They're dead.
They’re really dead, and it’s all my fault. If I had told them that something didn’t seem right then maybe the outcome would be totally different. Or maybe it still would have ended the same. Now we’ll never know.
Liam is three so he probably won’t even remember our parents or the accident. But still there’s a part of me that wants to believe that he’ll at least know something is wrong. I know that’s a selfish thing to wish but all I want is to not be in this alone.
And that’s what I am. Alone.
Of course, I don’t tell aunt Jenna, who recently adopted us, about this. I don’t want her to worry even more than she is already. We were basically dumped in her lap just because she’s our last living relative. Not to mention she’s mom’s twin.
Well sorry, she was mom’s twin. You can’t really say they’re twins anymore because that would mean there are two of them. Now there’s just one.
I don’t think she’s even stable on her own, not to mention with two, young children. It still hurts when I look at her. I’m reminded so much of mom even though they are completely different people. They are quite literally the complete opposite from each other. In personality and in lifestyles.
Mom was neat and tidy. An absolute rule follower, never out of order. It was as if she would die if she ever broke any rules. Well, she still ended up in a grave no matter what. It’s a really sucky way of thinking but I think of it as being real with myself since no one else will be.
Aunt Jenna is completely different. She has pretty much a hippy way of thinking. She’s one with nature as she likes to say. It’s just another way of saying that used to be high all the time when she was younger. Of course she hasn’t taken anything since we were put in her care but you can still see that she’s miserable without that part of her life.
We make her miserable.
Her house is filled with bright colors, fun looking furniture, and scented oils. Like I said, completely different.
Aunt Jenna didn’t live far from where we used to live, only about an hour, but I still had to enroll into a new school. I’ll turn 7 in a few weeks so I’m in first grade, not that it really matters because even though my parents died, the world still kept turning with everyone along with it. Just not me. I had my first day at my new school a month ago but didn’t learn anything because most of the time I was zoned out, thinking about my parents. Thinking about that night.
When I first entered the school, there were multiple rumors flying around about me. My peers either tried to befriend me out of pity or would outright tell me to go away because I was a freak of nature (their words, not mine). My new teachers tried to reach out, to comfort me but eventually stopped. Everyone just went on with their lives glad that they weren’t the ones that watched their parents die. It made me mad with the attention I was gathering but I was enraged by the fact that they could just not care anymore about what happened.
That they could go home to their parents.
That they could talk to their parents about their day.
That they would get a good night’s kiss and an assurance that they would never leave their poor children on their own.
Don’t get me wrong, aunt Jenna tries. She tries so hard that it hurts even more because she just can’t get the whole parenting thing down. She just can’t replicate a mother’s embrace, or a father’s pride for his children. Which just makes me even more angry. But it also makes me sad because I can’t give what she’s trying so hard to earn.
Pain is about the only thing that I feel these days. The scars that I earned that night are still fairly new. The stitches are still in, making the scarred flesh bright pink, and puckery. Everytime I try to forget about them, they send a pulsing pain through my body to make me remember. They make it impossible to forget.
That’s the only thing I want. I just want to forget.
Another thing I want to do is get out of this stupid office.
Aunt Jenna makes me go to a therapist three days out of a week. She wants me to be unbroken, so does everyone else, but she can’t figure out how to help put me back together. So as a last resort she has sent me away to talk to a complete stranger that scribbles most of the time on a notepad rather than actually help me. Sometimes I wonder what she’s writing on her notepad because I don’t really talk. Though most of the time I don’t care.
“How are you today Scarlett?” She asks after trying for several minutes to try to get me to open up. It doesn’t work. It never works.
“The same as last time you asked that.” I respond, calmly. I always have a blank face every time someone asks about how I’m doing, or if they ask about my parents. I make sure that my voice doesn’t quiver when I talk about them. I compartmentalize my feelings, as my therapist says. Apparently it’s very impressive for someone my age. It’s also very concerning.
She looks up from her notepad at my tone. If she wasn’t someone who was trying to crack me open, I would think that she’s actually very pretty. Her eyes are a warming brown color, hidden behind round, wiry glasses. They’re made to draw you in and think that she actually cares even though she’s getting paid for letting you spill your guts to her. Her lips are very expressive but they mostly stay in a frown around me as if she’s always sad when I come around. Maybe she is, I have that effect on people. Her hair is a dark brown with a hint of red, and it’s always tied up in a messy bun that always looks like it’s about to topple over.
Her hair reminds me of mom.
“You didn’t answer the question before, so how am I supposed to know how you feel?” Her head tilts to the side while she’s talking, she’s trying to figure me out and it’s freaking annoying.
“Look Ms…” It takes me a moment to remember her name, “Ms. Swan.” She nods. “Just because you don’t know doesn’t mean I don’t know how I feel. That’s what this is all about right? For me to figure out my emotions and learn how to cope?” I say, deadpan.
Ms. Swan lets out a sigh and shakes her head. “Yeah kid. That’s what this is all about but still you should know that keeping those emotions to yourself is slowly killing you from the inside. You have to at least share it with one person. Even if that person is imaginary. At least it would still be out there instead of in there.” She points at me for emphasis.
I look down to my tiny body in search of my skin deteriorating but don’t see anything so I look back up at her to find her questioning what I just did. I hold my hand up, “I don’t see any signs of me dying from the inside.” I shrug.
She cracks a smile before getting back into business mode. “I don’t mean literally, it’s a figure of speech. Do you know what that means?”
“Dude, I’m in first grade. I know what figure of speech means. What I just did there was called sarcasm. Ever heard of it? Well the first lesson of it is to know when you receive it.”
Ms. Swan ignores the last comment. “It’s very impressive for someone your age to know what that means. You must be very smart. How is it that you're so knowledgeable?” She’s trying to stroke my ego.
I just shrug it off and say, “I’m a very curious kid.”
She looks down next to me where I put my book down when I came in. “Ah. I see. So I assume that you like books. That’s also very unusual for your age.”
I throw her a smirk. “Guess I’m unusual.”
She huffs out a laugh and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.
We stay quiet for a while. It starts to get uncomfortable so finally I break it.
“When will I be able to leave?” I ask looking at the oversize watch on my wrist even though I know it doesn't work.
“You were never forced to be here.” I’m about to counteract that statement but she keeps going, “The door is always open for you to leave.” I get up and grab my book, heading to the door. “But it’s also always open for you to come in!” She calls after me.
Aunt Jenna is waiting in an old beaten up seat in the waiting room. There are other people there but not many. She looks up when I approach her.
“You’re already done?” She asks.
“Yeah I am. Where is Liam?” I ask looking around, not finding him anywhere.
“With a babysitter. I thought we’d have a girls night out.” Aunt Jenna responds looking sheepish all of the sudden. I feel bad for her to be stuck with me but at the same time mad because she’s left Liam alone with a stranger.
“But what about Liam? He might be sad being left out,” I say trying to get her to change her mind and bring him with us.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine. It’s just one night, it won’t hurt anything.”
Won’t hurt anything? Our accident happened in one night. Less than that actually.
“But…” I tried to come up with a convincing counter argument but got nothing. Instead I give in even though I know I’ll be a buzzkill. “Well alright.”
Aunt Jenna claps her hands in accomplishment and immediately brightens up which just makes me look even more down.
“So where to?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise!!” She’s extremely cheery for someone in a therapist’s office.
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