𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑀𝑂𝑁𝑆

x 37 x

x LAURA x

I'm released from the hospital the next day. I'm still a little light headed, but despite a minor concussion, the doctors deemed me well enough to leave, and told me to take it easy as I got over the shock of seeing Synara...in her state.

The nurses refused to update me on Synara's health conditions, since the cops hadn't ruled things out about whether it was a suicide or not, and if Demon, Dior, and I were involved. The questioning had been enough for me when they had woke me up early this morning. I still don't know if Demon or Dior were questioned.

Suddenly everything I had done at Northwest felt magnified. What if I got in trouble for something I didn't do? Or what if they believed we killed Synara for whatever reason? I calmed down my heart rate, clutching the handle on the car door on the inside of my mother's Escape.

I felt like my mental health had been slightly tilted. Everything felt too normal after seeing Synara lying in the tub like that. I couldn't even visit her. I don't even know if Demon or Dior had gotten a chance to go see her, but I'm sure with the influence their parents have on the Northwest side of Redwillow, they probably managed it.

"You okay, honey?"

It feels like each time my mother asks me that a splitting headache hits me. Images of Synara's face broken and crumbled with emotion pass before my eyes, but I'm the only one who has to see this cruel, never ending slideshow.

I haven't told anyone about it.

Maybe it's my own personal hell for being apart of all of this, even if Synara hated me as much as she did.

Maybe she's haunting me somehow, I thought to myself, feeling anxiety creep through my chest and wrap it's tight arms around my heart. I took in quick short breaths, trying not to breath too noticeably, or my mother would notice. I had been released later on in the day, so thankfully Maury wasn't in the car. I only had to worry about my mother seeing this weird, new side of me.

"Yeah," I answer, once I've calmed down.

My voice is flat, walking a thin line of uncaring and neutral. My mom has enough to deal with, I won't add anything else on her plate.

"We're going up to see Genevievea tomorrow."

I let her words sit in the silence between us for a bit, the radio some background gibberish about down payments and preowned vehicles. "Is Maury coming too?" My mom was letting me stay out of school for the rest of the week, but Maury only got yesterday out. I had heard my younger sister had been shaken up about me being in the hospital and the whole ordeal. I wonder if our older sister even knew.

"I haven't decided yet," my mother said quietly.

"She deserves to see Genenievea sometimes. She was so young when she went away," I said softly, feeling sadness for my big sister tug at my heart.

"I don't want Maury to grow up to-

My mother clamped her lips shut but I already knew what she wasn't saying with words, but instead with silence. "Be like me and Gene? Be crazy, huh?" I say accusingly.

"You aren't crazy and neither is your sister," my mother says angrily. The topic of her firstborn always got her emotional. In many ways, sometimes I believe she views the slow decline of my sister's mental health on herself. For not seeing the signs, for not supporting her enough. In reality, I see it as both of their faults, but sometimes when something is your fault, it doesn't mean it was done intentionally.

I'm sure my older sister didn't purposefully sweep her mental health under the rug and hide it from us because she wanted to one day go upstate to a secure building and have her freedom stripped away. And I'm sure my mother didn't ignore the signs because she wanted to pay that money and see her brilliant daughter fall to pieces, and unintentionally affect her other siblings. "I just want Maury to have a normal childhood that doesn't consist of hospital visits, mental health facilities, and bloody, violent fights."

I let the conversation die there.

It feels like every time I feel too much of an emotion, my eyes start to water and I feel shaky inside. I feel unstable, like some sort of seismic event is occurring within the walls of my heart.

"We're here," she states as we pull up to our house.

I don't see the reason for her pointing that out, but I stay silent, slowly getting out of her car. My body adjusts to the change of position, then I wait for my mother to lock the car and start walking to the door.

"Rest a bit but try to have your things packed before tomorrow," she says, opening up the front door, "Remember, it's a four to six hour drive and we'll most likely be staying at a motel." We both cringed. Just what I needed, to see another motel room.

Blood and dirt around the rims of the tub. An arm swung over the edge carelessly. The stench of heavy copper and body wash.

I blinked, stumbling against the front door as I closed it. I glance back at my mother to see if she had noticed, but she was already heading up the stairs.

"Rest a bit but try to have your things packed before tomorrow," I whispered to myself, letting my clammy hand gently fall over my lips as my mouth moved.

I'm real. This is all real. That all happened.