Fix Me

 

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Preface

PREFACE

 

                Love is an emotion that results only to tears. That’s what I believed. When you lose someone who played a great role in your life, even death seemed to be the only option to avoid the pain. I thought happily ever after and happy endings were possible. That’s what fairy tales had us believe when we were kids. But we were wrong. This world is cruel. And love is only an illusion.

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Chapter 1

ONE

 

                The church bells were ringing joyously as the massive doors creaked open to welcome me to the new chapter of my life. Everything was perfect, every girl’s dream come true.

 

                Him… me… finally together, married, unbreakable.

 

                This was the day, my day—our day. I lifted my gaze into the white blossoms that were hanging in garlands from the ceiling of the cathedral. Then I looked around at the faces of the people inside, their expressions a picture of happiness and delight. Yet they didn’t matter to me. Slowly, my eyes drifted to the man waiting in front of the altar. A smile curved up on my lips as our eyes locked into each other. We’ve been together for five years and yet the butterflies in my stomach were still churning jitters inside of me.

 

                My hands tightened on the bouquet of white roses as his perfection overwhelmed my mind. He looked like a prince in one of those fairy tales, the kind that never existed in the real world yet here was one. I still couldn’t quite grasp the fact that I was his bride, the imperfect make-believe princess who couldn’t find her place in this world. But that was once upon a time. Now I knew that my place was right beside the man in front of the altar and nowhere else.

 

                An instrumental version of Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years was played by the orchestra, it was my cue, and I began to take one step closer to him. My knees almost buckled when he broke into a breathtaking smile and I had to pause on the aisle for a moment to regain my balance. My feet slowly dragged me forward into the long carpeted path showered with red and white petals, my smile widening when I finally reached the end of the aisle.

 

                I waited for him to take my gloved hands, but to my surprise he wasn’t there anymore. Panic clawed its way into my system and I looked around worriedly. My throat felt dry when I realized that the pews were empty and the white blossoms were slowly falling to the floor, withered.

 

                What was happening?

 

                A loud gasp escaped my lips when I looked beside me. He was there again, but he wasn’t standing. His face looked tranquil, unperturbed but he wasn’t looking right at me. Then, little by little, the roses in my hands crumpled and shriveled into a sickening bunch of dead flowers. A scream tore from my throat and I stumbled backwards, unbelieving what I was seeing.

 

                My groom was there, lying inside his coffin. Dead.

               

The alarm clocked buzzed on my bedside table, jolting me awake from the horror in my dreams. Panting, I looked over to the silver clock on the polished nightstand before closing my eyes again. My alarm clock, my savior. It was no knight in shining armor but it saved me from the nightmares haunting me and that was enough. I didn’t love sleep. I didn’t love the dreams awaiting me like troubled ghosts in the shadows. I was always afraid of falling down the oblivion as soon as my head hit the pillows. The dreams kept getting worse and worse, they were uncontrollable.

 

                But the worst thing was: I wasn’t sure how long I was going to live like this.

 

                I shoved the heavy blankets damp with sweat off my body and headed for the bathroom. A green calendar hung off my wall with a big, black circle marking the date which I knew was today. Just thinking about it felt like I was being punched on my stomach. But I was almost used to the constant pain, like my body had adjusted to the single emotion I had left ever since it happened. I was lifeless, a walking corpse.

 

                When I found the light switch, my reflection greeted me. My gray eyes had lost their light and my straight blonde hair tumbled behind my back in a mess. I looked like a zombie. I had dark circles around my eyes and I knew I grew thinner. But who cares anyway? I splashed the cold water on my face and neck, hoping it would relieve me from this depressing atmosphere. Like always, as it did so oftentimes, I felt nothing. I felt as cold and hollow as an empty shell. I went back to my room and changed my clothes into shirt and jeans. My old sneakers was scattered on the wooden floor and I bent over to wear it. This should just be another lifeless day for me, shouldn’t it?

 

                “Good morning, Jasmina.” My mother was cooking breakfast. I think I muttered some sort of a greeting before kissing her flushed cheeks. I picked up my bag on the wooden chair and stumbled my way to the living room. Yeah, definitely it should just be another lifeless day.

 

                “Jasmina Reamer, go back here this instant,” I heard my mother say coldly. I stopped and obligingly turned around. I faced her with my blank face, waiting for her words to hit me like they always did since childhood.

 

                “What do you want, Mom?” I tried to put some emotion in my words but they came out flat. I wasn’t allowed to call my parents with their name when I was talking to them out of respect—at least that’s what they said.

