I wanted to take back what I had just said, knowing that it would automatically prove my guilt. I wanted to tell the lady nevermind, but she had began to already pull out a thick book. She took in out and placed it in front of me, “On the house, just enjoy some time to yourself,” she began to push it towards me. A seemingly sympathetic look crossing over her face for a brief moment.
I nodded and then took the book from her, “Thank you.” I pushed the book down into the plastic bag I had been carrying and began to walk out the door, not ready to go back out into the cold darkness. I took a breath and then walked out, and looked around. This used to be my old home, before I moved away to live by myself. I reached into my back pocket to call a taxi. I needed to get home so I could plan everything out this time, so I could plan my temporary escape. After a few moments passed a yellow cab had stopped in front of me. I quickly got in as the driver began to make the trip to my home.
Once we arrived at the house, I quickly paid and then walked inside the house. The rain had already began to pick up, and the wind had also began to blow harder. I could hear they way it whistled through the trees that had been located outside of my window. I locked the door and then took off my shoes, automatically walking to the one room apartment that I have been living in for years. The walls that kept me closed in for endless hours a day, the ones that left me alone with my own thoughts and insecurities had also been my safe haven. I leaned back on my bed, the bag still in my hand as a reminder that I could just run away. The much easier choice, but the riskier one. For many moments I just stared at the ceiling, letting my thoughts flow freely. I couldn't stop them, but I knew I needed to. It was all too overwhelming, but it was okay to be weak now; because I am truly alone inside these four walls. I just was not going to allow myself to cry anymore, simply because I was tired of crying over the problems I couldn’t fix anymore, or over the mistakes I had made.
I sniffed and then removed my hand from around the bag. I needed to take my mind off of this, maybe even if I planned this vacation it would ease my mind for a few hours at most. Everything I do seemed to be something to dull the pain I still felt bubbling up inside me. I stood out of my bed and looked into the mirror, staring at myself. I knew it was me, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like the monster I had felt clawing inside of me yesterday was trying to get out, I’m trying so hard to suppress it. To keep it at bay so I don’t do anything like that again. But I know that I can’t blame this on some ‘Monster,’ because I am the monster. The Monster isn’t another person, it’s the real me that I’ve been trying to hide for years. Maybe that wasn’t normal for everyone, but for me this was the reality. I can’t stand to look at the real me, so I labeled it as a monster, I kept trying to convince myself that it wasn’t me that did it….but the monster. If I kept this up then maybe I could be placed in a Mental Institution and not a jail. No, I can’t do that. I need to own up to my actions, but not before having a little fun first. I need to go out with a big bang, right? I nodded to myself as to answer my own question.
I took a step forwards and then opened my closet, changing into something to sleep in and then taking out a yellow notebook that had been adored with red hand drawn flowers, the name; Aella had been written neatly in the corner. I laughed quietly to myself, I found it amusing how something that looked to happy hold some of my darkest thoughts. My darkest ideas. Looks really can be deceiving, I could tell anyone all about that. I opened it to the first page, slightly disturbed by how horrible my writing had been years ago. Of all the things to notice first, it had been the handwriting. Not how I had practically written out my entire rough murder plan on a paper. Exactly how I was going to do kill the man, and also when. I took a breath and let my eyes read the page, a small smile playing on my lips. In no way did I ever think that this was funny, it was just weird to think that I could think of this, that I had had so many ideas written down but crossed them off because I thought they would draw too much attention, or because I thought that it would be too noisy.
I snapped out of the page quickly and turned to a clean one, “You’re supposed to be trying to relax, Aella.” I said quietly to myself and began to reach over my bed to pick up a jar of pens. Despite the fact that almost anything I wrote in the book had been horrifying and gloomy in its own way, that didn’t stop me from writing in color to express my thoughts. Each of my moods had their own color, something that an old therapist had told me when my mom first died. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying to think of how to best describe my mood.
“Blue..?” I asked myself quietly, soon shaking my head, I wasn’t feeling exactly sad. I wasn’t really feeling any type of way, all of my emotions seemed to get cancelled out by each other. Maybe I was just confused, I think that would be the best way to describe myself right now. I reached over to my jar and then picked up a purple ink pen, taking off the lid and placing it on the back of the pen. I knew that it wasn’t the best idea to write down all of this, but I needed some kind of outlet. I didn’t want to call my friends, I don’t want any of them wrapped into this mess. I couldn’t call any of my family, they were all most definitely out of the question. So all it left me with was the journal, the faint words of advice from my therapists, and also the sweet words of my mother. With those three things, I could write everything and anything I had been feeling in these moments.
I brought my pen down to the top of the page and began to write the date May 20th, 2010, along with the way I felt which had been confusion. I then moved the the under the header and began to write. I wrote about everything, not even stopping when my hand had began to cramp up from how tight I had been holding my pencil. Everything just made me feel better when I could see my own thoughts and feelings pour out onto the pages, and if I really felt bad about it...I could always burn it. I looked over the page and felt my throat go thick once I realized what I had done, I had began to feel angry. I felt the anger begin to push my own tears over my clouded eyes. I tossed the purple pen to the side and grabbed the red pen, adding on the words. “I killed my father and my brother took on the case.” After I wrote those words I felt weak, I wanted to collapse, I couldn’t write anymore, but I needed to. I had to squeeze these words out.
“Dad killed mom, I know he did.” Those were the last words on the page, the same words I had been repeating to myself for years. That words that had been driving my into the killer craze, if he didn’t do this then none of this would have happened. We would all still be that seemingly picture perfect family. I couldn’t stop the tears that had began to fall down my cheeks, they had been filled with anger and grief. I reached up to try and wipe them away but the only kept getting replaced with more. I need to be strong, I need to get through this. I will get out of this one way or another, even if it was the death of me.
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