#plot crap

......

Got anything for me, Cass?

.....

I got some sleep the other night. Not much, though. I had another nightmare. It always starts the same- I’d rather not remember it right now.

After I got up, I checked Gloria’s blog.

I know I shouldn’t. I mean, it’s probably not a good thing to compare yourself to someone who is essentially you except not-you.

She seems happy. Sometimes, I wonder what’s so different between us. What changed her life to make it happier?

I never was happy back then. Not for lack of trying, more like… I felt like I didn’t have anybody. Sure, I had Natalie, but she was already out of high school by the time I got in it. She had her own life than covering for her little sister all the time. Sometimes, a few classmates would talk to me, but I never got close to them. I was always the odd one out. I felt like a pariah in a rich, private school.

It was always easier to put on a mask of indifference than to be somebody I clearly wasn’t meant to be, even if it was the easier option. The DJ taught me that. I took it to heart ever since that day.

It probably didn’t help that I threatened and beat people up for being assholes.

Essentially, it doesn’t matter now. I’m where I am and she is where she is.

I went home for the first time in two weeks.

I can’t sleep. I laid in bed for hours and all I could do was stare at the wall that Gloria painted over. My mind never stopped moving, either.

My apartment doesn’t seem like my own anymore.

I went out to make myself breakfast and instead I sat on the floor.

They scrubbed the blood stain out, but I can still see it. I bet if I reached out I could probably touch it and feel blood on my fingertips.

Sometimes I smell it, but I'm not sure if it's his blood I'm smelling or some other unfortunate soul who felt the end of my fist.

I’ve been wracking my mind lately- a lot more than I’d like to admit- trying to figure everything out. Some parts are hazy and other parts are like clear crystal.

He wanted to be safe, right?

Wait, no, he asked me to keep him safe. Makes me almost feel like I’m in high school again.

What did he want to be protected from?

Himself?

You can’t protect someone from themselves, can you?

I don't think you can.

Eventually, we all fall back into patterns through things that we're taught and things that affect us. It feels like a never ending struggle.

I'm not sure that I can help anybody. I'm not sure if I can even help myself.

...

Well... when I was 14, I was attending a party and it was pretty boring. I was able to slip away for a while and hide out along the nearby docks. I remember just wanting to watch the boats move out along the river.

I was fiddling with this tiny radio I use to carry around with me and trying to find something to listen to.

Then I heard it- this radio transmission, a final goodbye from someone I never knew. I don't believe that I'll ever forget it.

"I know life is hard. Believe me, there will always going to be demons to fight and people will hurt you no matter how often you zip your lips shut or hold your heart close to you. That's fact, there's also a universal truth-

Make your life your own.

Don't let anyone bring you down, darling, and don't let anyone own you. Do things your way. It will make you happier in the long run. I wish I would have known this as a kid, and while I couldn't ever live the life I was meant to lead…

I don't regret it. Because you're listening to me and I'm imparting this onto you.

This song is for you, whoever you happen to be. My journey might end soon, but, kiddies, that doesn’t mean that you should stop living. I’ll be with you in memory.

Always.”

  She was my first true friend, even if it was just for that moment. 

It was mostly full of pleasantries, updates on the law firm, and her sister. She notices how her father never talks about Clara, but it’s not without a sense of relief.

She only wrote back once.

It was a simple note that said, “My name is Emily Zachariah, Mr. Cunningham. Please stop writing me.”

He agreed to the name, but never stopped writing her.

She read every letter despite herself. She misses him more than she’d like to admit.

She remembers sitting on the porch and watching storms rolling across dark skies. She remembers the candy he would bribe her with to stop crying. She remembers him attempting to teach her how to ballroom dance (“No, no, no, babygirl. You’re supposed to let me lead.” “That’s lame, dad! I don’t wany to follow anyone when I’m dancing!”)

(She’s still horrible at that following thing.)

She also remembers all the times when he wasn’t there- missed recitals and birthdays. He was never there when she had to face her mother’s disapproving comments and snide remarks and fussing hands, and at Gloria’s perfection in imperfection.

He definitely started to remember and take notice after she left.

She feels a sinking in her gut and an icy-ness across her shoulders. She stares at the space he use to occupy right before she fell asleep. She vaguely recalls him singing a song to her, but she can’t remember the lyrics. Her face contorts and it takes her a moment to realize that she’s…

crying?

Why is she crying?

This doesn’t make any sense.

After all, she’s use to waking up alone. People have things to do and not a lot of people spend the entire night with her. She’s never felt lonely when she wakes up. She’s never felt hurt, or let herself feel vulnerable.

Except for right now.

  It takes her awhile to shove this sudden overwhelming emotion away and to get out of bed. She cleans up the mess that is her apartment, doesn’t touch the painting, and tries to piece together the last two weeks of her life.

Sometimes she wonders how her life could have been different.