Memento

(Content Warning: themes of emotional abuse)

Mel forced herself to blink her dry eyes as she stared through the windshield into the black, pouring rain. Her hands gripped the scratched steering wheel like it was a plastic lifeline, chest squeezing her heart as she tried to push aside what she was doing, where she was going. Rain crashed over the road, so thick she could barely see the edge of the pavement.

A bump. Mel yelped, knees knocking against the rim of the wheel. The thud in the trunk sent her skin crawling again. She knew it was sliding around back there, hovering like a storm following just behind her. Tainting the air. Reaching out to her, a hand in the darkness of her backseat…

Mel glanced at the rearview mirror. Nothing.

On the road, a flash of white and brown. She snapped the wheel to the left. Wheels skidded on the wet asphalt. The deer vanished into the darkness.

Mel twisted the wheel back into place before she could swerve off the road. She forced herself to breathe, blink again. She needed to focus on driving. She needed to—

You never were particularly good at that, were you?

Mel swallowed, fighting back a shudder. The ghost; of course it would start making comments.

Oh, Melissa, how can I not? It spoke directly into her mind, a snake slipping straight into her ears, weaving between the folds of her brain. You clearly need someone to tell you when you’re being stupid.

Mel tucked the edge of her lip into her mouth and bit down. Focus on the road. That’s all she had to do.

What do you think you’re doing?

Mel tried not to shrink into her seat. She said nothing; not in her mind, not out loud.

Listen to me when I’m talking to you, Melissa.

Mel stared at the windshield, but the night outside seemed fake, like a glossy sticker tacked to a wall. Even the rain beating the roof was just a hypnotic illusion, crashing over her windshield before being shoved off like violent waves, the sound drowning out the radio.

You’re trying to ignore me, then?

Mel turned the dial on the radio up.

Melissa, I am trying to talk to you.

Louder.

You were always so immature. You always have to make things so difficult—

The knob stopped turning. Mel could barely hear the radio wailing around her. A dull static rang in her ears.

You’re throwing your life away, the ghost snapped over the noise. And for what? To prove a point? Are you really this stupid?

Mel said nothing.

Turn down that stupid radio. You’ll go deaf.

Mel grimaced, just noticing the ache deep in her ears, the pulsing headache building in her skull.

Now, Melissa.

Mel winced at its tone. One shaky hand reached for the knob, slowly dragging it back down until the radio was nearly silent under the storm. She wished she hadn’t.

Now, then, the ghost said, voice bright with a cruel satisfaction, I’ll ask again. Slowly, so you’ll understand.

Mel braced herself, sinking against her seat even as it pressed her into the steering wheel.

What do you think you’re doing, Melissa?

Mel sucked in a shallow breath. “Getting rid of you.”

A wave of black malice rolled over Mel, cold and heavy and terrifying. But the ghost just laughed. You’ll never get rid of me. You need me, it hissed. Who else is going to tell you when you’re being stupid? Who else can help you like me? Who else would bother?

Mel’s lips pressed together. “I don’t need your help.”

Oh, yes, you do, it spat back, words burning like venom in Mel’s chest. And I’m the only one who can help you. The only one who would help you. It sneered, What do you expect to do without me? We both know you can’t make your own decisions.

Mel’s jaw tightened at the familiar words. “I’ll be fine.”

Oh, so, you’re fighting back now! Its voice was a sneer, sharp and angry as a bite. You must be so brave, fighting against the people who care about you, who are trying to help your ungrateful ass.

Mel’s mouth was locked shut now, though, and she felt the ghost’s rage rising like a dark wave surging just behind her.

You think you can survive without me. You! It scoffed, the sound loud as if it was curled around her ears. You. Lazy, picky, spoiled Melissa. You think you don’t need my help, but you would be nothing without me. I helped you earn your stupid degree. I picked your outfits so you’d actually be presentable for once because you clearly weren’t capable of picking them out yourself. I chose friends and men that would have been perfect for you, but you turned them down every time for no reason. Its voice grew to a fever pitch. You’re the reason you’re lonely. And now, you’re trying to get rid of your only friend, and for what?

Mel wanted to argue that she did have friends, but she kept her mouth shut, hands tightening on the wheel.

It didn’t do any good, though. Oh, so your coworkers are supposed to be you friends! I see, the ghost laughed. They don’t know you, Melissa. You never even told them where you’re from. Never told them about me. Do you even talk to them? Not that you have any interests of your own to share.

Something cracked somewhere inside Mel, and a scalding outrage poured over her. Her face twisted. Her hands were white on the wheel, nails stabbing the plastic. She screamed, “And who’s fault is that?” She could see the ghost clearly as if it stood in front of her, eyes widening at her outburst. She tore on: “It’s your fault I’m like this. It’s your fault I’m so boring. You tried to dictate everything I liked, everything I did. You’re still picking out my clothes like I’m a little kid! I’m thirty years old!” Her teeth were grinding. She was sick with anger, but she couldn’t bite it back anymore. “I earned that degree myself. I started my practice myself. I picked the people who work there. I help my patients. Not you. You never supported me. You never helped. You just held me back, made me question everything I did because you didn’t like that I was more successful than you.”

