Shattered, Like Me
one
She was lying on her bed, crying herself to sleep. She hadn't even bothered to climb under the covers, and she had been in the same spot for three hours - the same amount of time it had been since she had learned her twin brother had been killed. She'd fled to her room and locked everyone else out, not wanting anyone to bother trying to comfort her. She had no intention of moving for a very long time. He had been the only one who could ever comfort her or make her feel better. Her parents or friends never truly could. It had always been Jake.
Her mother was downstairs on the couch, but her father stood, thinking that it had been long enough, and they wanted to speak with their daughter about exactly what had happened. Maybe knowing something about the actual events would help her deal with the loss - or at least that was his thinking.
He knocked on the door saying softly, "Honey, would you please come downstairs? Just for a little while?"
She only sniffled in reply, but pulled herself into a sitting position and hugged her knees to her chest. "I know you know how to unlock the door," she managed, but in a choked voice. The sounds of her father unlocking the door from the outside could be heard, but once he opened it, he did no more than poke his head in the door, somewhat respecting her wish to be left alone.
"Hon, please. Come downstairs with your mother and me," he pleaded, though he showed an obvious lack of enthusiasm or emotion, she thought. She really couldn't think of anything else but to oblige, and rose heavily from her bed. It felt as though it took a year to walk down the stairs and into the living room. She took a seat on the second couch, the one not occupied by her mother, and drew her knees up to her chest again. She could see that her mother had been crying, too, but surely not as much as she had. When her father sat next to her mother, he put an arm around her, and nodded at her. Then her mother spoke.
"Do you…do you want to know what happened?" she asked quietly, her voice that of someone who was weak and vulnerable, not one who was on every other occasion strong and unshakable – the mother she’d been raised by. She nodded minimally, blinking silently at her parents. They only stared back at their beautiful daughter's damp, reddened blue eyes.
Her father slowly began recounting the events that had been recounted to him by the police. Her brother had gone out with friends, and had just been in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time. They couldn't question the man who had killed him, because he had committed suicide within seconds after killing her brother, according to his friend. Jacob had just been a victim of bad timing, he told her, silent tears sliding down her pale face once more.
She was motionless when her father finished the explanation, or what little he could give of one, remaining in the exact same position in the same spot on the couch. Her father rose and went to the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water, and her mother went up to her room to lay down.
She thought, but did nothing more. She thought about her brother, and what her life would be like without him now, what her parents would act like, her whole family. She knew she was the one who would care the most, and everyone would think her stupid for dwelling on it so long, but what else was she supposed to do? Completely forget the person she was closest to for her entire life? No. She couldn't. She wouldn't ever forget.
The sky outside the living room windows darkened, and the pale, colorless moon replaced the far-too-cheery sun in its place in the sky. Her father asked if she was going to bed, but she shook her head no. He kissed the top of her head and brushed a lock of her long black hair out of her face before making his way up the stairs and to bed.
It was an hour later that she got up from the couch and ascended the stairs to her room. She sat at her desk with a blank piece of paper and a black pen. Glancing at the porcelain doll on her dresser, given to her by her grandmother because of its resemblance to her, she began to write. It didn't take her more than the sixty seconds in a minute to finish.
She stood from the desk chair and picked up the doll, staring at it for a moment. Its hair and eyes matched her own. If it was supposed to echo her, why didn't its face show pain, and agony? She threw it to the ground, and it shattered on the hardwood floor. For a second, she paused, listening. No, the sound hadn't woken her parents.
She lifted a large fragment of the doll's face from its pale white remains, the blue dress lying limp with no form left to cling to for support. One of its eyes was missing, and she held it up to her own looked in the mirror. The doll was broken, shattered, and irreparable, just like her. Nothing could ever make it right again, nothing.
With a shaking right hand, she brought the sharp edge of the dolls face to her left arm and drew it across the skin. Blood flowed quickly down her arm and to the floor, and she continued until she couldn't anymore.
The letter on the desk read:
Mom & Dad,
I'm sorry. I'm really, truly sorry. I know this will kill you, but I need Jake too much. I don't think I would've survived up until now without him, and I don't deserve to keep living if he doesn't get to. I'm so sorry.
