Chapter Twenty-three: Journey to Freedom
I waken to screams; but not from anyone else, but from myself. Sweat drips from my forehead and from the back of my head, I feel wetness from my pillow. Getting out of bed, I head downstairs to the kitchen to grab out the whiskey that I haven't drank for a while. Finding it underneath the sink, I don't bother getting a cup; I just drink out of the bottle.
With each drop of alcohol that leaves itself on my tongue, my brain becomes more blurry than it already was when I was sober. I think of it as Kenton; the love of my life drowning himself inside my body. With each taste of the fluid heading down to my stomach, I feel like I'm spinning from the dream I had about Kenton being reincarnated into a bird. I wonder if it's real or if it's just my mind being crazy.
I hit every wall in the kitchen, feeling nothing but numbness inside of my body from the alcohol. It's addictive like the yearning for Kenton. I need my fiancé in my life, but dreaming about him gives me that pleasure but isn't enough. I need him next to me, in reality instead of nightmares.
Somehow I find myself in the living room, breaking the coffee table with a chair. I see glass scattered around the carpet and the chair a few feet near me with the leg piece broken that is on the other side of me. Heading to the computer, I push it off from its desk, allowing it to crack the screen and possibly breaking it from the inside. I scream as loud as I can to get all the rage out of my system, but once I stop, it isn't enough.
Putting my hands in fists, I head towards the flat screen television and pound on it with force I didn't even know I had. I take off the pillows off the couch and move them around the room. Back to the kitchen table, I move off everything on it which includes papers, binders, glass on top of it, and let them all fall to the ground, allowing the glass to break. I take another chair and hit the table as much as I can in order to half it and after a few tries, it does as I wanted it to.
Into the kitchen, I pull everything out of the fridge and onto the ground and repeat my routine from the refrigerator and the cabinets. When I find more liquor, I drink as much as there is which is three medium sized bottles of whiskey and drink them all to the last drop.
From there, I head into my bedroom and rip everything off of the mattress and letting it all scatter around. I pull every picture off the wall and smash the frames until I can no longer notice the people anymore.
Going into the bathroom, I take a razor and put on the hot water in the tub. Stripping down to where I'm wearing nothing, I wait until the bathtub is full of boiling liquid. Stepping inside, the feeling of the water caressing my body is nice. Once I'm fully inside, I take the razor and make cuts all over my body, but the painful sensation doesn't faze me as I feel once again, content.
I don't understand why I broke everything, but for one, I am angry. Over what? I don't know. It's like a mystery I can't solve even though I caused it to happen. It's like a ghost haunting me; telling me to smash all that gets in my way, but I don't know why it wants me to break everything I come in contact with. But over rage and sadness, I can't deal with the loss of Kenton, so I suppose I put all of my feelings into my fists and just pound whatever I can. I even broke our pictures, which I would never do. But I did.
I feel lost, alone, and disappointed in myself. I didn't stop Kenton from leaving out to war, which I should have. I knew that deep inside me, something bad was going to happen. Yet even though I knew it, I didn't try my hardest to get him to stay. And he left with a smile on his face before he drove away, like he thought he was going to come back, be he didn't. He promised me he would, but that promise was broken once I received that letter.
From grief and depression, it's like Kenton is a drug to me; I have nightmares about him, I drink to get away from life but even though I want to move on, I keep turning around to see his face. To see that smile that I love and when I get to finally meet him right in front of me, he fades away into the darkness and that is when I scream for his name. Feeling the need to be with him for the rest of my life, whether he is dead or not; I need his body to be right next to mine, like the Annabel Lee poem from Edgar Allen Poe.
It's as if Kenton is a tick, sucking the life of me while inside my bloodstream. He just won't leave me alone, allowing me to not be on my own. I do have Periwinkle, Jessie, Errik, and possibly Freddy, so he knows for sure that I won't be left to rot by myself. But after all, he is a ghost haunting my memories.
As I open my eyes, I notice the redness of the water; how my blood washed away in here and is within the boiling liquid, now turned into a luke warm. Sliding my body more down to the drain and faucet, I lay my head underneath the surface as I hold my breath for as long as I can.
