Broken, Grave

Epilogue

5 years later 

“You know…” I took in a deep breath, my eyes closed as I thought about it all, “it’s taken me a long time to heal. To be honest,” I said with a weak laugh, “I don’t think I’ll ever really fully heal from my past…but…this is a good start. I never used to leave my apartment, and I spent a lot of time by myself. Now,” I opened my eyes and looked outside the window, feeling a smile grow as I took in New York. “I love it. Love being outside, love having friends,” I paused, thinking back to how the past 5 years have been. 

After Nicolaas dropped me off on my front door step, I’d stayed at home for a few more weeks, waiting for my bullet wounds to heal up. My sisters did everything in their power to make sure that I’d be able to walk again, and I found myself under the knife a lot of times. And when I had healed, I packed my bags and left the country. I couldn’t stand to be in that country anymore, and I hadn’t even told my family about what happened with Precious because how was I meant to start that conversation? 

Precious had continued to live on in my memory and I prayed for her everyday. 

My family knew nothing about who had done that to me. They kept asking me, and I was simply mute. I couldn’t speak then too, my body and mind completely shut down. The trauma of what I had gone through kept replaying in my mind and I couldn’t believe that was something that I’d gone through. They tried taking me to therapy, they took me to churches and asked pastors to pray for me, but nothing worked. I remained mute until I was healed enough to take a couple of steps. 

I left them a lengthy letter, saying my goodbyes and telling them that I’d get in touch with them when I was okay. I told them that I wasn’t ever going to set foot in that country again, and that I was off to start a new life elsewhere and even if I had no way of living my life, I would rather starve than ever be in the very place where I had been hurt so bad, the wounds would never heal. I told them that I loved them and that I was sorry that I wasn’t strong enough. 

Then I found myself here, in New York, and the overstimulation from so many people destroyed me. I’d found some run-down apartment the size of a damn pantry and stayed there, for months. I had money saved up that kept me going for two months but after that I got a remote job and worked through the computer screen. I was afraid of stepping outside and bumping into Nicolaas or another member of the du Toit family. I was afraid that every other person was exactly like the du Toit’s so I stayed the hell away from people. 

I had night terrors and woke up in cold sweats and I’d spiralled into a state of madness, you wouldn’t recognise me even if you tried. Then one day, a stray cat wandered into the open window of my apartment and I made my first friend. I fed it every day and talked to it, and I swear it talked back to me, but I’m not going to tell anyone that. Then two weeks later, as I was standing by my window, feeding Tip Tip as I had named him, a voice shouted from the opposite building, “hey, I’m sorry if she acts a little crazier than usual, Cinnamon had some catnip!” and lo and behold as I looked across the building there was a man who stood with half of his body outside the window as he yelled to me. 

And that was how the story of me and Bill was born. 

Bill lived in the apartment building straight across from mine, and our windows were so close to each other, we talked day and night about Cinnamon and her mood swings. Then he went on to ask me about whether my refrigerator worked, and he’d tell me that his hadn’t been working for a few weeks but all it needed was a super hard kick on the other side and it started working again. Then, he’d tell me about how much he hated New York, and he’d bring me sandwiches every time that he came back from work. He told me about how much he loved music and that he’d play the guitar for me some day. Then, he told me about his depression; that he’d been depressed for a very long time and he learned that all one needs when they’re in that state is just a constant. Then, he told me he’d be my constant.