The static was a roar in Mel’s ears now. She thought she might have missed the ghost’s response, but sure enough, it slipped through the buzz.

You should’ve been a boy.

The car skidded off the edge of the road. Mel slammed on the brakes. Tires slipped and squealed through the mud until the car crumpled against the side of a tree.

Mel jerked sideways, rigid, hands tight on the wheel. Her eyes focused slowly on the darkness outside, on the tree pressed against her passenger window. The pouring rain rang in her ears, deafening.

Realization crashed over her head. She cursed. Her car. Her car. Her car! She pressed the gas with a numb foot, heard the spin of the tires, but the car didn’t budge. Too much mud.

Mel cursed again, and again, and again. Her hands tugged at her blond hair, tangling in the strands, ripping it out of its neat ties.

You always were a terrible driver. It still spoke, its words scraping like scales against the inside of her skull. And your hair… blond hair like that was wasted on you.

Mel screamed, the sound tearing her throat and ringing loud in her ears. She threw open the door, storming into the rain. She opened her trunk.

A cardboard file box sat against one side of the empty trunk. She glared at it, something black and angry and miserable boiling in her gut. She grabbed it by the worn handholds, slamming the trunk behind her. She started walking.

You won’t make it.

The cardboard edges of the box handles gnawed at her fingers, biting like a desperate animal.

Just go home.

Pounding rain against her burning skin.

You won’t really do it. You know you’ll regret it.

Feet pounding on the asphalt.

How dare you treat me like this! After everything I did for you!

Nails biting back into wet cardboard.

You need me. You always did. You always will.

Desperation falling on deaf ears. Bright lights, getting closer.

STOP!

It was shrieking now, wailing, pounding against the inside of the cardboard cage.

Glass doors sliding open.

You can’t throw me away like this! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t—

Silence.

Mel stood in the white-washed lobby, staring at the bright lights like a fish dumped on a pier, awed by the quiet. Water dripped from her office clothes to the polished tile floors.

“Mel?”

Mel jolted. The nurse was standing at the front desk, staring at her with round, brown eyes. Jon.

Jon straightened, though his hands were hidden behind the desk. “Are you alright?”

Mel nodded slowly, shuffling to the counter. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

He offered a half-smile. “Did you forget your umbrella?”

Mel hesitated, trying to remember if she’d had an umbrella in her car. Probably. “My… my car got stuck in the mud.”

Jon’s smile evaporated. “Do you need me to call a cab or something? I can—”

Mel heaved the box onto the desk, and Jon snapped his mouth shut. “I brought this. For… her.”

Jon stared at the soaked box, clearly struggling to conceal his disgust. “Uh… of course.” He turned to the computer beside him, the sounds of his rapid typing aggravating Mel’s headache. “Susan Smith, right?”

Mel hugged her elbows, trying not to scowl as she stared at the unmarked back of the box. She’d always been so proud of that name: Smith. “Yes.”

Another series of keyboard clicks. “What are the items?”

Mel’s nails pricked at her skin. “Photos. Memorabilia. That kind of thing.”

“To help her remember, right?”

Mel’s chest squeezed. His voice was so sympathetic, so obliviously pretending to care. She muttered, “Yeah.”

Jon turned back to her, smiling widely. “Alright, I’ll have that taken care of. But,” he said, leaning forward at the desk, “if you wanted to see her, she’s actually right over there.”

Mel’s heart snapped in her chest. Before she could stop herself, she was staring into the wide common room, eyes locked on the older woman in the back corner.

Susan was reclined in a large couch, an empty light in her eyes as she watched a movie she’d seen a hundred times, one about a husband never coming back from war or something else just as soppy. Her once brown hair was streaked with grey, messier than Mel had ever seen it. She wasn’t looking at Mel; she probably wasn’t even sure where she was, probably too lost to question it anymore.

Mel could hear her own heart in her ears. Susan’s voice floated to her on a whisper, familiar as ever: What kind of daughter leaves without saying hello to her mother?

Mel dragged her gaze away. “No,” she told Jon, “I can’t today.”

Jon’s smile cracked in a split second of confusion. Then the moment was gone, and he said, “Alright then. Did you want me to call that cab?”

“Sure,” Mel said, starting toward the door.

“You can wait in the lobby if you want.” There was a question in his tone, but he clearly wasn’t going to ask. “It’s pretty stormy out there.”

“I’m fine.”

Mel stepped back out into the rain. She sat on the bench just outside—white paint plastered over splintered wood—and leaned back. Above, she could see the silver glow of the moon through the heavy clouds, the night a little brighter than before. Then she waited. She only heard the gentle patter of the rain.