Your beloved,
Cara Mia
P.S. I love you.
Her mother was downstairs on the couch, but her father stood, thinking that it had been long enough, and they wanted to speak with their daughter about exactly what had happened. Maybe knowing something about the actual events would help her deal with the loss - or at least that was his thinking.
He knocked on the door saying softly, "Honey, would you please come downstairs? Just for a little while?"
She only sniffled in reply, but pulled herself into a sitting position and hugged her knees to her chest. "I know you know how to unlock the door," she managed, but in a choked voice. The sounds of her father unlocking the door from the outside could be heard, but once he opened it, he did no more than poke his head in the door, somewhat respecting her wish to be left alone.
"Hon, please. Come downstairs with your mother and me," he pleaded, though he showed an obvious lack of enthusiasm or emotion, she thought. She really couldn't think of anything else but to oblige, and rose heavily from her bed. It felt as though it took a year to walk down the stairs and into the living room. She took a seat on the second couch, the one not occupied by her mother, and drew her knees up to her chest again. She could see that her mother had been crying, too, but surely not as much as she had. When her father sat next to her mother, he put an arm around her, and nodded at her. Then her mother spoke.
"Do you…do you want to know what happened?" she asked quietly, her voice that of someone who was weak and vulnerable, not one who was on every other occasion strong and unshakable – the mother she’d been raised by. She nodded minimally, blinking silently at her parents. They only stared back at their beautiful daughter's damp, reddened blue eyes.
Her father slowly began recounting the events that had been recounted to him by the police. Her brother had gone out with friends, and had just been in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time. They couldn't question the man who had killed him, because he had committed suicide within seconds after killing her brother, according to his friend. Jacob had just been a victim of bad timing, he told her, silent tears sliding down her pale face once more.
She was motionless when her father finished the explanation, or what little he could give of one, remaining in the exact same position in the same spot on the couch. Her father rose and went to the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water, and her mother went up to her room to lay down.
She thought, but did nothing more. She thought about her brother, and what her life would be like without him now, what her parents would act like, her whole family. She knew she was the one who would care the most, and everyone would think her stupid for dwelling on it so long, but what else was she supposed to do? Completely forget the person she was closest to for her entire life? No. She couldn't. She wouldn't ever forget.
The sky outside the living room windows darkened, and the pale, colorless moon replaced the far-too-cheery sun in its place in the sky. Her father asked if she was going to bed, but she shook her head no. He kissed the top of her head and brushed a lock of her long black hair out of her face before making his way up the stairs and to bed.
It was an hour later that she got up from the couch and ascended the stairs to her room. She sat at her desk with a blank piece of paper and a black pen. Glancing at the porcelain doll on her dresser, given to her by her grandmother because of its resemblance to her, she began to write. It didn't take her more than the sixty seconds in a minute to finish.
She stood from the desk chair and picked up the doll, staring at it for a moment. Its hair and eyes matched her own. If it was supposed to echo her, why didn't its face show pain, and agony? She threw it to the ground, and it shattered on the hardwood floor. For a second, she paused, listening. No, the sound hadn't woken her parents.
She lifted a large fragment of the doll's face from its pale white remains, the blue dress lying limp with no form left to cling to for support. One of its eyes was missing, and she held it up to her own looked in the mirror. The doll was broken, shattered, and irreparable, just like her. Nothing could ever make it right again, nothing.
With a shaking right hand, she brought the sharp edge of the dolls face to her left arm and drew it across the skin. Blood flowed quickly down her arm and to the floor, and she continued until she couldn't anymore.
The letter on the desk read:
Mom & Dad,
I'm sorry. I'm really, truly sorry. I know this will kill you, but I need Jake too much. I don't think I would've survived up until now without him, and I don't deserve to keep living if he doesn't get to. I'm so sorry.
Your beloved,
Cara Mia
P.S. I love you.
♠ ♠ ♠
Just wanted to say that I used the name "Cara Mia" and the phrase "your beloved" in the end was because "cara mia" means "my beloved" or "my dear" in Italian.