Darkness. A large void of black. Swimming and thrashing, trying to find a way out.

Trapped. A small contained box. Struggling to pry myself free. 

Falling. Gliding down the air until impact.

I woke up screaming and in a cold sweat. My head was pounding. As I got out of bed, I stumbled backward and almost slammed my head on the floor. Thankfully, I live alone so no one has to worry. As I headed downstairs, I saw the picture of a happy family at the beach standing in front of the striped red and white lighthouse. I see the two urns sitting next to the picture, reminding me that I will never see them again. I have the urge to just smash the picture and urns against the wall. I stop myself, though, because it is all I have left. 

I head over to the kitchen counter, the granite cool to the touch. I find my 300 count Advil bottle and down five with just my saliva. I don’t know why I even try anymore. Nothing can help the pain. The pain is merely just a punishment. I deal with it. I even embrace it. At least I can still feel something. Most times it is just a numb feeling. A slow, downward spiral that will eventually reach the end. 

When is the end?

I’ll hopefully find out soon enough.

I’m sick of living. I’m sick of being here. I head back upstairs and grab the bottle of sleeping pills on my dresser. I down two. I could swallow more. What’s stopping me? I dump a boatload of pills into my palm. Who’s stopping me? I bring the palmful by my lips. No one. I should’ve gone with mom and dad. I should’ve died in the crash with them. I shouldn’t be here. No one would notice. No one would care. I have no attachment to anything anymore but those stupid ash holders and picture frame. What would happen if I smashed them against the wall like I longed to? I could leave. I could be set free. No remorse. No guilt. No reminders. No attachment.

But tonight, I will stay. 

I will stay for my parents who could not. 

The rest of my sleep is filled with yet another nightmare. It's the recurring one. The one where I relive everything.

Four months ago. My parents' 20th anniversary trip. They had told me that they were going to drop me off at my aunt’s house. They stuck to their word despite being practically disowned by their own family. I still do not know why I could not have just stayed home. I was seventeen and very capable of living on my own for a week. However, my parents were always protective of me because I was all they had other than each other. 

“Okay, bye Jaiden! See you in a week. Love you.” My parents had said to me when dropping me off at my Aunts. 

Those were the last words I heard from my parents’ mouths. 

I had stepped into my aunt’s house. While the interior screamed welcoming to everyone and home-y, I felt so out of place there. She had two other kids who were younger than me by a couple of years. They just stared at me and exchanged some confused, judgy glances. 

My aunt had pulled me aside. Grabbed my arm and whispered fiercely, “Don’t you dare mess anything up in this household. Do you hear me? I am doing your mother a favor here. She should have paid me more.” 

I knew I was not welcome already, but her directly saying that to me made me want to run to the airport and catch the flight my parents were on.

I should’ve.

Six hours later, my aunt, cousins and I would get the dreadful phone call.

My parents' plane had crashed. 

They did not make it.

“So sorry for you and your family’s loss ma’am,” the man on the other end of the phone had said. 

That’s it?

You're sorry?

The only happiness in my life had been ripped away. 

The only people in my life.

Gone.

Just gone.

Ripped away.

Forever. 

I just stood there in my aunt’s living room. Stunned. I could not process anything. For the first time, and most certainly not the last, I felt numb. Nothing was inside me. Just a pit of emptiness swallowing me whole. 

“No,” I whispered. “No no no no no no. You’re joking. It’s not real. Wake up.”

“WAKE UP”

My aunt just looked at me as if I were a wild animal. The sneer on her lips. I wanted to smack her. I wanted to get out. 

I opened the front door and ran. 

I ran. 

The pouring rain and freezing temperature did not stop me. My bare feet smacked the pavement. My body was pounding. I pushed through. 

My body stung, and I eventually collapsed on the side of the road. The world went black.

When I woke up again, I was in my aunt’s house. Part of me prayed that it was just a bad dream, but the other part knew. I knew. I still felt my damp hair and achy body. 

The devil herself walked in. 

Eyed me up and down and said, “What did you think you were doing? I give you shelter and food and you run away. Ungrateful girl.” She slapped me. Hard. Across the face. “You certainly take after your mother.”

I laid there, curled up in a ball. Sobbing and violently shaking. 

“I am taking you back to your house tonight. You do not even deserve to be here.”

I knew that. I knew the second I walked in. 

That night, we drove in silence as she dropped me off. No word was uttered the entire trip. When I got out of the car, she said, “I never liked your mother. Good thing she is gone now.”

I wanted to kill her. 

I calmly just stepped out of the car, not making eye contact, and walked into my empty home. My fists were clenched and my body was shaking, but I contained my inner wrath. 

I remember seeing the picture. The picture again. I could not bear to look at it. I put it face down on the shelf. I went into my bed and cried myself to sleep. 

The next morning, around five a.m., I went to the beach that was by my house. The smell of saltwater filled my nostrils. It was comforting. I saw the lighthouse. The one in the photo. I wanted to throw up. 

I ran home.

From then on, the days all blended together. Wake up from a nightmare, stay in bed for a bit, maybe get a snack and some sleeping pills and head back to sleep. 

I was spiraling downhill so fast. 

I did not notice.

I did not care.

The day of the funeral approached. I was dreading it. I did not want to see anyone, let alone get out of the house. I glanced into the mirror and saw a reflection of a frail girl with pale, olive tinted skin and sunken eyes stare back. I looked like a corpse.

I was only going to get my parents’ ashes.

I had slapped on a black sweater and black jeans. I did not bother wearing makeup because I had already cried four times that morning. 

I walked to the church. 

The service was as I thought, depressing music mixed with words of condolences and encouragement.

I sat in the back corner while everyone else was in the front. When it came time for people to be able to go up and speak about my parents, my aunt went up. I could feel my empty stomach churning with vomit. I wanted to get out of there. I knew if I did, I could not get the ashes. I would not let her win. She spoke of my mother as if she were such a basic human being. That she was such a nice soul, and that she dearly misses her. 

I hated every second.

I wanted to go up and speak but could not even bear myself to stand up and get out of the pew. I should have. I should have told everyone the truth. 

At the end of the service, everyone was bickering over who got what part of their will. About the thing my parents did not put in the will like their cars or their wedding rings. The pastor approached me with two matching urns. My arms were trembling as I picked them up. 

I was sobbing all the way home. 

I placed them on each side of the picture frame. 

The rest of the days were the same. Every day now is.

I still repeat the cycle. 

I just can’t do it anymore.

I just can’t exist anymore.

Why should I?

I got up and grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills from my bathroom, my body almost collapsing from simply standing up. My malnourishment was getting out of hand.

As I opened the bottle, a hint of light caught my eye in the mirror. I stared at the metallic picture frame. In it laid another picture of a smiling family with an illuminated sun behind them and the soft, grainy sand at their feet. Most of all, a smiling girl, not one with pale skin and sunken eyes. One who was truly happy. 

I longed to be that girl again. 

I glanced down at the container filled with dreadful blue capsules in my hand. 

Could I be that girl again?