Evelyn's Pendant

4.

I blow out a cloud of smoke and pass my cigarette to my right hand as I pack the last of my clothes into a box with my other hand. I wipe the sweat that slowly starts to emerge out of my hairline, mostly as a result of anxiety. I pause to look down at my hands and see the now yellowish-green bruises on my wrists. I told my parents I got into another bar fight, as that would be easier for them to believe than me getting assaulted. Besides, they don't need to know that. They probably wouldn't leave it alone and would make a bigger deal out of it than I would want them to. I just want to forget about it. It's time to now, anyway, since today is the day I leave for Seattle. The day I thought would never come; I get to leave.

Not for good, but long enough.

I look at the last empty box I have yet to fill. Painting Stuff is scribbled on it in black Sharpie. I put out the cigarette and pack my homemade ashtray into another box as I decide if I want to leave the box empty or not. I look at the time on my phone, it reads six-fourteen in the morning. I take a swig of my energy drink - I've been up all night packing. I could have done it all in the last few days, but like everything else, I decided to save it until the last minute. Plus, how could I sleep the night before what could possibly be the best day of my life?

At least, the best day since Evie died.

Do it. I hear a voice inside my head that isn't mine. I automatically look at the empty box that is meant for my painting supplies. I carefully place my canvases, a variety of paints, brushes, palettes and all of my other supplies in the box.

The voice was warm and familiar.

Evie.

Her voice has entered my head every once in a while after the accident. Another one of my coping mechanisms, according to Dr. Lewis, my psychologist. I stopped attending my appointments with her weeks ago and stopped taking the mind-numbing drugs she prescribed me.

I'd like to think that Evie is still with me, but it's just the mechanisms of my mind keeping her alive for my own sanity.

Once I finish packing, I take a shower and put my hair into a bun and pull out some dark strands that come from my roots to surround my face. I line my top lid with black to make my eyes pop and add a bit of mascara. Usually, I wouldn't put on makeup for traveling, but this occasion has got me in some kind of mood.

Mom has been pacing and stomping around the house from the moment the clock struck seven. She's a nervous wreck; if I were her, I'd be relieved. She has been making sure my moving truck arrives on time, making sure I have a cab to the airport and constantly reminding me of items I won't want to forget. I can't wait to get on that damn plane.

It's nine in the morning and the sound of the cab's horn makes me jump out of bed in excitement as I grab my carry-on bag and run out of my empty room. I stop in the doorway and look into my room; my bed is made neatly for when I come home, my walls are bare besides a few paintings I couldn't fit into my boxes and had to spare. I saved my least favorites to leave here. I take a breath, smile and jog downstairs.

I get to the front door to find my parents standing there waiting for me. I slowly approach them and my mother is obviously crying. I roll my eyes. Why does she have to make everything so difficult?

"Mom, will you please stop it with the waterworks?" I say to her.

She sniffles as my dad puts his arm around her. "She's just going to miss you very much, Lilly," he says. My mind stings at the nickname. "We both will."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I say as I adjust my backpack and walk out the front door.

My parents follow behind me and I light a cigarette, my last one before the trip I have ahead of me. The moving truck has already left with all my stuff and will meet me in Seattle.