The dreams I have still live on within me. It’s not too late to get back on track, but honestly, I don’t know where to start. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt remotely like me. I’d rather stay in the comfort of my own room, painting, drawing, listening to music and lying in bed. I know it seems dull, but it’s safe.
I put the list down and lean my head against the headboard. Turning on the music app on my phone, I press shuffle. Music surrounds the quiet in my room, settling deep in my soul. It’s a sad song about letting go and moving on; not being good enough.
The song reminds me of when I lost hope. When things went downhill and I had to find the strength to be me again.
I’m trying, taking baby steps, but I’m not a patient person. I like to get things done at that moment and not wait. The waiting game and I have never been friends. Part of me yells to live and the other part yells at me to calm the fuck down so I can be safe. I don’t want to be a hostage to his hold anymore. I only have this life to live and it’s going on without me.
The pain from that night is too strong. There are nights I lie in bed with regret and hurt in my heart. There are so many things holding me back and the fear that someone is going to hurt me again stands right in front of the line. It’s impossible to believe I’ll ever be one hundred percent okay.
Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I get up and walk over and sit by my window, looking outside, wondering about the simplicity of life. I think about the constant motion of life and how it doesn’t stop because you want it to. Regardless of what’s going on, life goes on. Sometimes we want to yell pause or stop and other times we want life to quickly go past us. That’s not how things work. I’m obsessed with how life goes and why bad things happen to good people. When all you have is time, you find things to obsess over like time and life.
I look back to my list sitting on my bed. It’s funny how one list can give you a small glimpse of what can be and push you a little bit more than you or your family and friends can. You try to see the beauty of life and the beauty of surviving. In a tragic poetic sense, there is beauty behind the scars. Sometimes we don’t see it at first because the hurt we feel clouds our judgments. Eventually, beauty comes out and soon we’re ready to fly.
It’s been two years since the night my life was thrown offbeat, yet it feels like yesterday. Maybe I did something to provoke him. Maybe I was dressed like I was asking for it. I mean, that’s what his lawyer said. Sitting on the stand, recounting that night in full detail, the defense attorney looked at me, without any emotion, and asked if I thought about my outfit, that maybe I was asking for it. My lawyer stood up so fast and the gasp from others sounded so loud. I remember responding and how shitty he made me feel.
“I never asked for this,” I screamed, standing up and pointing at him, “you stole my life. Don’t you feel bad at all?” When he doesn’t respond I cry out, “Why didn’t you kill me that night?” As I sat back down, his attorney took his seat and said nothing further. I looked at the jury and some of them were crying, while others looked down. No one could look at me. I couldn’t look at me.
Stepping off the stand, I walked back to my parents and felt Tyler’s arm around me. I wanted to scream and push him away. Instead, I welcomed his touch, laid my head on his shoulder and cried.
“Will I ever be okay?”
“You will, Bay,” he kisses the side of my head, “you will.”
Sliding under the cover of my bed, I pull a blanket over me and turn to my side, facing my bedroom wall. I replay the past two years of my life in my head. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I was unhealthy and therapy wasn’t working. My therapist brought up topics I didn’t want to talk about and after a year, I gave up. I was barely living and when I tried, I ran back to my room and hid from the world.
My parents did everything they could to help. We went on trips and they gave me space when I needed room to be alone. As much as I love them they didn’t know what to say. My hurt was their hurt. When they looked at me they saw a fragile girl who could break at any time. What could they say to make me feel better?
Nothing makes sense to me anymore. Living this life isn’t what I have in mind. When something is stolen from you, is there a way you can open your heart again, break down the walls and rebuild your life once more? Everything scares me and I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do. I’m twenty-three years old, still living with my parents, without a job or opportunities.
Before my life took another route, I had dreams about going to a bigger city and making a difference. I have the tools to build my future, just not the strength. Graduating from a good college, I hold my Bachelor of Arts degree and I’m not doing anything with it. I didn’t get a chance to walk the stage and hold my diploma in my hand. No. When I got home, it was framed on the wall in the family room along with my senior picture from high school and a picture of me in my cap and gown when I first received it in the mail. I never got to wear it again. My last memories of college are of him and what he did to me.
Now it’s easier to stay home, in my room, and ignore the outside world.
“Go to sleep,” I mutter, my eyes slowly fluttering and soon all I see is the dark. “You won’t have any nightmares tonight. You’ll be fine. Just go to sleep and take yourself to a happy place. Go to Tyler,” I quietly mumble before falling into a deep sleep.
“You smell so good, pretty girl. Is this what you want?” His hands slide down my back to my ass and down my legs. “God, I can’t wait to feel you.”
“Please stop,” I beg, “please let me go.”
Jolting up, my body is covered in sweat and my mind is spinning in loops. Frantically, I look around the room to make sure I’m okay and no one else is here with me. Rubbing my eyes, I fall back onto my pillows and cry. This isn’t fair. I can’t get through a night without a nightmare.
If only I could stay awake forever. Sleeping means that I don’t have the power in my mind to block him no matter what I do. It leaves me vulnerable. I’ve tried sleeping pills and working out until the point of exhaustion. Nothing works. I still see him and I feel what he’s doing to me. I need to be the captain of my own life, sailing through with my own decisions or else I’ll spiral out of control again.
Reaching over for my glass of water, I drink what’s left. Needing more, I slip out of bed and walk downstairs to get a refill. When I walk by the front door I decide to step outside. The cool air hits my face. I inhale deeply and feel the cleansing breath flow through my body. After holding it in for a few more seconds, I exhale, the air leaving through my lips. I sit on the wooden swing on my porch and trace my fingers over what’s been carved against the white wood, B + T forever.
Looking up and to the right side, I see his house. It’s dark inside, with only the porch lights on. My eyes go to his bedroom window and I wonder what he’s doing. His dark blue Jeep is in the driveway, so I know he’s home. Or at least, I hope he’s home and safe. The painful realization hits that the one person I want most in this world is next door and I can’t find the right words to tell him how I feel. I can’t tell him I think about him all the time and look at his Facebook and Instagram pages. I can’t tell him I hate his friend, Serena, and wish he would stop being friends with her. Each time I look at their picture, which I have saved to my phone because I’m that girl, I cringe. His smile is bright and she looks good standing next to him. I know they’re good friends and I’m glad she lives thousands of miles away in California. I think I would lose my shit if she lived here.