Chapter 2: I Lose Myself.
"Search for all the answers I knew all along, I lost myself, we all fall down, never the wiser of what I've become."~Breaking Bejamin.
Almost One Year Later:
I sat in the dark corner of my room, knife in hand. I set the blade on my forearm, the cool steel chilling me to the bone. I pressure down and quickly slashed it across my arm. Blood began to down my arm and onto my legs. It stung, but it wasn't even close to having a part of you be ripped off and thrown off a cliff. I cut myself three more times on the wrist, all three for reasons. 1. Lyla had died and I was her keeper. 2. I wasn't there to protect her. 3. I had left her when she needed me. I wouldn't allow myself to think good of myself anymore. I was practically a killer. I'd left my sister alone for one hour, not knowing what would become of it.
I sat there in the corner, for a while, looking at nothing. Just holding the knife, blood rushing down my arm. After a while, I stood up to find a pool of red under me. My arm was turning blue, and actually began to hurt. I ran to the bathroom, running my arm under hot water, it stung, but I dealt with it. Tears spring to my eyes, as my arm starts to regain its full color. As soon as it had, I went and got some peroxide for it. I took the bottle and poured it over my arm, screaming as it bubbled and fizzed. Good thing nobody was home. As the pain started to edge away, I got some gauze and wrapped my arm. I promised myself I would tell no one and ran back to my room to cleanup and put on a long sleeved shirt.
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I sat down at the table with mum for dinner, fighting the urge to pull up my sleeves. Whenever I ate I always pulled my sleeves up, a habit that was so hard to break. But I needed to do this. All through dinner, my mum kept talking to me. I would nod or shake my head occasionally, only trying to think about my sleeves. She caught me off guard saying, "Allyson, what's wrong?" My head snapped up from my plate that I had been staring at. "Nothing," I said maybe a little to quickly. Her eyebrows knit together, "Are you sure? You can tell me anything, you know that right?" I nodded and said, "I know. Um...May I be excused? I'm not really hungry, sorry." She nodded as I began walking to the sink.
I put my plate in it and half walked, half jogged up the stairs. I didn't bother looking to see if she was watching me. I opened the door of my almost empty bedroom and walked towards my sheet tangled bed. I fell face first onto it, my legs falling down after a sec. I turned over on to my back and sighed. This is going to be so hard, I thought to myself. I stared at the ceiling, trying to make shapes out of the dry wall cracks up there. Nothing would ever be the same, not without Lyla. My life was going to stay empty forever. "Allyson, Allyson! Come on, let's play a game!" my little sister Emmalee yelled through the cracks of the door. I sat up and sighed, "Coming in a sec okay sweetie?" She opened my door and nodded eagerly. She was so cute, not knowing what pain or death was. If only we could all stay that way.
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After about five minutes, I made my way down stairs and into our living room. My brother, Brandyn, Emmalee, and my mom were already waiting at the table. The game they had was Jumanji, my dad's game. I sat down staring at it. How the hell did she get it? I thought. My mom must have read my mind because she said, "I got this from your dad when we got divorced. He always hated it." I stood up abruptly and screamed, "No he didn't! He loved this game and you know it!"
"Honey, please sit down, we just want to play the game."
"No! I will not sit down. Not until you take it back."
"You know I won't take it back. I never take anything back. Just as I said to your father when we---"
"I don't give a crap what you said to my dad. He always loved that game, and I want you to give it back to him."
"Now you listen to me young lady, you will sit down and play this game." My mom yelled at me. She never yelled, except the day Lyla died. Tomorrow, a year ago.
"NO! I will never play this game with you. Never!" Tears sprang to my eyes, not making me look strong like I was hoping.
I stormed upstairs and into my room, slamming the door behind me. I jumped into my bed and began to cry, the tangled sheets becoming a comfort for me. I layed there, to shocked to really do anything. After a couple of hours, I looked at my clock and got up to get ready. It was 12:00 a.m., the day Lyla died. I got some new clothes on and grabbed the Lily I had on the floor. I made my way downstairs, knowing everyone was asleep, for the snores in their rooms proved it. Making my way out the door I grabbed a loose beanie and turned on the porch light. As I walked out, I took the keys I had forgotten were in my hand and locked the door behind me.
I walked down the street, heading towards the cemetary Lyla was buried in. Holding the Lily delicately in my hands, I ran across the street so that I stood in front of the gate leading into the cemetary. I opened the gate and began walking in, finding the row Lyla was in. I walked down the row, the grass wriggling beneath me feet, fresh with dew. I saw her gravestone and rushed over, crumpling to my knees one in front of it. I set down my Lily ontop, keeping it there with a a pebble. I sat there and put my head in my hands, hot tears falling onto them. Once I had run out of tears I stood, kissed her grave and walked back down the row from which I had came. I walked out the gate and shut it behind me, saying a silent goodbye to Lyla as I did.
I began to lose sight of myself after that, seeing things, feeling things, hearing things. All Lyla, all the time. I couldn't let go of her, or the fact that it was my fault she was gone.I was losing myself over one person. It was a crazy thing for someone to do that, though I was doing it. But she wasn't just a person, she was my sister and I was her keeper.
