I'm Not Scared

-.x.-

“Have you read Harry Potter?” Peter asked curiously, raising the book to my face.

I shrugged, turning my face away from the book. He kept shoving it my way, though, and I shoved the book away. “Stop,” I said, annoyed. In my mind, I said, I wish I could. I just wish I could.

Peter eyed me suspiciously and picked up his book. He set it beside him on the bench we sat on, while we had our lunch in front of us. We were in the school cafeteria and luckily, no one had heard me yell, or the book falling onto the floor. I had enough eyes on me already; Peter and Roxanne felt like a hundred people already.

“What's wrong?” Peter asked.

“She doesn't like Harry Potter. But nobody knows why,” Roxanne replied for me. I was glad I had her for a friend, but even though she was my friend, she didn't know everything about me. Out of all the things I had told her – she didn't know my worst nightmare.

Never in my life had I touched one Harry Potter book, or any type of fantasy book. Ever since I had laid my eyes on a book titled “The Witches of Elena” and had read the first few words, I hadn't touched any book related to witches...Or witchcraft...Or magic. But that wasn't the only thing that got me horrified...

You could say I was the 'oddball' out of all my relatives, counting my parents. On my mother's side, everyone had loved books. From romance to fantasy, but I didn't pick up the same hobby as her. I was more of a “daddy's girl”, but I only considered myself one because he had shared his own gene of 'lack of interest in books' with me.

“So why don't you like Harry Potter, Emmy?” Roxanne asked quietly, scooting closer to me. Peter and Roxanne had me anxiously in the middle, while I was thinking of an excuse to let them both go. But my anger came quick and I pushed them away.

“Stop it. You're creeping me out!” I squealed. They both sighed and inched away, then let the whole subject slip. I sighed with relief but tried to make it sound like I was stressing out because of them.

Soon, the bell rang and I did my best to keep my eyes off of Peter's book. There were no witches, but there were magicians. I considered them to be one thing...It would be difficult for my eyes to avoid his book, since we would be going to the same classes for the next hour.

-.x.-

I was grateful for one thing, at least. It was two-ten in the afternoon and I was in my last class for the day. It was seventh period, or at least I thought it was. I had completely forgotten about the incident in the cafeteria and I counted on my friends that they wouldn't start anything like that again. If they did, I couldn't imagine what would happen to me. A heart attack? Probably.

As we waited in class for the ever-so-slow teacher, Mr. Padilla, I stared at the clock as if it would help fasten the track of time. I tapped my finger boredly and applied my lips with lip balm, and possibly anything you could do with the things you had in class to get past the boredom.

The doors suddenly flew open and Mr. Padilla, as enthusiastic as ever, stormed in with two books in his hands. The whole class had a clueless expression – especially me. Everyone knew what was wrong with this picture. No, not his huge, thickly framed glasses. No, not his plaid vest or the white shirt underneath it. No, not the dress pants and shoes that he wore with the rest of his clothes. And no, not his formal slicked back hair. It was the two books in his hands. Why only two? We knew him as the dexter with at least five books...And possibly a suitcase as well.

“Hello, class!” he exclaimed in an embarrassing, announcing tone – like how a super hero would speak. Some snickered and some watched in awe. I eyed his two blank books and wondered curiously. He walked over to his desk and sat down casually, then brought up the two books for all eyes to see.

“We will be discussing a knew topic for the next two weeks or so! Witches and witchcraft! Yes, how fun!”

The Harry Potter fans literally freaked out, while the rest yawned boredly – and while I , the only one that had freaked out out of them all, gasped in my seat. My stomach began to churn and at the sight of the witch and magical figures that represented witchcraft. I held my stomach and began to feel faint, then stood from my seat and ran for the door. My chest began to throb, like my heart was about to burst. My eyes slowly began to burn and I had caught myself crying. I ran through the hall and stopped next to the main office, then cringed alone behind a locker.

“Emmy? Emmy?” I heard Mr. Padilla call. I kept myself against the locker wall and hoped no one from the office would spot me, or worse yet any of the other students in the same corridor. I closed my eyes shut and tried deleting the picture I saw of witches and witchcraft, but no matter what I did, it wouldn't come off of my mind. I felt traumatized and weak...How much fear could one person get?

Enough to make me pass out.

-.x.-

At first I was clueless, to why Roxanne and Peter were fanning me while I was lying down in such a lamely-colored room. I wasn't aware that I was lying down, because my head began spinning the instant I had opened my eyes. I regretted waking up and wanted to fall back to sleep, but a familiar voice warned me not to go back to sleep.

The school nurse came into view once I had fluttered my eyes back open. My friends walked aside and the nurse looked at me with narrow eyes. She felt my forehead with the back of her hand and pursed her lips.

“She isn't sick. But you'd better get some rest...But try not to sleep.” There were some uncomfortableness in her words. “Try avoiding stress. I'll write a note to your teachers so they'll excuse you of any homework or extra work so you won't have to work your butt off -- again.”