I run through memories, dreams, and fights with Kenton even romantic times when he was with me, and it all feels like it's far away; faded and disappeared a billion miles away from me. And in this moment, I truly feel lonely without him by my side. And it won't matter if I'm surrounded by friends and family members or if I'm in a crowded room; I'll still feel like this loneliness will never end until the day I die where I will finally be with him.
When I gasp for air, my head immediately spins when I decide to stand. The sensation of light-headedness goes through my body quickly and the feeling of falling down appears to be on my mind, until I regain my strength to balance myself on two feet. Getting a towel to dry myself, I suddenly decide otherwise and just go into the closet to pick something out for the day and out of laziness, I randomly grab whatever I can find on the floor, which is probably dirty. Putting on a pair of sweats and a sweat-shirt, I walk over to the bedside where a nightstand is and look at the clock. Since I'm still drunk, the numbers are blurry but I try my best to decipher it.
5:04 . . .
4:50 . . .
4:05 . . .
5:40 . . .
Finally, it comes into clear view after guessing the completely wrong numbers. It says 6:45 A.M.
Before I can register the time in my brain, the doorbell rings. Standing back up, I try my best to go down the stairs but I end up tripping on the last few steps. Thankfully, I held onto the railing when I almost hit the ground. At least I'm not falling everywhere like what most drunk people would do.
Picking myself up, I open the front door that reveals Errik with a thick coat covering him from the coldness outside in the snow that falls from the sky. "May I come in?" he asks and even though I don't want him to because of the mess, I open the door wide and welcome him inside my home.
"Why are you here at six forty-five in the morning?" I remember the time.
When he walks in further, being in the middle of the house where to his right is the living room and the left is the kitchen, he turns to me and asks, "Why the bloody hell would you mess up yer house?"
"I—I . . ." I honestly have no answer because I woke up angry and depressed and drank until I can no longer feel emotions in my body and with that, I smashed everything for no apparent reason.
"You were happy when I left, and now . . ." He turns his head each direction like he can't believe what I had done earlier. "What is yer problem, Raven?" he says, and I don't want to respond, instead, I want him to keep talking just to hear his Irish voice. "Do ya even have a reply?"
"Why the hell should I tell you?" I spit out, regretting to answer him like that. "You keep your thoughts to yourself like you don't want anyone to know your emotions," I add, sounding like a total bitch, but I don't care.
"Raven, I––I can't tell you why I won't open up." He shakes his head.
"Why?" I say through sobs, shaking my head too.
"Because . . . I have too much on my mind and I try my best to forget," he says, but I don't believe him, not one bit. But arguing while I'm drunk while he's here in front of me won't work out.
"Is that why you're always odd when I ask how you are?" I question, and he nods right after. "So why are you here early in the morning?" I repeat.
"I wanted to see you." He pauses before he continues with his sentence. "Before I head to Clifden, Ireland," he says.
With a blank expression upon my face, I just stare at him; frozen in place, without moving or talking. "Why?" I finally ask after a few moments have gone by.
A slight smile comes across his lips and he says, "For Christmas." It's a whole month away, why would you leave now?
Leaning against the wall for support before I fall to the ground from my dizzy mind, I say, "What is up there?"
"My family; Raven, that is where I'm from," he says, coming close to me. I don't think I am okay; I think I've been so angry that my brain is having migraines. On top of that, I don't know what to say or do for this situation.
"How come you didn't tell me before?" I ask, now realizing my hands are on his biceps. I try to resist myself from touching them even more.
Taking my hands off in an instant, he puts his hands on his hips and explains, "I wasn't sure I was gonna to go. My family doesn't have Christmas very often. Ever since Nicole died, no one spends time to have the holidays anymore. It's always quiet. But once I got home, family called and they wanted me to come home for Christmas, since they miss spending time with everyone."
I nod and it's silent for a moment. I contemplate on telling him the reason for the mess, but when I come close to opening my mouth, nothing comes through. After a few seconds go by, I decide to tell. Before I speak up again, I clear my throat. "When my fiancé died, I've been having nightmares. They get to me easily and make me have mixed emotions like anger and sadness sometimes brings me towards happiness if I start to see him in my dreams. But I was so angry that I––" Pausing while shaking my head, I lick my lips and continue, "I began to create destruction. I can't take living without him; it's tearing me apart, Errik. I don't know what to do anymore; I feel lost and alone and I can't find my way back to reality. I'm just stuck within the realms of dreams and life."
