Guilt is Death's Grudge

“My name is Claire.” 

“Hello, Claire.” 

“I was a drug addict, and I’m here because I did something terrible and I want to do better.” 

“Would you mind telling us what you did, Claire?” Ms. Lampton smiled encouragingly. We had talked about this before. Group therapy was a place where everyone could reveal their secrets with no shame and receive support. If I wanted to start healing, I would have to open up first. 

A few tense moments passed as I struggled to voice out my darkest secret. 

“A family member died when I was drunk.” The words were barely above a whisper and it didn’t even cover what was burdening me, but it was a start. Awful shame crept up in me and a lump formed in my throat when I thought about what I was hiding from them. 

“I’m sorry to hear about that,” Ms. Lampton said gently. “But their death was not your fault. Aren’t I right, guys?” 

A few agreements came but I didn’t look up. They were just saying that to make me feel better. Even if they did believe her, they weren’t there to see what I had done- what I hadn’t done. 

“Everyone copes through death differently,” Ms. Lampton went on. “Some try to take responsibility for it. The fact that you’re one of those people means that you’re a good person.” 

“What about the people who don’t feel guilty?” A man asked flatly. “Are they bad people then?” 

“They can also be good people,” Ms. Lampton replied. 

“Why do you think you’re responsible for their death?” 

When there was no answer, I looked up to see them all looking at me. Fear constricted my throat and my mind became devoid of responses. All I could think of was my younger sister’s wide eyes as she pleaded for me to administer the auto-injector. Her struggle to breathe became louder and her body twitched harder. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t thinking. I could just stare and stare and-

“Claire?” Ms. Lampton was suddenly standing right in front of me. Her round, blue eyes were a disconcerting change from the memory I was reliving. 

“What happened?” I leaned away instinctively. 

“You zoned out,” the woman said. “Are you feeling okay?” 

I opened my mouth to answer but my attention was caught by two people talking to themselves quietly. Were they talking about me? Were they going to report me to the police? 

“I have to go now.” I swallowed hard. “Sorry.” 

“Are you sure?” Ms. Lampton asked worriedly. “Remember we’re here for you. You have to start opening up-” 

I was already out the door. My hands were shaking and I was on the verge of crying again. How many times have I cried today already? I clenched my jaw tightly, in hopes that the pain would distract me from the urge to cry. When the method proved effective, I hurried to a nearby store.

My mind was preoccupied with the desire to escape to the store and the desire to stop myself from crying. I didn’t realise that I had already reached the small building until a voice called me for help. I looked down to see an overweight middle-aged man sitting by the entrance of the store. 

“Are you talking to me?” I asked. 

“Who else?” His voice was so raspy that I found it difficult to understand him. “I just need a few dollars. Could you spare some, please?” 

My hand was already reaching for my purse. “Of course.” 

I felt a flicker of distress as I took out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to him. But I couldn’t stop myself and I forced a smile as he eagerly grabbed it with wide eyes. 

“Thank you so much,” he exclaimed and scrambled onto his feet. “I’m going to go buy some food now!”

I watched as he hurried away. I wasn’t stupid. I knew that he was probably using money for drugs. If he wanted to buy food, he could have gone to the store right in front of us. Yet, I was compelled to help him. 

My compulsive need to help others started since the night my sister died from anaphylaxis shock. It was around four A.M.. I knew that because I was in the middle of sneaking into the house after going to a party. I was still high and I couldn’t comprehend the fact that my baby sister was struggling to breathe. She had asked me to inject her. I assumed that was what she said to me. I had been so out of it that the memories of that night were just hazy scenes of her on the floor convulsing. The fear in her round eyes, the unnatural twitching of her body. 

Tears were welling up again. I took a breath and pushed away the rising emotions. I walked inside the store. It was a small one with hardly any people inside. The cashier was a bored looking teenager on her phone. She glanced at me warily but didn’t say anything. 

I walked up and down the aisles aimlessly. I studied the products and read the labels. Nothing was going into my mind though. It felt like I was floating, my mind trapped between a blissful haze of nothingness and the dreary reality of my life. 

