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“We’re not doing this today.” I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go eat,” I said, hurrying us both out of the room.
That painting was anything but something lacking thought and concentration. A true artist paints what they feel, and all I could feel was darkness and want.
Mara was right about something, the one person I had in mind was her. I haven’t been able to get her out my mind all day.
I’m in my childhood home, the walls closing in around me, as the darkness consumes everything. My heart races, and I can hear my own frantic breaths.
My father’s towering figure looms over me, his eyes filled with rage, and his fists clenched. He’s shouting, “You’re worthless! You’re messing up everything, just like you always do! Why can’t you be more like your siblings?”
I look to my mother, who stands frozen, a silent observer to the violence unfolding before her. Her eyes are empty, void of any emotion, as if she’s a lifeless puppet. She makes no move to intervene or protect me. She does nothing.
My small, trembling body is defenseless against my father’s wrath. His fists rain down on me, and the pain is unbearable. I cry out for help, “Mom, please, make him stop!” but my voice is lost in the nightmarish abyss. Tears blur my vision, and I feel utterly alone.
With a gasping breath, I jolted upright in bed, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. Sweat drenched my trembling body, and the remnants of the nightmare clung to my thoughts, refusing to release their grip.
Panicking, I reached for the bedside drawer, my fingers fumbling in the darkness. It was there—the EVZIO, a small but dangerous device that could save me from the relentless torment of my past.
Desperation drove me to grab the bottle and prepare it it. My hands trembled as I loaded the device, knowing it was my only way to find relief. Three clicks, three pills, a flick of the wrist, and the needle found its mark. I pushed down on the plunger, and the medication surged into my system.
The cool liquid provided an almost instant sense of calm. I lay back in bed, the anxiety gradually dissipating as the medication did its work. I knew it was only a temporary escape, but in that moment, it was my lifeline, a bridge between the horrors of the past and the promise of a better day.
The nightmare was suffocating, a cruel reenactment of my childhood fears and insecurities. I was trapped in that horrifying memory, reliving the moment when I was at the mercy of my father’s violence, and my mother’s silence was the loudest scream of all.
With the medication taking hold and my racing thoughts slowly subsiding, I realized it was essential to ground myself further. I reached for my bedside journal and a pen, and in the dim glow of a nearby nightlight, I began to write.
Each word, each sentence, was an attempt to translate the lingering emotions and fears from the nightmare into something tangible, something I could understand and process. The pages filled with the dark ink of my thoughts, bringing a sense of order to the chaos in my mind.
After pouring my heart onto the pages, I closed the journal and set it aside, feeling a sense of relief in having unburdened myself, at least in part. The demons of the past were not vanquished, but they were contained within the pages of my journal for the moment.
I pushed aside the covers and slowly made my way to the kitchen, craving comfort. I filled a small saucepan with milk and placed it on the stove, allowing it to warm, the sound of the bubbling milk a soothing lullaby. Finally, I poured the warm milk into a mug and held it close, the steam warming my face and the comforting aroma enveloping me.
Sitting in the quiet of the night, journaling and sipping the warm milk, I gradually began to regain my sense of self and push back the lingering darkness of the nightmare.
I needed this to be over.
CHAPTER 8
Azzaria
Monday mornings: the world is back on its axis and the weekend is over.
I spent the entire weekend obsessing over the fact that I not only went to a club owned by my boss, but I also sat down, very close to him, having a comforting conversation.
Typically, that stuff doesn’t bother me but I’ll have to go to the office this morning and get flashbacks of how sweet and normal he was last week.
I’m hoping he forgot about everything and went through the weekend with other pressing issues like the call plans. Which by the way, I was totally shocked to see an email from him on Saturday.
Note to self: Never, ever sit and talk with your boss in a club ever again.
I parked my car in the lot and made my way up the elevator. “Good morning, Azzaria,” Mara greeted me as I walked inside.
“Good morning, Mara. Shouldn’t you be on leave?” I replied with a slight chuckle.
“I should be,” she sighed, rubbing her stomach, “but I have to keep Dillon in check.”
“That’s great,” I replied, my tone nervous. It was evident that his name struck a nerve in both of us.
“What are you doing for the next few Wednesdays?” Mara asked. I had no clue about my plans for the next hour, let alone weeks.