 

                “I can’t stand any more of your depressing attitude. This has been going on for a year now! Where’s the old you? You don’t write your stories anymore. You almost burned all your books if only I didn’t stop you.” She kept swaying the spoon in front of her while talking. Her brown eyes were angry.

 

                “I don’t think I’m doing anything to upset this household.” My response was limp, out of tune.

 

                “That’s the problem. You never do anything. It’s like you’re not even here. You wake up, you go to school, and you sleep. That’s your daily routine. You don’t even eat.” Juliet—yep, that’s my mother’s name—grimaced. She noisily put the spoon down on the tiled counter and removed her pink apron. “I have to do something about you, Jasmina.”

 

                “I’m sorry Mom,” I mumbled, my apology sounding off-key. I struggled to keep my attention. Normally, I would just have to tune her out. “I’m doing fine, Mom. I’m trying so hard to live, just like I promised. Let me do things my way, okay? I’m fine.” This was the longest speech I ever had for months.

 

                My mother sighed and shook her head. She was about to start another argument but Harold, my dad, poked his head in, “Juliet, don’t give the kid a hard time. If she said she’s fine, then she’s fine.”

 

                “Why do you always take her side?” Juliet nagged.

 

“There are no sides here, honey. Jasmina is trying her best, okay? Let’s give her some credit,” Harold explained. Mom shrugged her shoulders resentfully and stormed off to the backyard. Dad looked at me apologetically and I smiled at him lightly—I doubt the smile even reached my eyes.

 

                “Thanks Dad,” I mumbled gratefully.

 

                He walked towards me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m also worried about you.” I nodded and slung my backpack without meeting his gaze. He dropped his hands and eyed me carefully before turning back to watch the morning news. I hope that went well.

 

                When I went outside, Greenport was going about its usual business. My family moved in the town of Southold, New York when I was three. My father was a seaman and business was nice in the port so we settled here permanently. Juliet liked the village having only 2,197 people occupying the area, and it was a tightly-knit community. I was very much involved in the town activities until last year, when the incident happened. Since then, I stopped hanging out with my friends.

 

I was a senior student in Greenport High School, the only secondary school here. It was where I usually spent my time with my friends—well, my ex-friends. Our house was located a few blocks from it so I usually walked to school. In my current state of mind, walking was convenient. I could take my mind off things for a bit and think about nothing, absolutely nothing.

 

                Once I got into the school grounds, the familiar noise of the students greeted me in an almost pleasurable way. This was a distraction for me, something that could help me forget the pain I was dealing with. I got plenty of time before the first period so I went to the seldom-used picnic benches to sit down and kill the remaining minutes studying Calculus. I just got into the first page of the third chapter when I heard the shrill voice of Shaira, my classmate and one of my closest friend. She was short and plump, her short auburn hair coming only to her shoulders.

 

                “Guess what date today is…” she said in a sing-song manner. Oh, no. Please don’t. She should know I was sensitive when it came to this subject. When I remained silent, she continued. “It’s November 10!”

 

                A sharp stab of pain pierced through me. I tightened my grip on my Calculus book as memories of that day flooded my mind. The pain, that empty feeling, that helplessness—they all flowed back and rushed through my veins, bringing me back to the moment when his sister said those two repulsive words. How could I ever forget? I found myself gasping for air as I remembered it all.

 

                “It’s been a year now since Bradley died, isn’t it?” she whispered. At the mention of his name, I lost all the willpower to stay firm. I allowed a tear to roll down but I couldn’t hold it all back. I let out the tears and silently cried, burying my face on my hands.

 

                Bradley Leighton, the man I have loved for five years, had died in an accident last November 10, 2012. We were together for five years and I thought those five years would continue for many more years in the future. I was just 13 years old when I fell for him. He was 14. It was a long distance relationship—I was in U.S and he was in Canada. He was involved in an arranged marriage—a plot of his father to strengthen their family business. Bradley went against that for me and to save our relationship. We went through everything just for us to be together. Our relationship was like those in the movies and romantic novels, two-against-the-world sort of thing.

 

                When I still had him, I thought happy endings did exist. I knew right then that he was the one for me. I knew we would last forever. But when the news had reached me that he had met fatal injuries from cliff jumping, my faith to forever wavered. I wanted to catch a flight to Canada when I was informed that he was in coma but I stayed in Greenport because of the three-day writing competition that would determine my future as a writer. I didn’t sleep during the two days he was in coma. Instead, I waited for updates from his sister. I couldn’t put my mind on the competition either because I was thinking of him. Those two days were the longest days I had ever spent—the longest and the most difficult. I felt so helpless sitting, waiting for his sister’s calls and updates, unable to see him recover for real. I couldn’t do anything but listen to his heavy breathing and occasional groans through the receiver.

