⋆ CHAPTER TWO - BITTERSWEET SYMPHONY ⋆

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“Grab my hand, I'm drowning, I feel my heart pounding. Why haven't you found me yet?

I hold you so proudly. Traumas, they surround me

I wish you'd just love me back.”

⋆ CHAPTER - BITTERSWEET SYMPHONY ⋆

Michaela Williams had just found out some earth-shattering news, and this was the second time in her life where she felt utterly numb. The only difference between the last time she felt this way is that she could remember; she remembered everything from her father’s death. It was on her mind constantly, no matter how hard she tried to forget his death, it was stuck with her. She couldn’t shake it. But this was different; the void that she felt in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t shake it. It was a sinking feeling; it swallowed her whole and left her utterly confused and lost.

 

She felt broken.

The type of broken that couldn’t be fixed.

“Say you're there when I feel helpless; If that's true, why don't you help me?” The words were uttered in a hushed tone, her back pressed against the wooden headboard. A single tear glided down the apples of her cheek. The song that was playing had been on repeat for the past couple of days, and it had given her some comfort or as much comfort that one could have during this time. A soft sigh emitted from her lips; her slender digits coaxed with the crimson duvet, pulling back to expose her bare legs. She pressed her palms against the duvet to pull herself upward; the bare soles of her feet kissed the cold wooden surface as she inhaled.

 

Michaela stood in the middle of her room, her sage hues scanning the room as her digits glided through her dark tresses and her head rattled. “I need to get out of here.” She mumbled under her breath; her hues landed on a golden frame that held a picture of her family; smiles were painted on everyone’s features which caused her to roll her hazel eyes clockwise before signing again.

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Whiskey-colored orbs stayed fixated upon dark pools and denim-covered legs as her lithe physique strolled through the empty woods, lengthy arms folded underneath plump breasts to keep her arms warm. The chilly night air brushed past her cheeks, which caused them to turn a coral shade before a sigh escaping glossed her lips in a rather sentimental form as her mind continued roaming around the tragic events that took place a couple of weeks ago. Confusion, pain, hate, and sadness have become part of her, lingering under the surface as she tries to shake them. Trying her best to get rid of the feelings that haunted her day in and day out—sometimes she could feel the light that she once had slowly faded away—her heart was growing colder with each passing moment. Each day was harder than the day before; the nights were worse. They always ended the same way; she would find herself in a fetal position; crying herself to sleep. Was this what Stacy meant by trying to move forward? Was this how it was supposed to be? And the nightmares—the nightmares—they were the worst. Michaela was sitting in a corner with her arms out, blood oozing outward. The blood even came out of her eyes. The sight caused her to wake up in a pool of her own sweat—it was an image that felt rather real. Michaela needed to know more about these nightmares, and she wanted them to stop. No, she needed them to stop because it wasn’t helpful. She needed to figure out what had happened to her that night; her mind was confusing dates, times, and different events. She didn’t know what was real and what was only a part of her imagination. 

Was she going crazy? Michaela questioned, her eyelids blinking a couple of times. Her hues scanned the darkened area as she paced back and forth. “Remember, remember. You need to remember.” The words were repeatedly uttered as she paced, inhaling a deep breath as she shut her hues, clinging them shut.

 

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[FLASHBACK]

 

 “Mich, where the hell are you? I can’t believe you are doing this right now. Do you not want to say your goodbyes?” Michaela could hear the concern and sadness in her older sister’s voice; her mossy hues rolled in their orbits as tuneful giggles uttered from the depths of her throat. 

 

“Why should I do that? Everyone will die one day; you are messing with my high right now. I have a party to get to. I’ll text you later.” The words drifted from her lips, and before Stacy could object, the brunette quickly ended the call, shifting her gaze towards her best friend.

 

“That was cold, Mich. Even for you.” Selina stated as Michaela just shook her head, extending her arm outward as she turned the dial for the volume so the music could ooze outward, her head bobbing to the music. “Lina, don’t start.”

Pressing her foot off the gas as she sped down the highway, laughter oozed from the two best friends. Michaela knew that her father was grasping for life; she knew that her family was coming undone. Why should she have to suffer? Everyone dies, and she wants to live her life to the fullest without wasting tears. 

 

The night was filled with alcohol, weed, and a lot of laughter, the buzzing from her cell phone was becoming rather annoying--she knew it was Stacy. She had lost count of how many times her sister had called her sister’s call. But clearly, she didn’t get the hint, pressing the cell phone to hear her ear as she stepped outside.

 

“What, Stacy, What? I know he is dying; this is how I'm coping; can’t you just leave me alone?” There was a hint of coldness in Michaela as she spoke.

 

“Check your voicemail,” Stacy uttered, instantly hanging up the phone before Michaela could respond. 

 

Confusion swept Michaela’s visage as she scrolled through her voicemail to find one from her dad, the speed of her heartbeat increasing as she pressed play.

 

“Hey, sweetheart, I know that you are hurting, and I wish that I could be here as you grow older, but I have to go….” His raspy voice uttered, pausing momentarily as dry coughing spilled out of his mouth. “I know that you will change the world but don’t push your sister and mother away because life is too short. I love you so much, Mikey Mouse. Don’t ever forget that.” With that last word, the voicemail ended, and tears cascaded downward, dropping onto her screen as she quickly dialed Stacy’s number.

 

“It’s too late, Michaela; he’s gone.”

[END OF FLASHBACK] 

The moment had finally come, and she had escaped the darkness of the woods, boots kissing the solid road and her hues instantly fixated on a place that she had known too well; her boots halting as her legs languidly lost their place, her knees collapsing to the moist ground.

 

“Come back.” Those words uttered from her lips, uncontrollable tears began to flow down rosy cheeks as her right arm extended outward, lifting her head up slightly as her hand ran over the carving on the headstone. Usually, when she came to her father’s grave site, she would feel a little bit better, but today was different.

 

 “Daddy. . . Dad. . . Dad. . . I know I haven’t been here in some time, but I missed you, and I miss all the little things. I miss how you would force me to watch those justice documentaries with you, and I miss how we would just go on our nightly walks under the stars; always end up falling asleep on the beach, and most importantly—I miss you—I miss you so much, and I don’t think my heart can take much of this pain anymore. I’m sorry that I didn’t say sorry. I’m sorry for being made with you…it wasn’t your fault. I don’t want to hurt anymore; I just want everything to go back to the way it used to be. I miss you, and I will a l w a y s love you. Forever.”

Pausing briefly as the tears continued to cascade down her cheeks, shaking her head slightly as her hues focused on her father’s headstone.

 

“…..Say you're here, but I don't feel it. Give me peace, but then you steal it and watch them laugh at all my secrets. Scream and yell, but I feel speechless. Ask for help; you call it weakness--lied and promised me my freedom.”