled into one. I felt like I was being taken over by a hurricane of raw emotion. I hated myself. I hated what I had become. I knew the moment I stepped into my Art Cave I would feel darker. Glummer. That was something I couldn’t change. I left the cave and curled onto my bed with my dark hair wrapped around me. I was misplaced. Disorientated.
A couple of days passed. I still hadn’t spoken with Kai. He had left me messages. But I’d never responded. He had come around when Mum was home. I’d told her not to let him in. She obeyed my orders.
I missed him.
The dark flashes repeated. But now there was no pause button. They continued to haunt. I was submerged in gloom. Alone.
I kept my conversations with Mum short and simple. Even the other morning when she made us waffles for breakfast. She decorated mine with a smiley face made with raspberries. From the look in her eyes I knew she didn’t believe my smile.
We sat opposite each at the table. I could barely look at her.
“Peyton, sweetheart, what’s wrong? What’s going on? You’ve been …”
“I’ve just got a bit of a headache, Mum. That’s all. I’ll just drink more water or take some pain medication and I’ll be fine.”
“Do you need me to call Dr Enderson? Is the headache because of the crash? Because you know …”
“I know. He said I’d get terrible headaches for a little while.” I shoved a forkful of waffle in my mouth and regretted it, knowing I’d have to swallow it.
“Well you better get to work, Mum. Don’t want to be late. I can clean the dishes. I’ve got other stuff to do today anyway … I’m going to go brush my teeth now.” I quickly stepped to her, barely pecked her cheek before I rushed down the hallway. I only just made it to the bathroom before tears streamed down my chin. I grabbed my towel and covered my face to mask the sound of my cries.
I knew I was pushing people away. But I didn’t know what else to do. When Liam called I didn’t answer. When he texted me I hardly ever replied with more than a few words. I knew I was doing the opposite of convincing him I was OK, but I didn’t have the energy to play that game anymore. I could tell Mum was hurting. Consumed with worry.
I was shutting down.
I was losing my way.
Again.
Mum had tried to give me space. Let me have my time. I knew she hadn’t pushed to get answers from me because usually I found my own way to her. Usually I tell her anything. I saw her concern growing.
One morning, she gently entered my bedroom. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t force her to leave like I had previously. I stayed covered in my bed – as if my blanket was my shield.
“Morning P.” She softly sat next to me and stroked my hair. “I know something’s going on. It’s not a headache, and I’m not fully convinced your creative juices have been flowing. Peyton, sweetheart. Talk to me. Let me help you. What’s going on?”
I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t want any more tears. But I felt them piling up my tear ducts.
“Is it to do with Kai? Did he hurt you?”
“No.” I sniffled. “It’s not about him.”
I could tell she was fighting back her own tears. Trying to be strong. “Is it to do with the accident?”
I nodded. Tears roll down my cheeks.
“P, if you don’t want to speak to me about it, it’s OK. I understand. But I really think you should try and speak with Dr Wilson … You like him, don’t you? He’s been helping …” She kissed the top of my head then rested her chin on my hair as she whispered almost inaudibly: “I don’t want to lose you.” She kissed my head again.
I didn’t want to be lost.
I agreed to speak with Dr Wilson. I told her he was the only person I wanted to talk to, even though I knew that would hurt her. He was the only person I could talk to. I didn’t know why. Maybe his office was my sanctuary.