Liars

TW: Death & Drugged

Grief had been tugging at my soul for three months now. My mother was gone, and it was the fault of a fatal illness. She’d always had hope, therefore I held it for her, too. It seemed as though we’d run out of luck as she’d smiled for the last time and my heart had dropped to my stomach.

Now, cross-legged in the closet we’d spent so much time in, I stared at the boxes, then at the clothes.

It was time to clean out my mother’s closet.

The room itself was fairly small, but walk-in. We’d spent hours picking clothes for her and gossiping about the most random things. My head felt heavier, so I dropped it, focusing on the dark grey carpet until my vision cleared.

With an aching heart, I picked up a navy cardigan and hesitantly dropped it into the first cardboard box, tossing the coat hanger into a basket. My knees wobbled, my legs buckling, and before I knew it, I was kneeling on the floor of my mother’s walk-in wardrobe, sobbing until my eyes went dry. Taking a shaky breath, I calmed myself, crawling to the corner to work on the shoes.

Black sneakers weren’t as nostalgic as the dark-green shirt she liked to wear whenever we went outside to garden. She had a real green thumb.

Sniffling quietly, I placed the shoes, one by one, into yet another brown box.

Half an hour later, my father came in as I was finishing the shoes. I plastered a smile across my thin lips as he retrieved the box and handed me a chocolate. Nibbling it, I leaned against one of the drawers, fighting the urge to break down.

In the corner of my eye, I spotted a small, slim, white sheet. I wriggled over to it at a snail’s pace, frightened of what I might find.

I drew a sharp breath as I recognised the rectangular shape. A polaroid picture. A piece of my mother’s past.

I picked it up in trembling hands, eyes blurred by tears. Blinking them away, I saw her, grinning, with my father and someone else… a girl? The girl was almost identical, but I’d recognise the dark birthmark on my mother’s neck anywhere. Above the mysterious girl was the word ‘Lily’. Above my mother’s was ‘Jess’ and above my father’s was ‘Dylan’. Those were my parent’s names, which meant Lily must’ve been a friend… or a twin.

I flipped it around cautiously, heart thumping against my chest. Dark handwriting scrawled across the back. I recognised it as my mother’s, although it seemed frantic and written in haste. Almost like she was in trouble. Taking a deep breath, I began to read.

Dear Alina,

I knew you would find this note well. Do not show this to your father, as I believe he is the problem. My sickness wasn’t natural. The doctors told me I was poisoned. When I thought back to my twin sister’s – Lily’s – incident, I realised it was happening to me, too. I’m sorry for not telling you this sooner, but Lily went missing when I was your age, and your father did not seem worried by it. He was not worried about me when I fell sick, either. That’s when I realised, I fell in love with the wrong man.

Please, darling, get out of there.

Love,

Mother.

I hadn’t realised I was holding my breath until I’d exhaled loudly. My own mother believed my father had murdered her, and even her twin.

“Alina?” My dad’s voice wafted up the stairs, heavy footsteps following a split second later. “How are you going?”

I stuffed the photograph in my pocket, heart racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

“A little shaken up,” I admitted, voice shaking due to grief and fear.

When he embraced me, it felt cold, forced. He was not the man I’d believed him to be. No tears stained my cheeks this time, as I stared at nothing. A brutal headache crept its way into my mind, interrupting my thoughts.

I blinked as my father – no, Dylan. He didn’t deserve that title anymore – removed the needle from my shoulder. My eyes fogged and everything echoed around me.

Black blotches clouded my vision, and I would not allow the darkness to envelope me. I kicked Dylan and stumbled out of the room, clutching the photograph to feel secured. I hobbled down the stairs and whipped open the front door.

“Alina!” Dylan boomed; fury evident in his deep voice.

I slammed the door behind me and called weakly for my neighbours. Nobody came. I squared my shoulders and ran for the nearest grocery store, which was about a block away. Chest heaving, I dragged myself along the hard concrete, sweat dripping from my pores. My hands were sweaty, melting the ink. I shoved it into my pocket again and continued. Even drugged, I was fairly fast.

Track and field really did pay off, after all. This was life or death, and I chose life.

I crashed into the supermarket, and immediately people were calling the police and ambulances. I collapsed into a heap on the floor and prayed Dylan wouldn’t find me first. Exhausted, I fainted.

I awoke in a hospital bed, subconsciously clinging to the mattress. My eyes fluttered open, and the first thing I saw was my father. My heart spiked, and the screen beside me showed it. He was staring intently at me, expression unreadable.

A doctor rushed in, a solemn look on his bearded face.

“You were drugged. If we hadn’t gotten to you, you might’ve died,” he explained, head tilted downward. “Do you know who might’ve had the motivation to do so?”

I raised a trembling finger, directing it at Dylan. He narrowed his eyes. I frowned in disdain, forehead creasing.

“Listen, we found the photograph your mother had hidden,” he said softly. “She had a severe mental illness before she’d fallen sick.”

“He… He stabbed me with a needle…” I managed groggily.

The doctor smiled slowly. “I know. You will have the same illness as your mother, and nobody will have to know that this is how you died.”

I would’ve had a heart attack then, if the doctor hadn’t placed his hand on my mouth and nose, suffocating me.

As I slowly drifted into death, I thought of my mother.

See you soon.