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The sound of the rain tapping on the windowpane, sliding down non-stop is what kept me awake that night.
I was sitting beside the window, with only the glow of the moon serving as my light, as I hug my knees close to my chest.
The whole room is dark, devoid of any colors but pitch black. Solely for the reason that I don't want to turn on the lights because obviously, Georgia and Lincoln might notice that I'm awake.
Georgia had insisted that the three of us should stay in their house at least for a day until we decide to leave. I didn't agreed, but the two guys did, and that's the reason why I am sitting beside this window, eyes wide open as I watch the raindrops pit patting on the windowpane.
You almost killed me that night.
The moment that statement slipped out of her mouth, my head couldn't take the ache anymore. It was like air had been knocked out of my lungs, my brain, and all I wanted to do is to get some fresh air.
And so against my better judgment, I abruptly stood up from the couch and darted across the living room and towards the front door. I left the house where Georgia, my mom, lives. And as if the moment couldn't get anymore weirder and nervewracking, I had had to bump into a man, around his fifties, which soon I learned to be Lincoln, my dad.
And as the wind blew to my cheeks, my eyes let out a tear slip. And that's when I broke down. I cried, under the shade of a tree beside their house. And let all my emotions -- confusion, anger, fear, hurt -- that has been creeping into me, eating me up alive, out.
And she cried, according to Thayer who was left there to console her as Mike followed me outside, consoling me for the thousandth time since we met.
I tried remembering. Anything. Any violent acts that I had done before my life in the sanitarium. When I was still a nine year old girl months before being sent away to a mental institution. But I found nothing.
My brain wouldn't let me retrieve any horrible memories.
And I'm always left wondering.
I honestly thought that seeing my parents, would let me unfold past memories. Would let me get flashbacks about what really drove my parents to send me in that nuthouse. But unfortunately, and as always, I thought wrong again.
It wasn't that long before I realized that the bedroom door to where I was in at the moment was open, with Georgia standing beside the doorframe, looking at me. I couldn't quite see her features due to the slightly far distance and the absence of light. But I know she was looking at me, wearing that same expression that she has before we said goodbye at the dinner table that night.
"Scarlett, honey," she said, almost a faint sound inside the room, and then she closed the door behind her walking up towards my direction.
I didn't say anything. Not because of the anger that's building up inside me, but because I didn't know what to say, or even how to act. It was like the first time seeing her, even though I've already seen her when I was a child.
The rain outside could be heard, and it wasn't that strong of a rain but it wasn't that lame either. And I wish I could just go outside and let myself get soaked in the rain. Instead of standing here, with me not knowing what to do.
You almost killed me that night.
The moment she reached my direction, she enveloped me into a tight embrace. Her arms folded tightly around my body, her right hands at the back of my head, as if patting it.
She hugged me like a mother would to her child, while I just stood there, enveloped in her hug, awkwardly.
I felt tears threatening to roll down my cheeks, a lump forming in my throat.
You almost killed me that night.
Is that why they left me, never even once visited me in that sanitarium?
Because I almost killed her?
"Do you hate me?" is what slipped out of my mouth the moment she released me from her embrace.
Her brows furrowed, the wrinkles on her forehead visible as the little light from the moon outside made me see her features.
"No honey, I don't," she quickly answered touching my arms but then I flinched. I don't know why, but it's like a reflex, and she looked hurt, and I'm starting to feel sorry for her and starting to hate myself for hurting her in the most simplest ways.
But I couldn't help it.
"T-then why... then why," I tried to get the words out of my mouth, to ask the question that had been lingering inside my mind for the past years, "then why didn't you go and visit me? To check if I was okay? To see if I was normal unlike any other patients there?"
I didn't even realized that a tear had already made it's way out of my eyes, crawling down my cheek, until I tasted a sour taste of liquid on my mouth.
"I'm sorry, h-honey, I know that we should have. I know that we shou--" she started to apologize but I cut her off.
"But you didn't," I scoffed. The loneliness, anger and every negative emotions that had built up in me in the past years are starting to get out of my system. Throwing all the anger out to her, to Georgia, who is my mother but I don't remember being one since she wasn't by my side growing up.
And as much as I hate myself, startled about the words that's coming out of my mouth, I couldn't help it.
Maybe that's the reason why they grew afraid of me, why they never visited.
You almost killed me that night.
Because I almost killed her that night and that made them scared, that made me a monster.
"I'm. . . I'm psycho, right?" I said once more, chuckling bitterly at myself.
"Y-you just have this condition, honey. But that doesn't make your father and I love you less," she said in a warm voice, her eyes glassy.
And then the tears started to spill out of my eyes, uncontrollably. My shoulders shaking. I shook my head and fell onto the ground, with my knees causing a loud thump on the carpeted floor of the bedroom.
I deserve to be in the sanitarium. I deserve to be locked up in that place. Not out here, with my mother on her knees holding me, whispering into my ear not to cry, just like a mother would to her child after falling onto the ground with scarred knees.
"It's not your fault, honey," she whispered over and over in ny ear, "you're just traumatized. You're just a little girl back then, you didn't know what you're doing."
"Then why did you left me there? For nine years? You abandoned me, with all those patients. Leading me to think that I am indeed one of them. And maybe I am, and like you said, I. . . I al-almost killed you," my voice strained, and my tears still won't stop from flowing.
"I thought I left you in good hands," she said, above a whisper, "After all I left you with . . . I'm sorry Scarlett, I'm really sorry. That time, I don't think I'm ever good enough to be your mother, because I can't help you recover from the trauma after your sister died. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."
But you left. You gave up on me. Never even once visited.
And I have lot to say, so many questions that I still wanted to ask. But my head ached even more and I feel tired already. Energy draining out of me, until all I see is black.
