Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Eight-One

A/N I'm back! 

Thank you to everyone who is still here. I know it's been a really long time. A lot of stuff has happened in my life. Some good, some bad--some really bad. But God is good and I will always be okay. He made me a fighter. 

I plan on being dedicated to this book over the summer, but I make no promises. My aim will at least be every other week. 

Anyway, I love you all SO much, and you are always in my prayers. So without further ado, here is the next chapter!

Needless to say, waking up in a hospital for a second time in such a short time frame was not exciting to Anne. But this was different. This she had specifically decided not to wake up from. She failed.

Yet her feelings were more complex than utter defeat. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was a blur of colors and emotions from memories that were slipping out of her grasp, as if something had happened that definitely didn't but maybe did? She couldn't remember, and as if her already cacophony of emotions wasn't enough, irritation was laden over all of it.

It was easier to try and focus on one emotion at a time—actually, it was easier to sleep, but she was too disconcerted to sleep. Besides, she knew that soon there would be floods of people descending upon her, and she needed to be alone to take stock.

She was defeated. She had failed. The one time—the one time she had tried to do the thing she thought she was not brave enough to do, she had failed.

But it wasn't really about her, was it? It never had been. It was about failing Sadie and Hannah, and now she had failed Matthew and Samantha, Charlie and Diana and Gilbert. She clenched her jaw, breathing heavily to keep herself from sobbing. She was a failure. And because she had failed, people had gotten hurt.

There was no use dwelling on the past, though, even if it had been mere hours ago. Her therapist may not have agreed, but this was about survival, and she doubted that whatever university Dr. Wilson went too was more rigorous than the O'Keafe house. So. Survival. How could she minimize the damage she caused?

By leaving, of course.

It was such an obvious answer, yet it seemed to tug uncomfortably at her gut, as if she already knew it was the wrong answer. But all logic pointed to it. To minimize damage, she had to separate and isolate herself from her newfound family. It would hurt, but their bonds, while seemingly profound, ultimately were relatively new. They had lived without Anne, and they would learn to live again. It might even, eventually, be a relief, although she knew they would never so much as think that. She was a burden; she had enough self-awareness to acknowledge that.

That was one emotion, then, or rather two. Failure, and the determination to correct said failure.

She should push aside all other emotion and focus on her present plan. And she was going to, she was, but the other emotions were welling up inside her in snippets and flashes that she couldn't control.

Love. Hope. Who am I? And then, Child of God. Warrior.

It was too much.

Focus. The present. Don't get distracted. What did she know?

She knew the walls were too white. She knew the antiseptic was strong. She knew her eyes were wet...