A fight for love. (Bakixcharater)

Chapter 24: Compared losses.

I sigh softly as dad puts the last bag on the floor, he puts his hands on his lower back and cracks it, "woo.." he exclaimed smiling a little at me, "so Jaz, you're gonna be here with a stranger for four years," dad said with a laugh.

I hum looking around, I wanted to go to college for psychology. All my life, it seems I've been a listener, and observing comes with listening, and plus i figured being. Therapist wouldn't be so bad I was a free therapist to dad, he thought it was a good idea too, "yeah, I wonder who that will be, I just pray it isn't a weirdo with sleep apnea." I say making my father chuckle grabbing my bag to help me unpack.

I simply shake my head grabbing my bag, "I've got it, you've helped me buy everything and kept me from going, insane, I have no friends and I honestly can't ask you to do more than what you're doing." I smile gratefully and he smiles down at me the same cupping my cheeks, "you make me so proud, to be a father, now you're leaving the nest to do this all by yourself, trying to continue without a second glance back, Your mother would be very proud Jasmine.." he says kissing my forehead softly, making my smile.

Both of my parents split up, being black and getting married at a young age in Baltimore Maryland sounded like a fairytale, a dream that only mostly happened in the 90s. Yet even fairytales come to an end, My parents split when I was around 5, my dad had cheated with someone from his job, and to be honest I hated him for that, the day we got into An accident my mom grabbed me and stormed out the house, not without constant yelling from my father to "bring his daughter back,"

She put me in my booster seat and sped off, but maybe if I knew that that would be my last day seeing her, I would have tried just as hard as my father to stop her from going.

At the time though, I kicked my feet as they dangled from the ground begging my mother over and over to have her phone so  I could Clear out my bordem considering we were driving in silence. Finally after enough pestering she grabbed her phone from her purse her eyes glued to the highway, she without looking, gave me the phone but it dropped missing my hand.

And for a heart wrenching split second she took her eyes off the road to reach and grab the phone and like lightning the car was struck by a tractor trailer, sending the car flying with me and my mother inside, the car flipping several times finally landing upside down.

I was knocked out cold, but my mother? She wasn't wearing a seat belt. My Father told me one day that when they found us my mother clung me to her chest, car seat still on my body just barely, making her suffer with all the damage, all her limbs even her neck broken, she died on the scene, me? A broken arm, and survivals guilt, the constant smell of burning flesh and gas. I faintly ember hearing her groans, her groans of pain and suffering, but i can't remember not hearing them.

You know that thing your brain does when it holds onto trauma? you can remember things from your past that hurt you the most, you can remember to the point where it's almost photographic.

I remember it all but days after that were hazy, I can't even remember her funeral, and maybe it's my mind not wanting me to remember, seeing her like that is something no one could expect.

I ended up not speaking for a while, using a notebook and pen until I got my first phone, to even try to communicate to people around me, yet once I started feeling like a burden is when I started to speak again. One thing I love my father for, is how understanding he is. Despite the stereotype on black men not knowing how to show care for mental health,my father beats all of that. He never failed to ask me "are you okay?" "let's discuss this situation later on, when you're comfortable," I never needed therapy because my father was my therapist and I was his as I got older.

Losing my mother made me hate him but as years passed of me living with him I realized we both shared the same grief.

But now we don't.

Baki, you have been Gone for six months and out of those six months, I've been just as drained as it sounds, not having something I was so used to was like an addict coming down with the withdraws after not having it for a while, you left as if you could care less, when you said that you'd never leave me, at least not again.

Not having your lover to hold, kiss, and love you for six months is nothing compared to 13 years of not having my mother, so why did it hurt so much when you just disappeared and my mother left this earth with hatred in her heart. Nothing made sense, no one really knew just how much, I love you Baki Hanma.

Yet how can a man whose heart is as gentle as mine, continue to break my heart without any repercussion at all? This pain of not having you was swallowing me whole and soon it made me depressed.

Out of those six months I had a dorm room to myself, unsurprisingly no one wanted to share the room with a black person, not that I thought that, but my dad certainly did, all the school kept saying was there just simply was enough students in dorms and I just had an extra room, and I considered myself lucky, I didn't wanna share anyways.

But despite that, sometimes, it would get too quiet, and then came the blaming, I blamed myself for falling in love, for thinking I could ever be happy and actually giving my body and heart to him, I gave it all to you, then blaming myself for feeling this way at all.

But can you blame me Baki? You stripped me away from all communication, I don't know if this letter is even going to reach you in time, but I mean every word, every story I've wrote down in every letter is so you can keep up with everything on the outside world.

Why aren't you writing back..? It's almost as if.

You're dead too.