The Shadow That Smiled At Me

Chapter thirty one

One day I sat on the floor of my room surrounded by Samael's drawings and drew another portrait of him. I didn't want to forget him. I drew memories of us. It was the first time since New York that I decided to pick up a pencil and paint something again. The whole time these memories were lying there, dust falling on them. I never cleaned them and my parents never dared to touch them.

Mother came to my room to call me down for dinner. She found me sitting on the ground drawing.

"I'm glad you're painting again, Arya," she said with hope in her voice, hoping that things would turn out well, once again.

She approached me and knelt down. She carefully took the sketchbook from my hands to look at my work. At that moment, her smile froze on her face. Horror, pure horror was reflected in her eyes. Desperation echoed in her voice. "Arya, honey, why are you doing this? What happened to you? What's wrong with you?'

I looked directly into her eyes, but as if through them. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy, I repeated, but didn't say the words out loud.

"Can't you see that it hurts you?" she held my shoulders tightly and shook me gently.

He saved me, was the answer - I kept it to myself.

"This has to end, Arya! Those drawings have to go!" she almost screamed. "You're hurting yourself and us."

I wanted to tell her, "The whole time I was at my absolute lowest, you thought I was fine, and when I finally really was, really fine, I was happy, you locked me up in a psychiatric hospital - whatever more noble name it had. But I didn't say any of it out loud. It wouldn't help anything anyway. It won't change anything.

"Why aren't you talking, Arya? Say something!" the urgency in her voice pierced my body like shards of glass.

She started frantically collecting the drawings scattered on the ground, everywhere around. I tried to stop her from taking them from me. We started to pull on them; a few of them crumpled and tore. A heartbreaking scream escaped my throat. "No!"

The mother took the drawings to the garden, where she threw them into the fireplace. The paper burst into flames. The contours of Samael's face were lost in tongues of fire. Memories of the past, of him, of us, turned black, turned into ash and dust.

Screaming and wailing ripped from my lungs, how sad I was when everything was consumed by fire. I felt as if it would swallow me up. The heat was eating me alive. Tongues of fire slid over my body, licking the last drops of life that were left in me.

Dad saw it too. He watched in horror what happened.

"It'll be better this way, Arya, you'll see," said my mother. "Forget the delusion! Be normal again!"

I gave her a murderous look. I was shaking with anger, sheer rage. I clenched my fists until my hands turned white. "On the condition that you stop playing the mother you haven't been all these years," I retorted, loudly this time.

Now she was the one who remained silent.

⸸

That was the only thing I said to my mother, and indeed to anyone. I fell back into my silent state.

For hours I just drew and drew to keep on paper the memories of him, trapped in my head, which my mother could not burn. I didn't want to forget him – his hair as black as a raven's feathers, his cocky smile, the golden glint in his eyes.

I hated my mother for what she did. And in order to annoy her even more than she already was, when I had enough drawings of Samael, I wallpapered every centimeter of my room with them. He was everywhere. He was looking at me from everywhere.

Mother entered my room, she stopped at the door. Her eyes widened in shock and horror at the same time. She spun on her own axis, surveying the flood of what she had tried to destroy.

She stammered out, "Wh.... what... what the hell does that mean?!"

Her panic brought a wicked smile to my face. Do you like my decoration, I thought.

She gave me an uncomprehending look full of despair, and when I didn't answer, with anger pouring out of her in all directions, she stormed out the door to leave and was gone.

I smiled sincerely for a moment. A spark of joy shone in me, but then, a moment later, it went out again.

He was gone.

Gone forever.

And I was left alone, condemned to fall into oblivion for eternity, with memories of him.

⸸

Because of what I did, my parents called Vincent. They thought that he was the only one who could bring me back to my senses in these difficult times. But he only reminded me of another pain.

Vincent entered my room full of portraits of Samael. He looked around. The pain was reflected in his eyes. I sat on my windowsill and looked at the landscape behind, disappearing into the night. I didn't look at him. I didn't turn my eyes to him. I didn't want to see those words in his eyes, you're crazy.

He sat down next to me. He caressed my knee with a gentle touch.

"I heard you finally spoke for the first time today," he said. "That's an achievement."

But I was silent.

"Even if you're silent now, Arya," he added.

He gently pulled me to him. He hugged me and I hugged him back. I needed him. I felt so alone and he is the only one I have left. Even Jessica avoided me as if my insanity was some kind of contagious disease. I didn't want to be alone.

I couldn't hold back the tears. They pressed into my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. I sobbed.

"It's okay, Arya," Vincent told me. "I'm with you. Everything will be alright again someday."

And what if it doesn't, I thought.

"This isn't you, Arya. We'll work this out together and everything will be okay again. I'm here for you."

What if this is exactly who I am? 

Crazy.