His face falls while biting his lower lip. He embraces me in his arms. For the first time in my life, I feel like a weight has been lifted and my depression has taken its second step towards recovery by explaining my emotions. The first was becoming social again. Honestly, I don't know the exact steps towards it, but by making them up on my own is enough.
A sniffle sound comes from my nose as I try to not get snot on his shirt. "I don't know what to do anymore," I repeat over and over again while sobbing into his chest.
Kissing my forehead, he says, "It’ll be okay, all will be fine." He pats the back of my hair with one hand and with the other, rubs my back. He breathes in deeply as I feel my hair move back and forth, and he says, "Why don't ya come to Ireland with me?" He stops what he's doing and faces me, his lips in a small smile. It's a little hard to read because I don't know if my answer will make him frown or grin.
"I," I begin but pause, not knowing if I should decline his offer and make up an excuse, or take the chance and risk it all. He could be lying to me, I think. He could have been lying to you this entire time, a voice says in the back of my mind. "I shouldn't.” By saying this, it puts a frown on both of our faces. "I have work, friends—I can't leave . . ." Shaking my head, he puts his index finger under my chin and brings my head up a little bit.
"You can take a day off." He chuckles.
"More like a month," I announce, getting out of his grasp and walking around the small room between the staircase wall and the tiny hallway into the guest bedroom. "Taking a month off is bad, Errik. My boss would fire me if I ask for a month, hell; she'll fire me if I take a day off that is unexpected. I can't go with you, I'm sorry." The words are like fire; burning my throat like if I don't take them back the words will trigger to allow my body to burst into flames.
"Why not quit?" His question surprises me that my eyes widen in shock. "What?" he says, narrowing his eyes at me, confused.
"You seriously suggested for me to quit my job?"
He nods, trying to hide his chuckle.
"I'm not going to quit my job just so I can go to Ireland." I cross my arms as my eyebrows furrow.
"I'll help you get a job. Ya know what, you can work for me!" He gestures his hands to himself; all four of his fingers poking at his chest. "Ya can work as a host; it isn't that hard of a job. You just show and tell people where to sit and give ‘em their menus, it shouldn't be hard at all."
"I make more money than a hostess job, Errik!" I yell, knowing that he isn't going to take no for an answer.
"Oh come on. I'm the owner, I can give you some of my money," he says.
"I don't want to take your cash! I want to make my own money for what I did, not take yours."
"Yer so stubborn!" he yells, banging his head against the wall.
"Just go to Ireland, Errik. I'll see you when you get back." I push him out the door and close it while I turn back around and sigh.
Gazing at the mess from the living room and kitchen, stress overwhelms me from the look at this. Not knowing why I did this, it just makes me angry. How can I do such a thing but not know why I did it? The alcohol, the dream, the anger and depression just overcame me, I suppose. But it still doesn't make it right to destroy my own home.
Somewhere from the distance, I hear my phone ring with I Love It by Icona Pop. As I head to the kitchen, I notice it on the counter as it vibrates. Checking the caller I.D, I realize it's Wayde. "Hello?" I ask into the receiver.
"Hi, Raven," she greets. "I know this is sudden, but you're fired." What the hell? "I wanted to call you to tell you that when you're ready, cleaning out your desk would be great."
"Wait . . . why the hell am I fired, Wayde?" This seems coincidental; like the conversation with Errik made her trigger that I should leave the office.
"You're not coming to work on time, sometimes you don't even bother, and you're not focused. As a friend, I feel sorry, especially when you have many things on your mind. But as a boss, I have to let you go." Right after her words are finished, she hangs up. Did I seriously just lose my job?
A knock on the door sounds and I run to it, opening it with anger as I see Errik in front of me with a guilty look on his face. "What the hell, Errik?" I scream, but try my best to keep low for the sleeping neighborhood.
"I did you a favor," he says.
"You made me lose my job; how can that be a favor?" He grabs my arm, closes the door and motions me to the truck. Is he kidnapping me?
"I'll explain later; now we just have to get to the airport." Shoving me in the passenger seat of his car, he buckles me in as he gets something from under the seat. In his hand is a pair of tennis shoes. "Put these on since you came with bare feet," he says and goes to his side and does the same. I put on the shoes, but they're a tad bit too small, but I don't tell him. When we're on the road and heading towards the airport, he says, "Look, you needed to get away from the trouble and the depressing life you live here. You need a vacation, Raven. I'm very sorry for yer loss, but spending yer days locked up in that jail isn't going to make Kenton come back," he says, but the sound of Kenton's name makes my eyes widen.