Again? “I never did,” I replied groggily. I was surprised to how weird my voice sounded. I heard some shuffling in the background and wanted to get a better view of Roxanne and Peter. I sat up slowly and the nurse didn't stop me. I began to feel dizzy. I leaned against the cold wall of the room, where the bed I was on was leaned against.

“We could call your parents,” Roxanne suggested, walking closer to me. I shook my head.

“I'll manage. I'll just drive...”

“Oh no, you don't,” the nurse hissed. “Not in your condition. It would be better if you called your parents, as Roxanne said. Or else..” She didn't have to continue her sentence, but I didn't want my parents to hear about this all. And because my head was going in circles, driving myself seemed like the more reasonable thing to do at the moment.

But later that day, I found myself awkwardly silent in my mom's car. As a mom should, she began talking uncontrollably with a worried voice and face. I couldn't help but tell her that she was overreacting...But she was...Mom. Who could stop her?

“Don't tell me to calm down!” she hissed.

“You're blushing, Mom,” I replied. If her face could get any redder...

“Be quiet, Emmy,” she muttered.

Her tires squealed through the rough road below us as she turned a sharp right into our driveway and stopped in time before hitting our garage. I was in a huge rush to get out, though I wasn't sure why. My mom had stopped me before I reached the door by getting a firm grip on my fragile wrist. I tried getting her to let go, but she wouldn't. I glanced up at her face and saw that she was expressionless-like someone blind. She was staring directly in front of her and they weren't focused on me. I began to panic and flailed my arms around and she slipped a ghostly smile.

“Mom! Let go..!”

I got free from her tight grasp and ran into the door, forcing the key as hard and as quickly as I could...But I had slow reflexes, so you could imagine what it would be like...

“Emmy, why don't you tell me what really happened? Why don't you just tell me why to passed out!?” she called as I began my way up the stairs. I stopped, held onto the banister, and turned her way.

“Emmy,” she sighed. “You can be such a brat sometimes. You're not ten anymore.”

“But I'm fourteen, not eighteen. No one said I was a grown-up,” I whispered back. I changed my face into a scowl and directed my eyes her way. “Why can't you just let it go?” by this point, my voice cracked, and I couldn't speak anymore.

I raced back up the stairs and let that conversation hang, up until it was dinnertime, where I was forced to sit down with her, alone. Without my dad...Because I knew, that even though I had always fantasized that he would come home soon, that he would never. He had died a long time ago and had never finished his story...Of witchcraft or wizardry.

Why don't I like Harry Potter? Because my dad never finished it.

And how did he die? The same way little Harry Potter's parents died. From...Magic.

And they wonder why I don't like magic or witchcraft. It's because it has become a phobia of mine. I was scared of witches and witchcraft. It had practically taken over my life.

-.x.-

Every night, the dream comes to haunt me. I didn't know why. But then again, no one knew why we had these types of dreams. But then again, I had told no one about this fear.

And this dream, in particular, had a new twist. Somewhat.

The purple haze...The surrounding warmth...The terrifying feeling...The words...THE WORDS! It all hurt me so much and endless shivers were sent down my spine. I felt lost in the blackness and wrapped my arms around myself, feeling paranoia and unsafe. I felt out in the open, as if a million eyes were on me. And I felt strangely...Revealing. I held my fingers close and felt a tattered sleeve...No wonder why.

Sweat began to trickling down my temples and my eyes began to search everywhere. I was lost. In the darkness. But I heard voices; lots of them. Eyes...I felt like I was being watched but couldn't see through the darkness...At all.

NO!!!

A wave of bright, bright light flashed over me and I felt unsafe and surrounded. I hid my head under my arms and fell on my butt. I did anything to keep myself hidden. I pushed my knees against my chest and hid my head deep into my arms. I felt sticky and wet...I was sticky and scared. I kept wriggling alone, until I suddenly felt an icy wall behind me.

I opened my eyes – it took a somewhat great effort for me – and turned around. Suddenly, everything felt like it was made of ice, and my sticky skin began to stick to the ice. Like a tongue on a frozen pole. Each time I tried moving, my skin would try to peel itself off of the surface.

“What's going on?” I whispered. My voice echoed and I was suddenly aware...Like I hadn't heard my own voice in such a long time.

Slowly, the icy room was illuminated and everything began to clear up. My eyes were blurry at first, like I had just woken up. But as soon as I was aware of myself, my eyes widened and my jaw dropped. The room was practically made of full, thick ice, yet I could see my own reflection like a realm of mirrors. I could see excess ice crust over the ice walls and heard an endless drip at a distance.

“Daddy!” a little voice called; my voice. When I was seven.

I was fast to react and turned my neck. “Daddy?”

The voice echoed around me and I didn't want to be wrapped up in the darkness again. Everything seemed endless in this room. As if it was built forever and ever and ever...I was cold as the whole room was. And I was entirely afraid. I didn't think I had been his afraid ever in my 'short' life.

The ice suddenly turned all around me, like angled doors. They turned in a somewhat type of pattern. I heard them scratch against the icy floor like wood being sawed. I covered my ears but pulling my arms off the ice forcefully felt like hell...But the rest of me wouldn't budge. Like I was being chained to the floor.

