Apathy by L.K. Reid

Skylar

Time passes differently when your entire life gets turned upside down. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours, and hours like days, all to the point where I wasn’t sure if it was one, two or three days since they admitted me to the hospital.

Since I woke up screaming in an ambulance. Since that maniac carved something on my arm, leaving me tied to the chair, until our gardener found me in the morning, when he saw an open door and my blood on the floor.

But after they gave me a sedative, after I closed my eyes, my mind became blank, and it was as if somebody flipped a switch in my body, turning off all the bad things swirling in the back of my head. There was no pain, no happiness, no love nor sadness.

There was nothing.

Pure emptiness.

I knew Dylan was here. Lauren, Kane, my mom and dad, but there was one person I wanted to see, and he never came.

Ash.

I knew I should be feeling happy that I was still alive, but it was as if my heart refused to cooperate with my mind. I knew what I was supposed to be feeling, but no matter how hard I tried, nothing came up.

Dylan talked to me, begging me to reply. Begging me to say anything. To cry, to scream, to be angry, but I couldn’t be bothered. Not anymore. I was done pleading for my life because I shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t have to beg for happiness, for a little piece of paradise.

I didn’t even flinch when my father placed his hand on my forehead, pretending to be concerned about me. I didn’t move when my mother faked her tears, holding my hand, and letting Dylan comfort her. I didn’t utter a single word when Kane got angry, all but yelling at me.

I simply didn’t have the strength to answer any of their questions. I didn’t have it in me to pretend anymore. I just couldn’t. You know how people say that your life flashes before your eyes in your last moments?

Nothing flashed in front of mine.

No memories. No happiness. Just an eternal darkness as I slipped into an unconscious state, while he mutilated my body. And I wanted to be angry because yet another person touched me without my permission. Yet another person hurt me when I wanted nothing more but to be held.

Just for a moment, one fleeting moment, I wanted to feel protected without the fear gripping my insides.

But I was too tired to feel anything. I was too tired of constantly fighting, constantly thinking ten steps ahead, dreaming of a brighter future, because the reality I was in right now was not what I wanted to have.

I could hear the voices now right outside the open door. Dylan and Lauren. I wanted to call them, to invite them in, to share what was bothering me. I wanted to tell them that I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t live my life like this.

But as soon as I opened my mouth, the words died, swallowed by my shallow breathing. They choked me, wanting to spill out, but they couldn’t.

Even after, I didn’t even know how many days, my throat was still sore from screaming that night. I wanted to tell them that I was okay. I was alive, and that’s all that mattered.

But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?

Just another lie on a long list I made over the past two years. Just another omission of truth because I didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes. Self-destruction was a fucked-up thing.

You wanted to get better, you knew that you needed to get better if you wanted to live, but at the same time you couldn’t get yourself up from the bed. You couldn’t stop yourself from taking just another pill, just another drag of the cigarette, just another sip of alcohol, just to make yourself feel better.

We were all either chasing the lack of feeling, or we wanted to feel something, anything. Some days, I wanted to drown myself with my sorrow and to forget the nightmares haunting me. Other days, I wanted to feel something, just to remember that I was still alive.

I was still here.

On other days, those dark, dark, dark days, I had to remind myself how to breathe, how to smile, how to act as if I was there. How to behave, because more and more I felt like I was just watching a movie while my life passed right in front of my eyes.

And everything I did, every single word I spoke, it was my muscle memory keeping me afloat.

Get up in the morning.

Stare at the wall until I remembered that I had to move.

Brush my teeth, take a shower, put on my clothes… One, two, three, four breaths before I go outside of my room, especially if Dylan was home. Remember how to smile. Remember how to respond to questions.

Remember not to doze off.

Remember.

Remember.

Remember.

But I couldn’t remember anymore. Since they brought me to the hospital, I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember who I wanted to be. I couldn’t remember my plans, my dreams, or how to act… I couldn’t remember any of it.

I could only remember the golden mask, empty sockets where the eyes were supposed to be, and his tilted head as he started carving on my arm. For a moment there, I thought he would want to make it seem like I killed myself—not that it would come as a surprise to most people—but he didn’t.

I lifted my arm, staring at the white bandages hiding whatever it was he left beneath, hiding the wounds for now. I wished I was strong enough to tear them off, to see what was so important to knock my life upside down. I wanted to see what he did to me.

I was familiar with scars. I carried them hidden in the dark parts of my soul, masking them from the rest of the world. Those were the scars that never truly healed, but at least no one could see them.

This one… This one was going to be visible to every single person. This one was going to be one I would never be able to hide, and I would still have to carry it.

I could already hear the whispers in school and on the street.

A survivor.

Such a brave girl.

Poor thing.

But I wasn’t a survivor. I wasn’t brave. I was a liar.

I lied to myself, to my friends, to my family. I lied every single day, because facing the truth was much harder than any of us knew. Facing the truth meant that I would truly have to think about things cutting me every single day, and I wasn’t ready for that.

“Sky?” Dylan’s voice echoed around the room, muffled by the buzzing sound of the air conditioner. I really wanted to turn around, to cry, to let him hold me, soothe me, but I couldn’t. His deep sigh was the only indication of how frustrated he was, but instead of telling me how my indifference to everything was killing him, he just continued talking. “Lauren brought some clothes for you. They’re releasing you today.”

Releasing me. To go home. To go back to the place where I was hurt, where I faced my worst nightmare.

“Do you want me to help you get dressed?” he asked, but we both knew the answer to that question. Yesterday, he tried holding my hand, but I tore it out of his grasp faster than he could blink, teetering on the edge of a panic attack, because even thinking about anybody’s hands on my body these days sent fear rolling over my skin.

“Right.” He exhaled as I turned around, taking in the dark circles around his eyes and the disheveled blond hair.

“You need a haircut,” I croaked for the first time in days, taking him by surprise. His eyes widened, lips parted, as if he was witnessing a miracle right in front of him. Truthfully, it should’ve pissed me off, but it didn’t.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I had more important things to do.”

A small smile played at the edges of his lips, softening his eyes, and as I sat up from the bed, letting my legs dangle from the end, I tried remembering again. I tried to remember how to be normal again.