Status: New storyyyy(:
Trampoline
four;
Sadie moved me to dishwasher for the remaining of my shift. She was slightly angry with my incident, but gave me a warning. I’m fired if it ever happens again. I completely understood where she was coming from, but was too shaken from seeing Kyle to take it seriously. Or at least thinking that I saw Kyle.
By the time my shift finally ended, I untied my apron and unclipped my nametag, and drove off home in my POS.
My mind is playing tricks on me, obviously. But nothing like this has happened to me before. A thought that came over me is that I can’t tell my mom. After Kyle was taken away, I assured her that I really didn’t need therapy to over it, or get over him. I had convinced her that I would be fine given time.
That was about two months ago, and I’m still being haunted.
This could be a sign. A sign that I probably do need to talk to someone about my problems, instead of hiding away from the rest of the world and keeping to myself. That would be just what Kyle wanted—for me to be alone and scared.
By the time I finally got home, Mom still wasn’t home. It’s Thursday, so she’s probably working late. Thank God. I stepped out of the car, and walked inside carrying my backpack in my hand. After setting it down on a chair in the kitchen, I go upstairs to change my clothes. I change into a pair of sweats and a tank top, and then go into the restroom to wash my face, thinking it might help relieve some of the stress put on me.
The water against my face cools me down, and calms me the slightest bit. I sigh, patting my face down with a towel, then stare at myself in the mirror.
It all felt so real, though. I could’ve sworn it was Kyle who was sitting at the table. His hazel eyes were piercing me, and he had that mischievous smirk on his face. I could still hear his voice in my head. Do you have any idea how I feel when you always dump me for you friends? He’d tell me. It’s like I mean nothing to you. I’d tell him he means everything to me. Then prove it. Come back, or else I swear to God I’ll hang myself from the goddamn ceiling, Chelsea. Swear to God. He always scared me to death like that, and I had no other choice but to leave whatever I was doing and go to him. If anyone asked me why I would leave suddenly, I just said it was a complicated situation. I never told anyone that he would talk to me like that, because I knew it was wrong. But I couldn’t help it, I had no control over him. Because in the back of my mind, some part of me thought he was serious when Kyle would tell me those things. Yes—it was a very complicated situation.
You’re an ugly bitch! No one will ever fucking love you, unless you rub all that make-up shit on your face! Because you’re pathetic and fake! Kyle yelled at me once. His voice was ranging in my ears, and cutting into my heart. He was so furious with me. His eyes were filled with rage and hate that I could see one of the veins pop out in his neck, and his breathing was coming out heavy. Every time got like this, and went into one of his episodes and would come upon completely randomly would scare the shit out of me. I didn’t know what to do—I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to move, but I would start to cry. Why are you crying?! Goddamn it, Chelsea, stop being a fucking baby! Kyle would come up to me and push me against the wall, hard. Hard enough to leave a new bruise—every time.
It was becoming too much to look back on all the memories I had with him. Memories that I don’t ever want to remember. It’s so hard to push them out of my mind, because they don’t ever want to leave. They’re plastered right in the front, so every where I look they’re there. It’s become too hard to get away from them. To distract myself has become the hardest challenge to overcome.
Before I knew it, I was crying. Crying about not being able to forget. Crying about not able to make myself move on. Crying about losing everything to him. Crying about not being able to talk to anyone about anything. Crying about being so weak. Crying about being alone.
Slowly, I slid my way down to the floor with my back against the cupboard underneath the sink. I sat there and let the water fall from my eyelids, down to the fabric of my shirt. I just sat there until my eyes were done leaking, and became bloodshot and puffy. Things have not been getting any better, I’ve discovered. These past few months have not been me moving on, they’ve been me becoming depressed, and weak. So weak that I didn’t know how to pick myself back up anymore.
By the time my shift finally ended, I untied my apron and unclipped my nametag, and drove off home in my POS.
My mind is playing tricks on me, obviously. But nothing like this has happened to me before. A thought that came over me is that I can’t tell my mom. After Kyle was taken away, I assured her that I really didn’t need therapy to over it, or get over him. I had convinced her that I would be fine given time.
That was about two months ago, and I’m still being haunted.
This could be a sign. A sign that I probably do need to talk to someone about my problems, instead of hiding away from the rest of the world and keeping to myself. That would be just what Kyle wanted—for me to be alone and scared.
By the time I finally got home, Mom still wasn’t home. It’s Thursday, so she’s probably working late. Thank God. I stepped out of the car, and walked inside carrying my backpack in my hand. After setting it down on a chair in the kitchen, I go upstairs to change my clothes. I change into a pair of sweats and a tank top, and then go into the restroom to wash my face, thinking it might help relieve some of the stress put on me.
The water against my face cools me down, and calms me the slightest bit. I sigh, patting my face down with a towel, then stare at myself in the mirror.
It all felt so real, though. I could’ve sworn it was Kyle who was sitting at the table. His hazel eyes were piercing me, and he had that mischievous smirk on his face. I could still hear his voice in my head. Do you have any idea how I feel when you always dump me for you friends? He’d tell me. It’s like I mean nothing to you. I’d tell him he means everything to me. Then prove it. Come back, or else I swear to God I’ll hang myself from the goddamn ceiling, Chelsea. Swear to God. He always scared me to death like that, and I had no other choice but to leave whatever I was doing and go to him. If anyone asked me why I would leave suddenly, I just said it was a complicated situation. I never told anyone that he would talk to me like that, because I knew it was wrong. But I couldn’t help it, I had no control over him. Because in the back of my mind, some part of me thought he was serious when Kyle would tell me those things. Yes—it was a very complicated situation.
You’re an ugly bitch! No one will ever fucking love you, unless you rub all that make-up shit on your face! Because you’re pathetic and fake! Kyle yelled at me once. His voice was ranging in my ears, and cutting into my heart. He was so furious with me. His eyes were filled with rage and hate that I could see one of the veins pop out in his neck, and his breathing was coming out heavy. Every time got like this, and went into one of his episodes and would come upon completely randomly would scare the shit out of me. I didn’t know what to do—I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to move, but I would start to cry. Why are you crying?! Goddamn it, Chelsea, stop being a fucking baby! Kyle would come up to me and push me against the wall, hard. Hard enough to leave a new bruise—every time.
It was becoming too much to look back on all the memories I had with him. Memories that I don’t ever want to remember. It’s so hard to push them out of my mind, because they don’t ever want to leave. They’re plastered right in the front, so every where I look they’re there. It’s become too hard to get away from them. To distract myself has become the hardest challenge to overcome.
Before I knew it, I was crying. Crying about not being able to forget. Crying about not able to make myself move on. Crying about losing everything to him. Crying about not being able to talk to anyone about anything. Crying about being so weak. Crying about being alone.
Slowly, I slid my way down to the floor with my back against the cupboard underneath the sink. I sat there and let the water fall from my eyelids, down to the fabric of my shirt. I just sat there until my eyes were done leaking, and became bloodshot and puffy. Things have not been getting any better, I’ve discovered. These past few months have not been me moving on, they’ve been me becoming depressed, and weak. So weak that I didn’t know how to pick myself back up anymore.