Haunted

I don't know whether it is the chill of the wind or the eerie silence of my house, but something is not right. I don't know why but I wake up feeling disoriented and lethargic right after my seven hour nap. Nap, because I might have been asleep with my body but my mind had been awake and conscious. Sitting up in bed, I look around my small quiet room. My eyes feel heavy and my eyelids are dropping. I rub my eyes with my hands and blame it on fatigue when I catch sight of the blur of a young woman in the mirror. It disappears almost as quickly as I see it. My limbs feel like they weigh tons as I drag my feet to the bathroom. I don't bother glancing in the mirror and walk straight past it into the bathtub. I don't want to see my flaking, poor skin in need of some sunlight and proper care or my sunken tired eyes that once held the beauty of liquid gold. Stripping feels damn hard and I just stand under the shower, letting the hot water droplets burn my skin but it rarely registers because my mind wonders to place of its own on its own. I can't, for the life of me recall what I had just been thinking about when a fingersnaps in my ear jolt me out of my reverie. I look around the bathroom and find no one, it's no surprise because I live alone.

An hour later, I step out of the bathroom with my towel wrapped around my torso. I don't bother getting dressed because it's a Saturday and I have no plans. I walk to my small island of the kitchen and put on the coffee maker. Toasted bread, tomatoes, eggs and a sausage later, the coffee maker pours my coffee into the mug. I once liked my coffee black but certain events led to it making me nauseous at the sight. I could still drink it but I couldn't bear to look at it when it was at its darkest so reach up to the cabinet above my head and take out extra foamy creamer. The cabinet creakes on its hinges as it swings back and forth gently as I unscrew the creamer. I pay no attention to it because it's been like that for some years but then the sudden slam of the cabinet door startles me and I feel the fear vibrate from my head down to my toes. I can't control it and the powdered creamer pours into my trembling hand. I shakily put it on the counter and dig my nails into my palms to get some sort of control back but I knock my coffee down instead.

I see it in slow motion, I feel the colour drain from my face, my eyes widen and I let out a gasp just as the sound of the shattered glass reaches my ears. And that is all it takes for my heart beat to slow down then, drastically rise up again. The sound of my erratic heartbeat is the only thing I can hear and my heart feels like its about to beat it's way out of my chest so I clutch my chest, digging my nails in and scratching my bare skin, curling my fingers into a fist. It suddenly feels too stuffy in the kitchen and I find myself gasping for air. My eyes are watering and my gaze is fixated on the pieces of glass and the spilled coffee on the floor. I try to tear my gaze away but I can't so I stand there, frozen in place, panting and I don't know when the the sight takes me back to what I've been trying to forget for years. I'm trying to recall what my shrink and therapists tell me to do whenever this happens but it's all washed away by a memory I would give anything to forget.

And I start remembering, almost as if I have a screen on in front of my eyes. I shut my eyes, no wanting to see but I hear. I hear the laughter, the request, the decline, the persuasion, the hesitant acceptance and I hear the tires screech. I hear blurs of conversation, then I hear footsteps. I hear tents being put up, the crackling of the firewood as it burns, I can almost smell the roast marshmallows and smores and feel the chill of the gentle forest breeze. I can hear the amused chuckles from the Truth Or Dare classic camping game. Then, I feel the tension and awkward glances being passed around. I hear the answer, the enraged scream and rustle of dry grass as bodies fall into them in a fight. I hear the shuffled footsteps and grunts. I see them watching the fight in a small circle, cheering them on. I see myself.

Then it all takes a different turn when we hear the crack of bones and her small hand leaves her attackers hair and falls lifelessly unto the dirt ground. I see my smile fall off my face the glass tumbler slip from my fingers. I hear the sound of the cup shatter as it reaches the ground and I meet her dead eyes. They are open and she's looking straight at me. I watch the glow in her eyes die out and we all hear her last breath. I see her attacker still straddling her shake her body but she doesn't respond. Red is all I can see when I turn my sights to the survivor of the fight and alcohol takes over my senses. I don't register walking towards her. I don't register the hands grabbing me and pulling me back but I fight them off. I pay no attention to the retreating running footsteps or the cries traveling with them.

I don't register gripping the family sized can that we'd all been drinking merrily from a while ago and hit her on the back of the head. I hear the crack of her skull.

"Aahhh!" her shrill scream woke the bats in the trees and sent them flying into the dead of the night.

I see the red of her blood colour her blonde hair. I am taken aback in that moment, shocked at what had happened and I take a step back but I sight the corpse and the feeling of unbelieving loss, grief and pain clenches me in its hold. And I give reigns to the liquor, this time, it's fuelled by my rage.

The blood had soaked the back of her hair and matted it to her shirt. She was still bleeding, unable to move but she was not dead. I know she is alive and can feel all the pain so I take the bottle of liquor I'd opened a moment ago and poured the contents on her head. She's screaming and crying, the salt in her tears mixing with the slime of her snot and the liquor running down from her face washing down the blood from her head.

And she's screaming, "Please! Please, stop! John, please!!"

And I hear none of it. I register nothing as my rage moves my body as it wills and all I can feel is the unbearable feeling of loss. It was then I knew that she had been it for me, through all the back and forth and meaningless quarrels and break ups. It had taken her life for me to see and feel what I had lost.

I'm crying into her cold neck where I once felt her pulse when there are flashes of light blinding me. I don't hear the thundering marches or the recitation of my rights. I'm tackled to the ground and my hands are cuffed behind my back. The rest happens in a blur, I'm in jail, I'm in court, I am sentenced, I serve out my sentence, I am released and continue my therapy sessions. I don't expect to be normal because I know nothing will ever be the same again.

By the time I have snapped back to reality, I have tears rolling down my cheeks. I clean up the mess on the floor and return to bed, my appetite long gone. I don a blue sweat shirt and white sweat pants and wrap myself in my duvet to hide myself away.No matter how normally I tried to live my life, memories like that never go away. It is always at the back of mind when I am surrounded by friends and family but it hits me full force the moment I am by myself.

That night changed my life, whether it be because I had lost a life that I still mourned or my actions. I was remorseful and had no excuse because in the end, the thing I had taken was a life. And I am haunted by it.

Every day.