Celia

9 Take Off

*
Celia

I take the long road home, the same one I used to take with my mom.

Except, there's only one shadow on the ground.

And there's no one holding my hand.

No one to tell me things will be okay.

"Close your eyes, Celia. I'll wake you up when we get there."

"Where are we going, mom?"

"Far away."

The orange sky brushes my face as if asking me to look up, but I can't. I don't want to be comforted by nonsense.

Feet sore, throat tense, heart in a million shreds. Selfish and reckless.

Was I hoping for something else?

Was I searching for somebody else?

Did a foolish part of me dream to find her warmth in someone else's gaze?

I must be so lost to think like that. So weak and pitiful to lie to myself.

"Don't trust anyone, Celia."

"Why?"

"Because people are too scared to be real. They wear masks to hide their pain."

"Are you wearing a mask right now, mom?"

I near the front yard of the house I grew up in. One with a demon who tore my life apart. One with an angel who'd wait for me, locked up.

I was her only source of life. Her only reason to smile. Her hope and promise of a better life.

I wish I was enough.

"Is it true?" My dad gets in front of my face as soon as I go inside.

I flinch from his eyes cutting like blades. "Is what true?"

"You tried to set Chanel's hair on fire? People saw you in church!" He spits, fume rolling off of him in waves, breath making me grimace. "Answer me!"

"It's true."

"What am I going to do with you?" He backs away, lip curling in disgust.

"I don't know, lock me up?" I stare, voice even. "So I can die inside before I pull the plug?"

"You're already dead. I can't even save you, God knows I've tried." He glares head to toe.

"Really? You've tried?" I smile. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at nights?"

He throws his palm up to strike me across the face, pausing just inches above my cheek.

I stay unmoving, staring into his lost, bulging eyes. "Do it, I know you haven't changed."

"You're not worth it." He searches my face, seeing her in me, haunted by things he tries to bury. "You're not worth it and neither was she," he shakes his head, turning to hide in his office.

Knives scrape the walls of my sore ribcage. My mind numb, I storm out, running God know where.

I run as fast as I can, muscles and lungs in flames. I grit my teeth and clench, killing the scream that begs to unleash.

The grass quiets my violent steps, as if I'm swimming against the current, like a slow-motioned nightmare that I can't escape.

This is not okay. I am not okay.