“Hey, are you going to buy something or not?” The cashier’s voice whipped through the silence. I jumped and turned to her. 

“Sorry,” I said. I didn’t want to spend any more money after I had given away so much to the homeless man. “I’ll go now.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “You steal something?” 

“No.” I showed her my hands. 

“Were you looking for something?” 

“No.” I had just wanted to get away from that group therapy. 

“Do you need something then? You look like garbage. But then again, don’t we all?” She laughed mirthlessly. 

“Is something troubling you?” I asked tentatively. 

She shrugged. “Just the usual: nudes got leaked, boyfriend dumped me. Stupid highschool stuff. I can’t wait to get out of here and make a life for myself. But first I need money and a new phone. That’s why I’m working in this stupid shop.” 

  “I can give you my phone,” I said automatically. 

“Are you serious?” She scoffed. “It must be bugged or really crappy.” 

“No, it’s new.” I fumbled for my pockets until I took out my phone. It was one of the newer Apple models, just a month old. “I got it as a birthday gift but I can just use my old one.” 

That was a lie. I gave away my old phone to a family member. 

“Wow, you’re pretty nice.” She took it and studied it carefully. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” 

This was my chance to take it back and tell her I didn’t really want to give it to her. The apology was sitting right there on my tongue. But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t let out a sound. Instead, I just smiled and shook my head. 

“Wow,” she repeated in awe. “Thank you so much.” 

I made a small noise and hurried out of the shop. When I was far away enough, I let the tears come out. Feelings of self loathing and helplessness flooded me. I started crying so hard that I had to stop walking lest I got onto the road. 

It took forever for the tears to drain me of the emotions. By the time I felt empty, my eyes were so swollen that I could barely see. I fell back onto my butt and stayed sitting on the ground. My mind drifted into the haze of nothingness. 

I was only pulled out of it when someone shook my shoulder. After a few blinkings, I saw that it was my mother. Surprise helped me shake off the stupor and I quickly stood up. 

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “How did you find me?” 

“Ms. Lampton called me to say that you skipped the session.” There was no anger or disapprovement on her face. “I tried to call you but instead this girl picked up and told me you had given her your phone. What were you thinking?” 

I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t been thinking. But I couldn’t tell her that lest I made her angry. 

“I got it back for you,” she said when I didn’t reply. Relief trickled in me. 

“Thank you.” I let her pull me towards the car which was parked nearby. 

“I’m getting worried for you, Claire,” she said. “You’re acting really distant and you do things that scare me.” 

“Sorry.” How could I tell her that I couldn’t control myself? How could I tell her that I had to make up for the sin of killing my baby sister? 

“If you won’t go to therapy and you won’t talk to us,” her voice trailed off. 

“I’ll try be better,” I promised. Making my parents worried wouldn’t make up for what I did to their youngest daughter. 

“How can you get better if you won’t talk to anyone?” My mother exclaimed. “This isn’t healthy. We have to do something.” 

“I’m trying,” I snapped. 

“Are you?” She glared at me. Then her expression softened and she turned back to the road. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just so scary how you act sometimes. I’m terrified that one day I’ll get a call from the hospital that you- I don’t want to lose you too, okay?” 

“Okay.” My voice came out small. I had thought about committing suicide. A life for a life, right? But I dismissed that idea. It seemed that I would suffer much more if I stayed alive. Plus, I couldn’t burden my parents with the loss of both their children. 

“I’m sorry for saying- for implying such a horrible thing,” my mother continued. “I just need to make sure that you wouldn’t actually do it.” 

“I wouldn’t,” I confirmed. “I couldn’t do that to you and dad.” 

“And for yourself,” she added and gave me a sharp look. “Grief is temporary. Life will move on and so will you. You’ll look back to these days and be glad that you stayed.” 

“Yeah, sure.” My mind drifted to thoughts of the future. Surely there would be a time when I did enough to atone for my sin. Life would be a lot less dreary once that time came. I was sure of it.