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Dear Lord, please protect him.

With that fleeting thought, I turn and leave his house. Hopefully and remorsefully, I wish it to be the last.This feels like the end of an era full of begging and tears. Now the real challenge is making sure I can stay away from him.

You know you don’t want to.

I know.

Then why?

CHAPTER FOUR: THE SHIFTING CURRENT

I walk into my house and lower my head. Perhaps if I don’t acknowledge the demons, they will stop berating me.

I walk straight to my bathroom and close the door firmly behind me. I look into the dirty mirror. My face is so tired. My vision flashes to my 16 year old self. The difference is staggering. My 16 year old face looks angry at me. It begs to know why I have let myself be pushed by Kane to a point where even my appearance is taking a toll.

I lower my head. I would be ashamed but I know that even if I had warned myself that this would happened, I still would have followed him as I did.

My hands grip the edges of the sink.

Go back.

Go back.

Go back.

My grip gets tighter on the sink.

I look back up at my face. Perhaps if I saw my pain then my brain would respond. I beg to myself in the mirror.

You can stop this.

I relax my body and let go of the sink. I breathe steadily to keep the voices at bay.

I grab the bottom of my shirt and pull it off of my body. The cold breeze flowing through the bathroom bites at my bare skin.

I pull my pants off and look back in the mirror. I analyze my body. It is the body of a woman matched with the mind of a scared child who never really came to terms with reality.

I take off my bra and underwear and turn to the shower. I turn the cold knob on full blast and stand close to the tub. I can feel the stray droplets hit my skin. The sharpness of the cold fills my body with renewed breath.

I put my hand into the stream of water. The coldness hurts but it is the most vitalizing death. I step in and let the water run over my aching body.

I massage my hair under it. As the water falls over my shoulders and pours down my body onto my legs, I feel as alive as life will allow.

However, the water begins to grow unbearable. The feeling of renewed life only lasts so long before it becomes uncomfortable.

I turn off the water after letting it hit my face for a few more seconds. I step out of the shower and onto the hard bathroom floor. The water continues to fall down my body and pool between the tiles. I walk forward and reach for the towel hanging on the hook next to the sink.

I pull it around my body and walk out of the bathroom. The walk to my room is one of slight triumphant. With the fresh water came fresh views. I have the opportunity to leave Kane forever. I can push the voices down for as long as my brain will allow and use that time to my advantage.

When I waltz through my door frame, I immediately drop the towel and grab a new outfit from my closet. I dress myself in a loose t-shirt and jeans. Simplicity makes life easier.

I sit on my bed and look around the room. I don’t want to be in here. I hate this house. If I am to get away from the Kane and the voices, I have to get out of this house.

I walk back over to my closet, grab the old back pack sitting in the back and shove clothing in it. I do not care what happens to make it into my bag. I stand up and look around the room. These walls will never stop eating me if I give them the opportunity to. As I gaze over the walls, my eyes connect with an ancient picture frame that hangs slightly to the left. I walk over to it and look at it for the last time.

My grandmother stands in the front of my house with a huge smile on her face. She stands hand in hand with my grandfather. The house looks new. The past glory of it sinks into my conscience and guilt flows over me.

I let it go to waste. The walls eat me because I allow them to eat me. It is no fault but my own.

I reach for my shoes, put them on my feet and tie the laces. My life is headed towards change. I can do it.

No. You don’t want it.

I take a deep breath, look over the room one last time then with as much courage as I can muster, I sling the backpack over my shoulder and walk out. As I walk into the living room, my breath catches in my throat. The dust collected on the furniture pours the guilt back over my already burning body.

I’m sorry.

I bite my tongue to hold back the tears. My tears have kept me in this cycle of insanity. It is time to let go and clear my head.

NO. GO BACK.

My teeth bare into my tongue in an attempt to distract my focus away from the voices as they surface in my head.

I walk forward without looking back. I leave the house. When my feet hit the pavement, I become aware of my cluelessness. I have no idea what my next step is. I turn and look at the house. My head is intruded with an idea. Normally I would throw it out but I am out of options. I greet it and let it manifest.

I walk away from the house. My steps resonate in my ears. It’s so hard to leave but I can’t let this control me. I walk and walk. Out of my neighborhood lies my fate. I hope this is the truth.

I walk in a steady, yet hurried pace. As soon as the main road becomes visible, my heart grows increasingly anxious.

Boston is a big city for a small girl like me. I have hidden in that house for the last 5 years, hoping that maybe my problems would go away if I ignored them. But, the problems simply grew larger and forced me to the ground.

Kane.

Kane.

Kane.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

I walk to the lip of the sidewalk and flag for a taxi. If I am going to keep this journey going, I need to get off of my feet. There is no telling when this burst of motivation will drain from me.

A taxi stops in front of me and I climb into the backseat. The taxi driver sits in silence until I open my mouth.

“East 6th Street”

As the words flow out of my mouth, nostalgia pours over me. I haven’t been there in 7 years.

He nods and the car starts to move. The soft swaying of the taxi lulls my worried spirit. I look out of my window and watch a slideshow of buildings zoom out of my line of vision. They fly by so quickly that even if I was determined to catch a glimpse of one, the view would only be fleeting. My recovery reflects this pattern.

The car passes a garden and I am overwhelmed with nostalgia. Beautiful sunflowers line the perimeter. Smooth mulch is casually strewn about under the bright green playground. I remember it so vividly. If school every day, my 6 year old self would urge my mom to let me go back. She had such a soft heart that 9 times out of 10, she would sigh and would walk me to it. I would grab the monkey bars with my little fat hands. My stubbornness would become so evident as I attempted to make it to the end. I would get three bars in and realize that I didn’t have the strength to get to even the fourth but I pushed on. I had to get to the end. Majority of the time, I would fall while reaching for the fourth but over time, I made it to the fourth. Then I made it to the fifth. I was 7 years old when I made it to the end. I knew I could. The day I did, I looked at my mom will pride stapled on my small face. She shared in my glory and kissed me on the cheek. She never failed to shower me with love.