Author's Note: I forgot to mention it in the first chapter, but this is the first draft. Critiquing is very much appreciated. :]
Also, this is essentially a flashback (except for the first bit), so that's why it's shifted between present & past tense.
Chapter Two
The night it happened is a night that is concreted into my memory. I remember what I wore that night, the weather, and the utter chaos that lasted into the morning.
It was exactly two weeks ago. Somehow, I’ve managed to breathe and eat and walk through these past two weeks.
I remember walking downstairs, into the dimly-lit kitchen. My mother was standing at the granite-topped island, with her head in her hands.
“Is everything okay?” I had asked, noticing that she was wearing a ratty robe and slippers with a hole in the toe.
Her head snapped up. “Oh, honey… everything’s fine. Are you hungry? Oh, wait, I just remembered that my pearl earrings are too small for my ears… would you like them?”
“Uh… you’re asking me if I want your prized earrings?” I replied, puzzled.
“Yes, I guess I am,” she noticed. “I just want you to have them. You know, if anything ever happens to me – just in case – you’ll have something to remember me by.”
“No thanks, Mom... you keep them,” I put my hands up. “And why are you saying stuff like this?”
She forced a smile. “No reason, baby. I was just…”
I stared at her. The corners of her mouth turned down, and her eyes glassed over.
“I’ll go get Dad…” My eyes flew to the closed den door, where a sports channel was blaring.
“No!” She froze. “I mean… you don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay. I’m just tired, I need some sleep. That’s all.”
“Okay… Well, I’ll be in my room.” I rolled my eyes and made my way up the stairs, and perched on the edge of my bed.
Sometime later – I don’t know how long it was – I heard my mother walk into the bathroom, and the lock clicking a few seconds later.
I just sat there, staring at the darkly-coloured Evanescence poster on my wall. Confusion clawed up my throat – what was she doing in there? Why was it taking so long?
Then it hit me like a lightning bolt. Maybe mom wasn’t okay.
Fear pierced through my heart as I forced myself to walk to the top of the stairwell.
“Daddy!” I screamed, tears beginning to form behind my eyelids. “Come quick! I think something’s happening to mom!”
He flew up the stairs. I haven’t called him “daddy” in thirteen years.
We crept next to the bathroom door. It was silent.
“Christine, are you okay?” Dad tapped on the door.
“Mom!” I shrieked, beginning to get hysterical.
“Stay here, Emily. I’ll be right back.” He raced into his and mom’s room.
I tried to catch my frenzied breath. I slumped against the wall as he returned with the heavy, velvet-covered stool that my mom used for putting on makeup.
“Christine!” he bellowed, bracing the chair against the door.
“She’s not coming out…” I cried, hiccupping.
“One… two… three…” he muttered, before ramming the chair full-force into the door.
It crashed to the ground. He stepped over it and his hand flew to his mouth.
I squeezed in behind and peeked around his tall form. The tears kept flowing.
My mother was lying in the bathtub. Her gaunt body was bathed in a sea of red and her head lolled.
“MOM, MOM, MOM!” I screeched, suspending myself over the edge of the tub.
Dad ran for the phone. “Yes, I have an emergency. My wife is dying in the bath tub, yes, I’m pretty sure it’s a suicide.”
He listens for a few seconds. “Please, please hurry.” He choked as the line went dead and the phone fell to the floor.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The next few hours were pretty blurry. All I remembered about it was that it was hectic, and depressing.
My mother was rushed into the ER. Activity flurried around me and my father as we sat in the waiting area, clutching Styrofoam cups of coffee.
My heart plummeted to the floor as a white-coated doctor came out to meet us. I was glued to my chair – nothing is ever good when the doctor wants to talk.
“Hello, Mr. Harrison… I’m Dr. Monroe.” He shook my father’s hand.
“How-how’s Christine?” Dad sputtered. “I have to see her. I have to…”
“Your wife… she had severe external bleeding. She lost so much blood… we tried infusing her, but nothing could restart her heart. We tried everything. We just couldn’t save her. And, according to autopsy reports… she was pregnant, approximately six weeks.”
“She…” Dad frowned, and tears spilled down his cheeks. He clutched me to him and we cried until our hearts were empty.
“I’m sorry.” The doctor reached out to touch Dad’s arm before walking down the hallway.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I’ve kept my emotions under lock and key ever since. Whenever anyone asks if I’m okay, I just give them a shy smile and say “yes, I’m fine”, making sure it’s polite.
What they don’t know though, is that underneath my façade, I’m breaking down, my heart splintering into a million tiny pieces.
And, as I continue to grieve, [especially now that I’m back at school] I’ll be extra careful to make sure I don’t slip; opening myself up to the world.
