Time Wasn't Ours

Everyone treads lightly, steps quietly around the girl. No one utters a peep of a word nor a tiny sound. Noises from outside are loud inside. The room is cold, empty, numb, like a stilled hospital room. Sobbing is echoing off the walls of the large room, hitting like a hammer on everyone’s ears. The sun makes no difference to the darkness of the room. Gloom takes it up in full space, seeping outside, reaching neighbours yards and homes and ears.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” repeating. Over and over, she keeps saying it like it’ll work, like it’ll wake him up. It has to, it will. He’ll wake up, he has to, he will. There isn’t any other choice. People glance at each other, they frown and they question how far they have to let it go before they step in. One steps forward, slowly, quietly; hoping the floor won’t creak beneath her as she reaches the girl tucked in on herself touching what shouldn’t be touched.

“Piper,”

“Wake up!” She screams this time. The woman steps back quick, scared of her own little girl. For once, she doesn’t care if she’s heard by anyone, she doesn’t hush her voice or silence her sounds. She doesn’t notice the people in the room—she doesn’t care because no one matters anymore in this moment other than what no longer exists.

“Why won’t he wake up? He must be really tired.” She starts rambling, losing herself in her delusions—hopes. She rocks herself, hyperventilating. “He had a really hard day yesterday. He just needs some sleep.”

She sobs violently and suddenly, hiccuping from the intensity, barely able to breathe. She doesn’t know what to do with herself, clawing at her skin to peel it off, wiping at tears that won’t go away, rocking faster. No one moves. They go to reach out; they pull back. They go to speak; they don’t. What do they say? How do they say it? In what tone and at what volume? The room is getting smaller by the second—darker, gloomier. Hearts are hammering against rib cages, ears are ringing with cries and pleas, they can’t take much more. It’s nauseating, it’s suffocating. The looks shared between each other share the same frightened, depressed expression.

“Piper,” Whispering, the woman tries again, stepping closer and kneeling, slowly reaching to put a hand on her back. Slow, careful circles. Soothing motions, shushes to ease her cries and pleas. Slowly, Piper starts to quiet. She’s hiccuping, still, cradling herself and losing energy quick. Her eyes are heavy on her, weighing down as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. Emotionally drained, mentally gone. She has to fight it, she thinks, she has to keep her eyes on him. There isn’t any other choice. She can’t do anything else. “it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay!” She cracks, pushing the woman’s hand off, sitting further back from and closer to. “How could you say that?! HOW?! It’s not okay! He needs help! Why aren’t you helping him?!” 

They all gulp, hearts hammering harder, ears ringing louder. This isn’t working, it’s dragging on too far. She won’t listen, she won’t accept it, she’s irritating delusions.

“Piper.” She’s stern this time. She has to be, she thinks.

“What, Mom?” Piper returns the stern voice, though her voice cracking. She doesn’t bother looking at anyone, wrapping herself in a hug. She knows they’re staring, judging. She doesn’t want to see it, visualize it. They’re the crazy ones, she thinks.

“Come on. He needs to be left alone.” Ease her out, don’t say it, leave so things can be sorted.

“Are you crazy? I can’t leave him alone.” There’s humour to her question. She poses it with a sarcastic tone, like they really were the crazy ones. They want to leave, they don’t want to bear witness to this any longer. It’ll only get worse if she doesn’t listen. It’s painful, it’s frightening.

“Piper, please.” She starts pleading now, desperate to leave. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, Piper, but he’s—”

“No.”

“Piper—”

“Leave us alone!” She screams, hitting her hand to the carpet beneath her, losing a temper she didn’t know she had. Years of pent up rage making its release perhaps. She—along with everyone else—is getting fed up with the situation. Mom looks around with pleading eyes, needing help. No one meets her gaze, they avoid and tap toes in their shoes to distract from the loss of clear sanity in the girl they know as family. Was she still that same girl though? This was a side no one knew existed, a side that never should have. A matured young girl, bright with her head on her shoulders right since day one; gone, disappeared along with him. It was torturous to watch her hit this low in life. Was this as low as she could go? Or is there worse to come?

“Let’s go.” Mom walks out suddenly. They all follow, hurried behind her with haste to be out of the suffocating room.

“She shouldn’t be in there alone with him.”

“Then get her out!” Mom loses her temper too, stern with every word. She sighs, losing her composure, letting cries out she was holding in. “We’ll just give her a minute.”

So, they do. They wait, taking seats around the kitchen table to sit in the silence of cries coming from what felt like every room in the house. The sobbing became background noise, losing sentiment every passing minute. How long could this last? How much more could she cry without tiring herself out completely?

“It’s been six minutes already.” One points out softly.

“I know—” The soft open of her door has them standing hastily, staring with uncertainty. She’s out.

“Piper,” A once pretty sight made ugly with grief. The skin on her face is painted with red spots in obscure patterns. Her eyes are bloodshot, swollen, and tears are brimming the edges because she’s not done crying yet. She’s drained and void of any expression. Her arms covered in red scratches, little splotches of red blood coming to surface through layers of broken skin.

“He won’t wake up.” She gets her words out through voice cracks and sniffles, face falling further from her frown, undoubtedly defeated.

“He’s—”

“Don’t,” she starts crying again. “I don’t want to hear it.” She can’t. She’d only lose it further.