 

And when the third day of the competition had come, I was announced winner and was offered a three-book deal from one of the most outstanding publishing companies in US. My worst fears disappeared into nothing the day that he’d finally woken up. We had talked for several hours through phone. I noticed his voice was so weak and the words he uttered weren’t that clear but I listened to his voice nonetheless, grateful that he finally woke up. I told him about the competition and my newly-signed writing contract and he had been so happy.

 

“I love you so much,” he’d said. “I have always loved you Jazz, and I always will. Remember that. You’re the only girl I’ve loved this much.”

 

“I love you too, Brad. Forever and always.” I had meant every word I had told him that night. We recounted the day we met, how we became lovers, and how he proposed to me. He had told me he had wanted to propose to me first before getting forced in the engagement with the other party. We basically recollected our life together as a couple and how we planned on ending up marrying each other. Before hanging up, I had promised I would catch the flight the next morning to visit him.

 

“I want you to be happy, Jazz. Do everything to live your life. Stay happy, okay? You have to promise me that. And remember, Jasmina Marie Reamer, I love you.” Those were his last words to me. I had never considered them his last until that fateful morning came when I was ready to catch a flight to Canada. It was the day that his sister broke the news that ruined my life: “He’s dead.”

 

At first I couldn’t comprehend the meaning of those words; I kept repeating them over and over in my head. And then it hit me. The man I loved was gone. Dead. Lifeless. Every part of me had died with him. There was nothing left of me alive. I stopped writing because I had lost all my reason to. I pulled out the deal with the publishing house and I retreated to my shell to hide.

 

“I’m so stupid, Shai…” I sobbed. “I should’ve ditched that competition and rushed to his side. I was so selfish. He should’ve come first before my dreams. Now I lost everything. My life, the man I love… it’s all over for me.”

 

“Hey, don’t blame yourself for what happened to Brad. Look at you now. Do you think he’s happy seeing you like this? Go back to your old self, Jazz. We’re getting worried about you. You don’t act…” she paused, struggling for the right word. “Well, you don’t act normal. It’s disturbing.”

 

I wiped the tears in my face and sniffed. All this time, I thought I could fake my emotions and appear strong, but judging by the reactions of the people around me, maybe I was wrong. Maybe they were all thinking now that I was a troubled senior student who had lost her sweetheart. Well, I didn’t care what they thought. Most people doesn’t know the feeling of losing someone and living through regrets.

 

I looked at Shaira with teary eyes and she smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry for bringing out this topic. I wasn’t thinking. I assumed you must’ve gotten over it now that a year has passed.”

 

“Five years is not that easy to forget, Shai. Especially when those five years was the time you were most alive,” I said before getting up. I slipped my Calculus book inside my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Come on, we’ll be late.”

 

 

*****

 

 

“So you’re finally talking, huh?” Emari chirped as we sat at the back of the room. I stared guiltily at her, my eyes going over her as if it was the first time I’d seen her and those bouncy curls framing her face. It had been several months since I last talked to them—not even a single “Hi” or a small wave. I literally pulled myself apart from people. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember what happened in the course of a year I tuned myself out from the outside world. Everything felt like it was only yesterday.

 

“Yeah, I guess. What’s up?” I murmured incoherently. I wasn’t used to this. I wasn’t sure if I still knew how to be sociable, let alone keep a conversation going. It just didn’t feel right. I pretended to listen to Mr. Rodriguez to avoid any more attention from Shaira or Emari. They should have, at the very least, sensed that I didn’t plan on sitting with them again at lunch. I still preferred to sit at the at self-exile part of the cafeteria where I could drone off all the things about him that were threatening to come out to my consciousness.

 

The whole morning passed in a blur and lunch was very uneventful. But when Literature came, I wished I should’ve just missed the class. We were going to watch A Walk to Remember where Mandy Moore and Shane West starred. This was Brad’s favorite movie and he also loved the book. Another wave of pain shot through me as one single memory trespassed my mind. I tried to block the images and it felt as if small blades were cutting through my skin.

 

When Mrs. Preston switched the lights out, I took the opportunity to slip off the room and into the hallway. It was quiet and empty. I sank down on the cold tiled floor and hugged my knees close to my chest. How long would I last this torture?  How far would I go down to escape this living nightmare?