"How do you know his name?"
It takes a few moments for him to answer. He taps his thumb on the steering wheel and after a couple seconds, he hits his palm on it with anger, making me confused. "I knew him, but not for long," he says through his teeth.
"But how?"
"College; we were in a class together, sometimes partners, but it wasn't enough to really know him. I didn't know you and him were together until I saw the picture of you two. But I was only in college for a semester, not for very long." He looks to me but only for a quick glance, until his eyes meet the road again.
There is something about the way he says it that makes it suspicious like he's lying almost. But part of me wants to see it as the truth. "So how did you know about my workplace's number?"
He slightly chuckles. "Phone book," he says, nodding his head towards the direction of my feet. My eyes seek downwards to find a yellow thick book that has a picture of a phone on it.
"Phone book," I repeat, hitting my back against the chair. "How did you do it?" I look out the window, seeing cars pass us by.
"You ask a lot of questions. Too much for a small figure," he states. When I look back at him, he's now using one hand to drive. His left elbow is resting on the door where his index finger is above his upper lip, underneath his nose, and his thumb rests under his chin.
"How did you do it?" I say again, now raising my voice.
He sighs. "I told her that something came up and you had to leave the office, but then she replied back saying that you're already going to lose your job for missing one more day, so I suppose she just . . . yank!" He switches hands and with his right, he puts it into a fist and pulls back. I look at him in confusion. "Pulled the plug," he explains, but even though I understand what he means now, I don't stop looking at him like I don't know what he's talking about. "You know . . . pulled the plug, laid off, pink slip . . ." As he keeps seeing my puzzled expression that is making me laugh on the inside, he finally gives in. "Fired," he says. "That's what I mean. I suppose she justfired you for it."
"Don't you have to pay for my ticket?" I ask, still wondering how we'll have time to buy it, get through security, and get on the plane in time.
"I bought two tickets, actually." He blushes with a small smile.
"So you magically thought that I would say yes in coming with you?"
"No; I have a friend who is working as a waiter and I bought us both tickets to go, since he lives there as well, but he couldn't come due to his wife giving birth. So he had to stay; he said he'll get another time to come back home. So instead of wasting a ticket, I thought I'd give you it and have you come with me. Especially since I met yer mom, so now you can meet mine." With a smile, he turns on the heat in the car and it's silent for a while.
"Why in the world did you kidnap me into this mess, Errik?" I whine, still ranting on. I can't shake my mind off of it; couldn't he just leave me alone? Especially with my job!
"Okay, first of all, if you tell people I kidnapped you, you'll be the one regretting it. Secondly, I'm not kidnapping you at all anyways. I'm taking you on a vacation that you need. Maybe when we come back, you'll feel a lot better."
"I doubt it," I mutter under my breath, crossing my arms and looking outside in the cloudy skies; seeing people come down the steps of their apartments in suit and ties, some with briefcases, some with not, and heading towards their jobs.
It hasn't snowed very often and whenever it does it doesn't stick. Most of the snow on the ground and in the streets has turned into slush, so whenever there is a pot-hole, water or slush splashes out and onto the pavement.
Finally at the airport, we arrive and move as quickly as we can to get through security, especially with the lines long. The only thing that boggles my mind is that I never brought my passport, actually, I don't even have one, yet Errik seems to have mine. About thirty minutes to an hour later, we get on the plane and sit down in a three-seat aisle, next to the window. When I sit down next to it, he takes the seat on the other end, leaving an empty seat in between us.
"I find it hilarious that I don't have anything to wear." I look down to what I'm wearing.
Errik rolls his eyes and says, "When we get there, I promise to you that we'll go shopping. Besides, they'll also be souvenirs for you." He smirks and moves his knees away from the aisle between the rows of chairs to allow a mother and her five year old daughter through to get to the back.
"Your explanations aren't working. What's going to happen when Periwinkle or Jessie step into my house?" I snap in a whisper. "They get in easily," I explain, remembering the time when I woke up with Periwinkle in front of me when she wanted me to get ready for the blind date interview.