The walls kept moving menacingly and it was only a matter of time before the wall I was once leaning against moved as well and I landed on my back. It was harshly cold and I swore under my breath, a puff of fog coming through my lips. I terribly wanted to get out, but as my skin on my back came into contact with the ice, I was locked into its 'chains'.

“Where am I?” I whispered coldly. A voice replied – a younger version of me. I looked around closely and my eyes fixated on the reflective surfaces around me. The walls stopped so suddenly that it took me by surprise.

“Face your fears, Emmy. Never hide from them.”

Dad. That was what my Dad used to say.

He wanted me to be brave; the quiet girl. I was his favorite and only one. I was considered brave, no matter how much I would yelp if I saw a bug. He thought of me as brave, because he believed in me. He believed that I was courageous.

And I had this feeling, too, that he knew about my phobia. And that he was hiding something of his own.

But when he died, my phobia had only gotten worse. Seeing that magic had made him disappear forever, I would be scared a horrifyingly lot...I felt traumatized in a way, although I didn't show it.

I never questioned how it happened – how he disappeared. I never questioned where that magic came from, or why it happened. I never questioned any of those things. I would be called “naive” at one point, but the only think that really stuck in my head was,

“Why are you afraid?”

I glanced up, as if someone else had said those words besides me thinking of them. I heard sudden footsteps, but they were soft and quiet, and they were coming toward me. The sound of shoes clacking quietly toward me; it echoed around the room and seemed like the sounds were coming at me at all directions. At least I wasn't claustrophobic, too, or this would've been much, much worse.

I focused on one of the mirrors, to try and find out who and what was there. I squinted and waited, until someone came into view. I was there, and a pair of gentle hands were placed on my shoulders. I was young then, about seven or eight. And as those gentle hands landed gently on my shoulders, I felt them, too, although I was on the ground with no one around me.

“Don't be afraid, Emmy. You are powerful. You can do this.”

“Daddy, I can't,” our voices said in unison. The younger me said these words with more enthusiasm, while I spoke them like a grown woman. I was surprised by the difference in tone.

“Don't be afraid of witches or magic...Don't be afraid. Just remember that they're nothing to be afraid of, whatever it is that scares you...”

“Where did you learn that?” I asked curiously.

“Because I had overcome my own fears.”

“What fears?”

“I, too, was wiccaphobic. I was scared silly of witches and witchcraft. Just like you, when I was at least your age.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How did you overcome your fears, Daddy?” my sweet, angelic-like voice asked.

“By opening my eyes. It's nothing scary. It really isn't. It's magic...It's...”

Open my eyes? And strangely enough, I had opened my eyes. From the scary feeling of them being closed. But the instant I had opened them, even just a peek, I had been aware of myself. I was dreaming. Daddy wasn't here. He was still gone.

“Magic is supposed to be beautiful, Emmy. Not scary. Be brave and open your eyes,” a voice whispered soothingly in my ear. I turned my head to the direction of the voice and met with blue, cerulean eyes, that looked just like mine. The circular glasses, the low-cut, maple-brown hair, the smile...His soothing voice. It was Daddy.

“Where did you go?” I whispered, putting the rest of my thoughts aside. I disregarded where I was and everything else. I focused on him, nothing else. I heard beeping and other voices from behind, but I had put that all behind me until they were all just faint sounds, and while his voice was the clearest of them all.

“I never went anywhere,” he said. I knitted my eyebrows, confused.

“It was all a dream, Emmy. I was never gone.”

“Yes you were!” I objected. He hushed me before I could go on anymore.

“You were just pretending to be scared silly...You never were. You went into a deep sleep, until now. Since you were nine...”

“But I'm not nine anymore...Am I?” I whispered.

“It's been more than two years, now, Emmy, and I had longed to see this day. Now you're awake – and I can't forgive myself for what I did to you. I had scared you so much...That you fainted. I never thought you would be this traumatized...” All his words were slipping out, but I still couldn't understand. I was fourteen, just a dream ago...

“Were you wiccaphobic when you were a child, too?” I said slowly. He stopped, then ran his hand through my hair softly. He smiled and his eyes glinted, then he nodded. I looked down. So the dream...Was it really a dream? What about everything before that? Roxanne...Peter...His book.

“I'm...Confused,” I thought aloud. He chuckled.

“What about Peter? And Roxanne? And...”

“They've missed you ever since. You were friends in the third grade, remember?” I forced a nod. Was that true? I guess so.

“They're grown now and Peter wanted me to give you this, whenever you've actually...Woken up.”

I gave him a curious look, then watched as he took something out of his green bag. I waited, then he passed me a fairly thick book. I gazed at it for a moment, then made out the simple words at the top;

“Harry Potter”.

I stared at the front image at first...Then waited for the scared, creepy feeling to travel up my spine.

Nothing came. Had I overcome my fears? Had I really?

“Are you scared?” Daddy whispered. I stared at the book, then glanced up at his face. I smiled.

“No,” I said proudly. “I'm not scared.”