Echoes

Authors Note - there are sensitive themes in this story that are paramount to the plot, descriptions of self harm, depression, stalking, alcholism, and sexual assault. If this triggers you or you aren't comfortable reading then please don't. Thanks, and enjoy;)

Don't you remember? How my screams rang though the empty house, raw and horrible. Empty house, empty house, always empty. Where had all the family gone? Where had all the memories? What happened to the sunlight and laughter that filtered through the air, covering everyone in a warm blanket of home. But home was gone now, it was just a house. Do you remember what happened, how that came to be? No of course not, it would be a surprise if you remembered anything at this point. The drink washed everything away to a pale gray, leaving a smoke haze behind, and my agonized screams.

It all started sophomore year. I had been excited. A new year, a new town, a school, a new grade; everything was being rewritten. People had tuned my eyes to the light, filling me up with promises that sophomore year would be amazing. I walked into the building, trying to follow my therapist's advice, holding my head up high, trying to stare straight ahead and walk with a confident stride. But as soon as I reached homeroom I stopped dead in my tracks. He was there, the same rugged jawline, piercing gray eyes, broad shoulders, and the smug smile that read, Did you really think you could get away from me? I immediately dropped my head and went to the back of the class, dropping my backpack to the ground and lifting my hood up over my head. But he knew that I was there, there was no point in hiding.

I ran home from school that day. I begged you to move, to call the cops, to do something. But you stared at the bottle of tequila you were clutching and knocked another shot down. You didn't even grimace at the burn anymore as it went down, like everyone else would, it was such a balm to the everyday pain for you. I was that everyday pain it seemed. When you went out to a bar my screams echoed throught the house as I lay on the bathroom floor, holding my hands over my ears like a child. Would the cycle ever end?

I went to school the next day.

And the day after.

Do you remember how I would come back crying? How I would beg you to help me, to tell someone who would believe you so that I could get help?

I remember, and I remember the way you would always answer with another swig from your bottle, and a blank stare. I would run upstairs after that to the bathroom and sob.

Do you remember when the long red cuts began to show up on my arms? Of course you don't, I was too careful. I wore long sleeves and hoodies. But if anyone noticed, it should have been you. Even when you got angry with me, and slapped me, you saw nothing but the thing that sent you to drink.

Some days I didn't even wait until you left to go and scream. Do the echoes haunt you?

School wasn't better.

He would follow me through the halls, watching me in study halls and lunch. No one spoke to me because of him, the first and last person who tried didn't come to school for days after. I watched his car follow me home from school daily. I didn't go anywhere else. He would just follow me there too. He was always there.

Some nights I saw his shadow outside my window, I knew he was staring at me. I had to throw my phone away, his calls never stopped, and when I answered, he wouldn't speak, his heavy breaths would just echo in my ears.

I felt myself slowly go numb.

I felt trapped, backed into a corner with no way out. And there was nothing I could do. My listless eyes didn't read, could barely see. I stopped turning in homework, but the teachers never said anything. I didn't question it. What was the point of anything anymore? It was all useless anways. I couldn't feel anymore.

Unless it was the cool knife sliding against my flesh. Or my raw throat from screaming.

Then one night, he crawled into my room. My eyes opened when his shadow crossed my bed, and I felt a wave of ice wash over me. I don't remember what came next. There were only flashes of heat, pain, and my muffled screams.

I don't know when he left. It felt like it was years later. What I remember next was standing at the bathroom sink, staring at my haggard face. I couldn't recognize myself anymore. The girl in the mirror wasn't how I remembered her. No longer the young teenager of a few months ago, instead a drawn, gray faced older woman stared at me from the mirror. Her eyes were haunted and dark. They burrowed into my soul and left me with my decision.

I lay on the floor and screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

I screamed until my throat was raw and hurting. I screamed until I no longer sounded like a human. I screamed until my ears were filled with an unrecognizable roar that blurred out all else. I screamed and screamed and screamed until no sound came out. Then I lay there on the floor, curled into a ball like a child after a nightmare. Wasn't that what I had just gone through?

Do you remember when they found my body? Do you remember the police investigation and how they told you about my stalker? How he drove everyone away from me so I was isolated, how he harrassed me and assaulted me in my own home? I doubt you do, your mind was probably clouded. It still is.

I wonder if my screams still echo through the halls of the house. If they keep you up at night and remind you of how you were never there for me. Is that what drives you to drink now that I'm gone?

I hope it does.

I hope you are left alone with your thoughts. And your drinks. And the final echoes of my screams.