"Then when we land, you'll send a letter off to them. Now stop complaining, Raven. Yer seriously annoying," he articulates.
"That's good that you're getting annoyed because I won't stop." The anger in my voice rises, but I try my best to keep quiet since I don't want others to be eavesdropping.
In a matter of minutes, a flight attendant says, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are due for take-off, please put on your seatbelts and ensure all luggage is correctly stored in the overhead compartments." When a red light comes on, the sound of the unwinding nylon fiber from the seatbelts start all around the entire plane as does shuffling of bags or feet on the ground. I buckle myself in.
"I already secured my bag." He grins ear to ear while putting on his seatbelt.
The vibration of the engine starting and the pillars spinning, there is something in my mind that isn't leaving; the fear of heights. Honestly, it's been years since I got on a plane, but the last time wasn't that great. The plane almost crashed but before it did, we landed safely back home in California. I never went on a plane again. That was when I was ten to go to Florida for a small vacation. I don't know what happened, but it made me afraid of heights.
The feeling of the tires moving slowly on the pavement wakens me from my trance as I clench my hands on the side of the seat; my fingernails digging into the fabric. The pace of the wheels go faster and that makes my heart beat rapidly than what it started when we came on the plane. "Raven, are ya all right?" asks Errik, watching me with concern in his eyes.
I shake my head. "I'm afraid of heights."
When I close my eyes, I feel the touch of his hand on top of mine. "It'll be fine, just look at me," he says, and I do so. I see his gorgeous blue eyes and my mind wanders off in a daze, dreaming of swimming in them like they're an ocean full of care and kindness. When I take in his appearance, I notice the small freckles I haven't seen yet, that I didn't even know they were there, but now I realize that they're small brown dots around his nose that no one can notice, unless looked with focus and very closely to his image.
When his hand removes itself, I come back down to earth to now comprehend that we're off the ground. A feeling of fearlessness washes over me when I stare out the window to see that we're above clouds and the ride is smooth. "Better?"
"Yes."
*~*~*~*~*
Stillangry with him, Errik tends to make me laugh even though I try my best to stay mad. He made me lose my job over this! But how can I stay angry at a man who makes me smile when I don't want to? The answer is hard to find because I don't know it.
After the plane took off, my fear has gone away, but there is part of me still afraid, I just don't show it up here in the air. When we come close to Ireland, the green grass looks even more beautiful than I've seen in pictures and the small cottages below us seems to be so small and comforting, especially with most of these places ending up to be small farms or just holding animals.
"Doesn't it snow here?" I question, wondering why there isn't any crystals on the ground.
While he smiles and nods, he explains, "It does sometimes, but not occasionally. The midland gets colder so it snows more there, but when it does snow, it's usually slushy or not as thick or sticky. But we haven't gotten decent snow for a few years now, just a lot of rain. But look on the bright side, that's good!"
Once the plane lands in the West Airport, the only one that is closest to Clifden that doesn't make us take a fairy to the mainland, we drive almost two hours away. Sadly, we missed the bus, but now we're in a small taxi with an older gentleman and his large lab dog, and the two of us who are in the back seat.
"So what is your family like?" I begin a new subject to take the silence away.
Errik looks away from the window on his side and stares at me for a moment. "My mother is the nicest person you'll ever meet; she's generous and very kind, very loving. My father is nice too, but he's also nosy, so right when we'll get there, he'll ask you a million questions." He nods. "And I do have cousins around Clifden, but most of them are off in Dublin or another country."
"So . . . I thought your parents were on vacation?"
"They were. Uh, they told me they'll be home by the time the plane picked me up," he replies. "How do you like it so far?"
I smile. "It's quaint."
"So how long ye've been together?" the driver asks in the most Irish voice I could ever hear, apart from being with Errik but he sounds different than him.
"Oh, we're only friends." I blush, slightly chuckling to try my best to hide it.
"D'iarr mé uirthi amach, ach dhiúltaigh sí," Errik says, which makes the old man frown a bit.
"Cén fáth?" He looks from Errik to the road, repeatedly until he finally stops a minute later.
Errik shrugs and says, "Chaill sí a grá i gcogadh, ní fada ó shin."
The old man sighs and shakes his head, "An raibh tú ann?"
"Is ea."
