“Morgan…” Her voice just above a whisper.
“Yeah, baby?” I smoothly ask, brushing the hair back away from her face.
“I feel like the part of me that I had left from before she passed has officially been ripped away from me. It’s been shattered, leaving me in broken pieces of the person I used to be.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” I close my eyes and take a steady breath. “Tell me what happened. Aunt Mel said your mom sent you something?”
“She packaged up all of my sister’s old journals and sketch books and sent them to me.”
“Did you know she kept them all this time?”
“I didn’t even know they existed.” I feel her shudder against me.
“Why would your mom send them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if she read them and wanted me to read them or if she was just cleaning stuff out and thought I’d want them. She didn’t send a note or even tell me she was sending them. She gave me no warning at all.”
“So you’ve been going through them since you left?”
She nods.
“That triggered your attack?”
“I read them.” Lifting her head slightly, she sniffs and wipes her cheeks off. “They’re awful.”
Rubbing the pad of my thumb under her eye, I brush away the mascara that’s smeared. “Tell me.”
She shakes her head slightly.
“Baby, please.” I rub a hand along her throat and jaw. “You don’t have to suffer in pain alone anymore. Let me take some of that burden.” I rest my forehead against hers, feeling her hot tears against my cheeks.
Slowly, she leans forward and grabs one of the open notebooks on the floor next to us. “This was from a month before she died.” She clears her throat as she begins to read.
I had the same dream again last night. Each time, it becomes scarier and darker. The dark shadows close in on me, making me claustrophobic. My throat tightens, and I choke out for air, but I can’t breathe. I always wake up right before I pass out, but I feel the darkness surround me as I try and fall back asleep.
She swallows and turns the page. “This is a few days later.” She begins reading again.
The dreams are getting worse, and I can’t sleep. It feels as if there’s this demon living inside me, torturing me in my mind every time I close my eyes. It dampens my mood immediately, and I feel nothing but fear. During the day, I feel back to normal, but as soon as the sun sets, I’m scared again. I’m scared because I know what’s coming.
She turns another page. “This was a couple weeks before she passed.”
Aspen is so excited for our birthday that’s coming up. I keep thinking of ideas on what to make her, but I can’t seem to think straight anymore. Even in school, my eyes feel so heavy that I almost fall asleep and my teachers constantly ask if I’m okay. It’s embarrassing when all the kids turn around and look at me like I’m some kind of circus freak. I just wish the dreams would go away. They’re getting darker and more detailed, making it harder for me to wake up from them. A few nights ago, voices started echoing in the dreams, saying awful things, telling me to do awful things.
I feel more alone than ever. I’m afraid to tell Aspen. I don’t know how to explain it to where it’ll make sense. The anxiety of it all makes me want to cut more and deeper. I cut until I bleed and nearly pass out. It helps me forget, even if it’s just temporary.
Mom and Dad think it’s all an act, so I pretend everything’s okay when they’re around. I pretend I’m their happy, adventure-seeking girl. Aspen sees the scars, but always blinks away. I think she’s afraid to talk about it, and I’m afraid she’ll start seeing how weak and tortured I feel. I wish I knew how to explain it so they would understand, but when I try to sleep, it feels as if the life is being sucked out of me more and more each night.
I’m not sure how much more I can take.
“This is a week before.” She flips the page again.
I cut deeper than I ever have before last night. My wrists have all scared over, but my legs are like fresh canvases, waiting for my marks on them. The sight of fresh blood surfaces a new wave of emotions—one part relief, one part grief.
My thighs ache with the dull pain that the razor left behind. I focus on the pain, focus on the blood gushing down my legs and over my knees and ankles. I feel lifted as if I’m floating and the world can’t catch me. The feeling is only temporary, but for those few moments, the pain vanishes and I’m no longer that girl.
But then reality comes crashing back down, and I’m that girl again. The dreams, the dark thoughts, the sadness—it consumes me. It’s getting harder to pretend that everything’s okay. Smiling is now a constant chore and acting like everything is fine is a constant reminder that it’s not.
I just have to wait until our birthday.
One more birthday with Aspen.
Because I love her.
Tears fall from my cheeks as I see the agony written all over her face. I want to reach inside and take all her pain away, but I know this has been haunting her for too long to ever fully be pain-free.
“You don’t have to read anymore.”
She sniffs, wiping under her eyes. “No, I want to.”
She flips the page and starts again.
I died in my dream last night. I’ve had similar dreams before of floating up to the sky and watching above, as my body lay motionless. It doesn’t even hurt. There’s no pain, no remorse. All I feel is relief. I’m lighter and for the first time, I smile genuinely.
When I wake in the morning, I know I shouldn’t be feeling those things, but I can’t help it. I want to feel those things—the happiness, the relief of no longer being in pain—but I never will as long as I’m here, suffering.
Our fourteenth birthday is tomorrow and Mom is already preparing everything. Aspen is glowing as usual, talking about how in just a couple of years, we’ll be getting our driver’s license. Then she goes on about how much fun it’s going to be going to proms and homecomings, dates at the movies, football games on Friday nights. I always agree and smile, but inside, I’m dying. I want to puke anytime I think about those things. How long am I supposed to pretend? I’m hanging on by a thread and the only thing getting me through it is knowing Aspen and I will share our special day together one more time.
I love her with my whole heart. I cry in my bed at night when I know she’s sound asleep thinking about how much I’m going to miss her. How much I’m going to miss. But this weight on my chest feels too heavy that I can barely breathe anymore. I hate that I can’t be like her, talk about what the future holds, and all the stuff she gets excited over. But as I look at the scars on my body, I know the pain is overbearing. Aaron barely pays attention to us anymore as it is with his part-time job and new girlfriend, but lately, he’s been looking at me with this look in his eye as if he knows something’s different. I smile back and put his worries at ease, because…what else can I do?
Aspen’s voice is somber and gravely, but she wipes her face again and turns the page.
“This is her last entry.” Her throat swells up as she chokes out a sob. I grip her tighter as if she’ll float away at any given time.
I love you, Aspen.
Her hand releases the journal as she bows her head down and cries. I shift her body into mine, the journal falling to the floor. I grip her with everything I have. She clings to me like her life support, her body shaking and convulsing as she wraps her arms around me and releases all the energy she has left out, shattering around me.