 

Take me with you, Brad. I can’t do this without you, I whispered silently. I clutched my chest and felt the hole that had started to claw its way inside out. It would be a long two hours for me to endure this silence.

 

“Hey lady, what are you doing? Don’t you have a class?” I looked up to see whose voice it was and I recognized the face of Miss Valdez, the moderator of the school paper. “Jasmina, why are you out here?”

 

“I needed some fresh air so I went out for a bit,” I said under my breath. She squatted down in front of me to my eye level and scrutinized my face. Her round, heart-shaped face turned into a frown when she detected a hint of agony in my expression.

 

“You’re not doing so well, I see. You want to talk about it in my office?  We miss you in the publication, you know. When are you going back to writing?”

 

“I’m not writing again. I stopped a long time ago. You, of all people, should understand that, Miss V.”

 

“Well, it’s not easy losing the best writer.” She smiled lightly. I bit my lower lip and bowed my head. No matter how hard I tried to go back to my old self, everything had just simply changed. If it weren’t for my family and friends begging me to stay sane, I would have followed Brad to the afterlife.

 

“It’s not easy living through a life without a life,” I muttered. To hell with this, I needed to go home. I rested my head on the wall for a moment, took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Dying would be easy. Dying was a relief.

 

“Jasmina, I hope you don’t mind me giving some advice.” She paused for a moment and waited for me to open my eyes again. “I think it’s time that you let go of the past. You’re chained to it. You can let him go. You can move forward and start a new life. Don’t close your heart and build walls around it. You won’t be happy if you do that.”

 

“I don’t choose to be happy.”  My voice came out sharper than I intended. Miss Valdez drew a little bit when she sensed the rise on my temper. “I choose to shut everything and everyone out.”

 

“Everything happens for a reason,” she reached out and clasped my hands on my lap. Her hands felt warm and comforting.

 

“I wish I know the reason behind this,” I whispered in deep pain. “I am living through regrets and I hate myself for not being able to bring back the things to where they used to. be That’s the reason why I’m pushing people away.”

 

“Don’t,” her voice trembled. I stared at her quizzically. This was the longest I ever paid attention to anyone who talked to me. “If you block everyone out who tries to fix you, then you will continue to live in darkness and solitude. No one wants to live that kind of life, Jasmina. No one.”

 

 I don’t wish to be fixed, I wanted to answer back but I knew she would never understand. When I kept my mouth shut, she sighed. I recognized the pity behind her eyes and I expected myself to be angry, to feel hate because she pitied me, but as usual, no emotion registered, not even a hint of irritation.

 

“Do consider what I just said, sweetheart. Everybody misses the Jasmina we know.” Miss Valdez patted my head before walking away. I stared at her retreating figure, her words already leaving my memory. When the bell finally rang, the hallway was immediately filled with the noisy crowd of the students eager to go home. A couple holding hands lingered on the locker next to me and they began to kiss. I could even hear the boy murmur some sweet nothings to the girl’s ear. Disgusted, I jumped to my feet and looked the other way. Time to go, I thought and hurried outside.

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Chapter 2

TWO

 

 

                The wind blew to the north, whipping my hair into a messy tangle of knots behind my back. The leaves of the maple trees on the road side slowly fell to the ground, indicating the slow passing of fall to winter. A slight breeze scattered the leaves onto the sidewalk, some of them billowing freely up in the air. The neighborhood was quiet except for the occasional barks of dogs confined in the houses. We were living in the intersection between Wiggins and 8th Street in a small two-story house painted in white.

 

                When I reached the turn to the street, I noticed a blue Chevy truck parked in front of our lawn. It was my uncle Joe’s. What was he doing here? I hurried inside the house and found them all sitting in the living room like they were discussing some matters at hand. Normally, I wouldn’t care and I would head to my room and lock away but I had a feeling this had something to do with me. They all turned to stare at me. I froze. This didn’t feel right.

 

                “What did I do?” I asked in a monotone voice. Everyone in the room seemed to sense my hostility. They knew I didn’t like being the center of attention, much more the focus of their eyes. Uncle Joe was sitting close to where I stayed rooted so I walked over carefully to him and gave him a small hug.

 

                “Remember what I said earlier, Jasmina?” Juliet was the one who spoke. Everybody turned to her, including me. “I said I will do something about you.”

 

                I caught my breath and prepared for the worst. “Do something like what? Put me in a rehab center?”