"Tá do airgead, is dócha?" the man asks and right after, Errik nods. "Bealtaine Dia leat, Errik."
For a few seconds, Errik catches my glimpse. "What?" I ask, looking back and forth to the old man and Errik.
"Oh, we were talking about my past love that I told him about. He thought you were her."
I nod in understanding. "Oh. Well, you could've added me and didn't have to make me the third wheel."
He rolls his eyes and puts his right hand over his heart. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Raven. Sometimes I forget that yer even alive." He chuckles.
I playfully punch him in the arm, but realize I did it a little too hard. "Sorry I hurt your feelings," I mimic with a sly laugh.
Afterwards, a town comes into view. Different colored buildings surround the land; it isn't a lot of erections like any city in America, but a village that stands out very well. "Welcome to Clifden!" the old man greets as we go through the town and pass by all the stores, pubs, restaurants, and people who look at me and smile.
A few miles passed the town, we go through a neighborhood of cottages, some small, some large. Finally, we stop at Errik's one story house as he opens my door and grabs out his bag. He gives the driver four hundred euros and waves goodbye. "Let's go in," he says, walking up to the front door. In the front yard is a large tree that stands with its log high and steady, but the leaves hang low, almost to the ground. A wall full of loose stones stands all around the property with green moss covered in and on it. When we get to the door, Errik knocks three times, but no answer.
"Are you sure they're here? Do they know I came?" I ask quickly.
"Yes, they are here and they know you came, just be calm and take a deep breath." He knocks again and this time, the door opens and reveals a woman with a warm welcoming smile. Her flowing black hair goes down to her chest and her soft blue eyes look exactly like Errik's. She has a thin figure and her wrinkles around her lips and eyes are non-noticeable. She wears a green sweater and a long, white skirt with designs of green flowers on the bottom.
"Errik!" she says in surprise, kissing and hugging her son. "It's been so long; I can't believe you came in time for the holidays!"
"Hello, mother! I missed you too," he says and quickly gets out of the hug.
"And you must be Raven; he has told me so much about you!" We hug and she quickly gets out. "Your father is at work but he'll meet us at the restaurant," she explains.
"He's at work?" Errik asks.
She nods and says, "Yes. Now go get ready; yer dress is in yer bedroom." She gives Errik a look to go show me to my room and he does so.
Right through the front door is a small living space with a couch, television, and a glass cabinet full of pictures. I don't dare to go over to them, even if I really want to. On the other side of the living room is the kitchen which is also tiny, but very quaint. Down a hallway from between the two spaces are four bedrooms: his parents, his own, a guest, and his sister’s. The sight of her name on the door still colored in crayon breaks my heart. I want to ask why there is a paper sign still on there, but I don't speak, knowing it would be the wrong thing to say.
The guest bedroom is small, like all the others, but is also very comfortable and cute. There is a twin bed covered in a blue duvet and a dresser with a mirror on top of it. On the bed, lays a black dress with one strap and a pair of high heels that are only a quarter of an inch high. I put them on and with the features, I look pretty decent. Someone knocks and I say, "Come in."
"You want a brush?" Errik asks and when I take it to brush my hair, it only takes a few seconds to do so. "There is toothbrush and paste in the bathroom as well, use the one that is in a bag." I thank him and go across the hall to the bathroom, doing what he said. "Brush well, too. Yer breath smells!" he calls as I hear his footsteps go from the guest bedroom to the living room.
When we're ready, we head out to the car, only to find out the sun is already setting in the sky to allow the moon to take over. Driving down the street, Errik's mom says, "By the way, you can call me Cattee, dearie."
I smile and say, "Thank you for having me over, Cattee."
"It's our pleasure," she remarks.
When we're down to a restaurant called The Irish Plate, we step out and go inside, only to find out that it's loud with everyone laughing and talking. Getting sat down, we realize that half of these people are drunk, but they all seem fun to be with as they keep moving to the Celtic music. Moments go by when we've already ordered our food and drinks, Errik's dad comes by to say hello and sits down to talk to Cattee. It's hard to introduce myself as it is noisy and a bit dim, so instead of being quiet and trying to greet him, Errik takes my hand and pulls me forward to the dance floor. The music goes on from the fiddler to flutes and drums; we dance like it's the last time we'll be happy again. It's because of this moment, that I don't regret leaving.