Scars (Ziam)

Rain Clouds

I read through a third of the book before I felt my eyes begin to droop. The only thing was, I hated going to bed. I knew that I would just have the same reoccurring nightmare as soon as I closed my eyes. My parents would argue, my mother would laugh, my sisters would try and keep me calm, then a loud blare, and then a crash and pain-- all over.

I quickly became used to waking up with sweat practically dripping from my body, and I became accustomed to keeping extra sheets for changing them in the middle of the night. Then, I would wash the sweat-filled ones the very next day.

"Li, dinner's ready!" I heard Ruth call. I jumped up from my semi-conscious state, and I bookmarked my spot in the book before setting it aside and climbing out of bed. I stretched for a moment and then sighed, placing my hand on the doorknob and preparing myself to walk into the dining room and be in the presence of another person's eyes.

Yes, I knew my sister didn't care about the way I looked, or so she says, but I can't help but wonder what she thinks about when she looks at me. Does it remind her of the accident, too? Does it send fear down her body and make her heart stop for a second? Does she see what our mother went through? She had to think of something other than 'that's my little brother that I love.' There just had to be something underneath.

Eventually, I worked up the nerve to exit my room, and I walked to the dining room where my sister was already setting down two plates full of food. I noticed that our dad's spot was empty yet again, and I think Ruth noticed the look of sadness I must have held in my eyes.

"Dad's working late again tonight. We have bills coming up soon, and we have to have the money. He told me not to worry. He said that we'll be alright," She said, looking from the empty chair at the table over to me with a soft smile, and I knew she held that feeling of tragedy inside of her as well.

"Do you believe that? That we'll be alright?" I found myself asking her, and Ruth sighed lightly before sitting down in her seat. She was quiet for a moment before she looked back up at me with a smile on her lips once more.

"I believe that we'll survive. I believe that we'll make it through. Because we have each other. Isn't that all we truly need?" She said, and I gave no response, assuming her question was rhetorical. I simply sat across from her where my plate awaited me.

We began to eat silently, and then Ruth looked up at me in excitement. "Oh! Nicola texted me today. She said that she was going to come down for a visit soon."

"How's she doing?" I asked, though I didn't really know if I cared, and that terrified me. I loved my sister. I knew I did, but I also knew that I was simply making conversation in order to get through this dinner. A part of me cared, but another part of me just needed something to fill the silence.

"She's doing great. Two more years away from her degree. She said that she really enjoys psychology," Ruth said as she stabbed her fork into a piece of broccoli and ate it.

The thing about Nicola was that she didn't want to be a psychologist until after our mum began to lose her mind. What really drove her to actually study it, however, was the aftermath of the accident.

I guess we all dealt with it in different ways. Ruth stayed home to help out, my dad took extra shifts at work and strived to be a super dad, Nicola dove into psychology and understanding mental disorders, and I did my best to cope every single day. Sometimes it was writing sometimes reading, sometimes it was closing my eyes to the world and pretending that everything was just as it was before. Sometimes it was in the nightmare I relived every single time I shut my eyes.

"Are you going to go to college?" I asked, and Ruth pondered over the question for a while. She took a sip of her glass of water and shrugged.

"I don't know. It's not really a priority right now." I knew that was code for 'we don't have the money to put Nicola and me through college.' "Besides, I don't even know what I want to study," Ruth excused.