 

                She threw me a sharp look and I glared back at her. I crossed my arms and waited. My cheeks felt flushed—well, almost. I was surprised at this emotion I felt even just for a little: anger.

 

                “No, I got something better. How about you move to Massachusetts and live with Joe?”

 

                “I’m staying, Mom. I’m staying.” I flashed my father a pleading look. This was getting worse.

 

                “I’m sorry sweetheart, I tried to talk to her but she’s resolute to send you away.” Harold didn’t even look into my eyes. I turned to my uncle for back up, knowing he’ll take my side but he shook his head.

 

                “We are worried about you, Jasmina. What you’re doing… it’s not normal anymore. We’re scared to see you break down again like what happened during the first months that Brad died. We can’t let you ruin your life anymore. Brad—”

 

                “Stop!” I shouted. I could feel my thoughts constricting into a tight space. Don’t cry. They froze in their seats and just looked at me pitifully. This was too much for me to handle. I gripped my chest, forcing myself not to crumple in front of them.

 

                “Jasmina, we’re doing this for you. Getting stuck in this place would only remind you of him. You need to start over.” Mom stood from the couch and started towards me but I stepped backward to fend her off. “Jasmina please honey, we’re family and we’re doing everything to get you back.”

 

                “Family? You call this a family? Don’t be stupid, Mom,” I said, exasperated.

 

                “Watch your words, young lady.” Anger flickered in her brown eyes. She took a step towards me, hands ready, when my father finally towed her away.

 

                “Let’s not get into a fight, all right? Calm down for Pete’s sakes.” Harold constrained mom in the couch when she tried to stand up and get to me. I sighed and put on a brave face despite the tears spilling on my cheeks. I can’t believe everything had turned out like this. Why were they trying to provoke the anger inside me?

 

                “Why don’t you go up in your room and pack? Let’s relieve the tension here, okay?” My uncle placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around towards the stairs but not before I managed to utter few words.

 

                “I hate you,” I made sure that one was directed at my mother who can’t keep still without being able to slap me in the cheeks for talking back.

 

                “You’re leaving in the morning,” she said coldly. It’s as if something heavy had just fallen on my head. I gave them one last look before walking off noisily upstairs to my room. Once I was inside, I dropped to my knees, the thud shattering the silence. I felt so weak and helpless. I didn’t want to leave Greenport. I didn’t want to forget. They wanted me to continue living, but I didn’t want to live anymore! If I allowed myself to be whole again, I might forget him. That’s what I didn’t want to happen.

Through the haze, I rummaged around the box that contained the memories with Brad. I carried it to the bed and sifted through the mementos. My hands shook when I took out the framed picture he made for my 15th birthday. He looked so happy, so alive. I was smiling hugely at the camera but he wasn’t. Instead, he was staring at me intensely, like he can’t believe I was really beside him.

 

                “I miss you so much, Brad… I miss you so much it hurts,” I said in a soft voice. I tossed my shirt and wore his gray sweatshirt instead. His perfume still lingered on the shirt, as if he was holding me close, as if he didn’t want to let me go. I could almost feel his touch, his warm hands tracing my skin. But I was always left with memories, nothing more. I cradled the frame on my chest, hoping it would hopefully give me warmth, until I fell asleep through the tears.

 

 

*****

 

 

                Light flooded faintly through the window when morning came. It was like any other day. One thing I was grateful for was the fact that I didn’t wake up screaming again. It always scared me that I couldn’t control the nightmares haunting me every night. They kept on stopping me to see the bright side of anything since my own light had disappeared from this world.

 

I tossed around my bed as I recalled last night’s dream. It was always the scene where we we’re getting married and turns out to be his burial ceremonies. During the first nights I had dreamed of that, I always woke up screaming but when it regularly occurred every night, I had finally gotten used to it. But sometimes, the dreams were more pleasant. We would talk in the middle of a meadow, as if we were Edward and Bella. I didn’t want to wake up from that, I didn’t want to wake up and face the reality that he’s dead. I just couldn’t.

 

                Someone knocked on my door and I lay still. The knock came again and with a message: “Jasmina, pack your things. You’re hitting the road at 9 o’clock. Don’t let Joe wait on you.”

 

                I glanced at the clock: 8 A.M. I sighed and struggled to get up. I only had one small traveling bag hidden under my bed, unfortunately unfit to place all of my stuff and Brad’s. Hell, I doubt if the entire dresser could even fit into it. I stretched my body and it was then I noticed something weird.

 

Where did all my things go?

 

The shelves were empty. Even my books were gone. I probably didn’t notice it last night because I was so focused on Brad’s things. Now all that was left to pack were my clothes, which I wouldn’t call much. Just few shirts and blouses, couple of jeans and shorts, and few nice set of…well, clothes. I changed my clothes to a blue green long sleeves and jeans, donning a denim jacket in the process. I took a trip to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face and combed my blonde hair, keeping the stray strands tucked behind my ears. This was the first time I made an effort trying to look nice—I didn’t even care putting some face powder or eyeliner for the past months.

 

When I returned to my room, my father was waiting for me. “Are you done packing?” he asked. I only nodded and proceeded to place my toiletries inside my traveling bag. “Jasmina, honey, I’m really sorry that you’re leaving. I can’t believe your mom even thought about this. But please don’t hate your mother; we’re just concerned about you. We’re just scared about what would happen to you if you stayed depressed. I hope you understand that. And lastly, we’re doing this for a reason.”

 

I replied with a small “okay” and pulled out my blue tote bag and put my wallet and other personal things, including my black leather-bound composition notebook where I used to write my drafts. Dad continued in his speech but I tuned him out while I filled my bag. I almost forgot to wear my mockingjay pin, a souvenir from The Hunger Games movie series, which Brad mysteriously sent to me on my 16th birthday. He knew I was an avid fan of the books and the movie versions. The pin came with a silver crucifix necklace with diamonds at the center. It was now in the box with the other gifts from him. I only wore it twice, during our 3rd year anniversary and when I celebrated my debut. The only thing I often used was the mockingjay pin—it was the only thing I could bear wearing.

 

“Jasmina, are you even listening to me?” dad asked, eyeing me suspiciously. I looked blankly at him and then he sighed. I suddenly felt guilty. He wasn’t supposed to be suffering because of me.

 

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I apologized genuinely. “It has been really hard for me lately.”

 

“I understand. But please do your best moving on. Juliet said you can’t come home unless you’ve changed for the better. She even said she’ll put you in a rehab if you won’t get any better than you are right now.”

 

I groaned. “She’s really serious about this, isn’t she?”

 

“You know your mom. She’s so stubborn and loud and won’t shut up until she gets what she wants—so very much like you,” he smiled. I smiled in a thin line and dad helped me carry my bags downstairs where mom and uncle were waiting.

 

“Where are my other stuffs?” I asked. They all followed me to the front lawn and I saw the back of the Chevy full of boxes. “I thought so. You had my things packed before I came home because you knew I could be forced to do anything you want, right?”

 

She flinched under my evil glare but held her head up high. “It’s for the best.”

 

“Just tell me if you want to get rid of me completely. Are you getting sick of me moping around? Are you tired with all my drama? Well it’s your problem, Mom. Not mine.” Harold was shaking his head behind her, silently telling me to stop what I was doing but I ignored him. I was desperate on staying here and I will do what I can to stay.

 

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Joe intervened.

 

“Why, Uncle? What’s the point of making me leave?” I argued with misty eyes. Juliet shuddered when a cold wind rushed to us and dad was immediately on her side, handing her light brown cardigan.

 

“You have to leave because you need to forget,” she said slowly but there was acid in her voice.

 

“I don’t want to forget!” I yelled disparagingly. “Why do you have to dictate what I should do with my own life? Stop. Telling. Me. What. To. Do!”

 

“Keep your voice down, Jasmina. This is not the time to make a scene,” dad said with authority. “We’re doing this for a reason.”

 

“Then tell me the fucking reason!” I flung my hands in the air and hung my head. This was going nowhere. I knew arguing with my parents was futile. Once they were dead set on doing something, there was nothing to stop them—not even sugarcoated words and pretensions. I glared at them with my gray eyes, hoping to change their mind but Juliet’s face was full with determination.

 

“Let’s not fight before you leave,” she said calmly.

 

You’re the reason why I am leaving, Mom. Let’s leave it at that,” I snapped. “Let’s go, Uncle.” I gave dad a one-armed hug before taking the passenger seat. Mom didn’t look my way even after my uncle drove away. I settled on my seat and took a deep breath. I was so stupid. Why did I talk back to my mother? I bit my lips and looked at the blurry scene on my window. We passed at the park where Brad and I used to go and I quickly turned my head away. Just seeing the places we’ve gone to could make me lose focus. Even the restaurant where we used to eat brought me the lingering feeling of nostalgia and emptiness.

 

I’m not saying “Good bye”, Brad. I won’t. Not ever, I whispered silently as I watched everything on the side mirror fade away.

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