Lovers' Diary - Athena

This is the second entry into the Lovers Diary, written by Athena. Yes, it is long, but trust me, it is most definitely worth the read. I read this at 6:30 on a Monday morning, totally enraptured.

“So, Annie, what happened that day?” Dr Burke prompts me, trying to drag an answer out.
He always starts asking harmless questions about the weather, my favourite things, my school, but always, inevitably, it always ends up about “that day”.
I’ll answer the other questions, simple enough, usually simple monosyllabic answers, but the moment ‘that’ question falls from his lips, I shut up. I lock myself away, and don’t speak until the session is over.
What if I don’t want to talk about that day?
Have they ever thought about that?
What if it hurts too much, the simple thought about it shortens my breath, quickens my heart and sends a fresh cut through my scarred memories.
Yet, I’ve been trying to run away from it, for too long. I don’t want to be analysed.
It’s like a game, almost sinister. He’ll try and trick me into saying something, pull the story from me. And then I’ll clench up, not uttering a word and stare blankly, into nothing at all.
But I don’t want to play. Not today.

A week has passed since ‘that day’. It feels like it’s been a year, and yet I remember it like it was yesterday. I’ve let everyone just assume, I’ve let their views be warped and influenced by others. I’ve noticed that people only see what they want to see, know what they want to know. That the truth doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

But I know it does. It matters to me. It mattered to Alice.
It’ll never be suppressed for too long, and that’s why I’m bringing up what’s been willed to be forgot, to be let go. What I wish I would never have to reface.
That day my sister died.

I open my mouth, my eyes still on the ivory skin of the chair, and words tumble out. I don’t even sound like me, I sound different, and yet nobody would be able to tell but me.
Or Alice.

I can’t do this, I’m not ready. It hurts too much. And yet, all these ready prepared excuses fall short, as the day comes back to me, filling every corner in my mind, and I can’t help but to remember.


_
We’d just made it to the top of the hill, and we were taking a break from riding. It was one of our favourite things to do, to just get away from the world. I remember everything seemed so green that day, and that every time we went up there, things would be different.
That day, new seedlings were sprouting up from the once barren ground, and yet just a few weeks back, we’d gone up and everything seemed so soft and grey.
I remember the smells; House 62 was having a barbecue, their famous spare ribs wafting up into our picnic, and the fresh, crisp air surrounding us.
The traffic was heavy, as usual, and the sound of cars and horn blares seemed strangely symphonic.
I remember Alice that day, with her hair bundled up in a messy bun, her eyes filled with the fiery will she inherited from mum. We are simply clichés of twins, Alice and I. She was always the more outgoing one, dramatic, loud, and whose energy filed the room from corner to corner. And then there’s me. The quiet soft-spoken one, who aspires to be a photographer, to capture the beauty of the world.
I remember when we were younger, we’d pretend that Alice was the famous actor and I would photograph her on the red carpet. We dreamt that when we were older, we’d share an apartment, three dogs and a canary.
The smile falls from my lips that I hadn’t even noticed had appeared from the fond memory.
I also realise I have tears running down my face. What could have been.

Before I can dwell on this, the day pushes itself into my mind, and I continue with what happened.
I remember we’d sat down to eat, and I began to unpack the woven basket, placing the plates on the chequered mat.
It’s all so clear in my mind, a photographic memory.
I remember shouts.
There was an argument.
Alice was telling me how she had got into an acting school.
In America.
I remember my heart pounding, we had discussed this before.
She said she wouldn’t leave me.
She’d made promises just to please me.
Lies that had rolled off her tongue, come back to haunt her, one by one.
We both recalled that conversation, and she couldn’t quite meet my eye, yet she stared at a blade of glass as if her life depended on my next words.
I don’t know why I said it. I just couldn’t face it. I wanted to hurt her as much as she had to me.
“I don’t care. Go.”
As soon as the words fell from my lips, I wished immediately I could somehow drag them back.
Then everything happened in a blur.
She stood up and ran, her eyes filled with tears, she tried to shield them from me.
But I saw it all.
She was running down the hill.
The cars were going so fast, too fast.
I tried to shout, scream, and go after her.
Tell her I didn’t mean it.
I didn’t mean anything, just as long as she would stop.
And yet I was frozen.
She didn’t run down the hill; too carefree, too oblivious to the danger as most people think.
She ran because of me.
I remember it all.
The tires screeching.
Someone screaming, Alice, me, I don’t even know.
And then silence.

“And the last words she’d heard me say, were the ones I didn’t mean at all.”
I did care. I cared so much.
I still care, Alice.

It’s the day of Alice’s funeral. I stand in front of the mirror, and I can’t stand the sight of myself. I remind myself of Alice so much. Too much. I turn away, and I can already feel the tears stinging at the back of my eyes. I’ve been dreading this day. I just can’t face it. I think it’s because it makes it official. Official that Alice is gone. I know it sounds so stupid, but some part of me still believes she’s here. As I sit on my bed, an imaginary Alice pops into the room, fussing around, rushing me, telling me that time doesn’t slow down, so you have to live life.
I stand up, and lifeless, I make my way downstairs.
I remember her laugh, her smile that made her eyes crinkle, that gave her, her charm.
The drive is a long one, but not long enough. We reach the cemetery too early, and as mum asks if I’m ready, one answer rushes through my head.
“I’ll never be ready.”
But I nod, and climb out of the car, head down, so nobody can see the tears spiling out of my eyes.
The funeral goes by in a blur. Words are said, but they don’t seem to reach my ears. Before I know it, everyone stands, to give a last farewell to Alice, my sister, my twin, my other half.
It’s my turn to drop my flower, a simple act, and yet right now, even breathing seems like an impossible task.
The ride home is a silent one, there’s nothing to say, nothing that wouldn’t hurt.
When I reach the door, I run into our room. I don’t care, it’ll always be our room, one of the many things we shared. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, until I see the photo album.
Each photo with the two of us rips my heart in two. No matter how much alike we looked, I could always tell which one was her. The last photo with the both of us is the one I hold in my hands.
I stare at her, afraid to blink in case I would miss something and forget, and she blurs as tears fill my eyes, and the picture is swimming in front of me.
I hear a strained scream. It’s not even a scream; it seems to be an attempt of one. A strangled note. And I realise it’s me. It sticks in my throat, I’m frozen, and the whole world comes crashing in on me.
I have to face it.
She’s gone.
I whisper it, louder and louder, increasing to screams that echo through the house.
I feel crazy. I feel lost.
And then I’m enveloped in my mother’s arms, as I sob and shudder and it just hurts so much.
I don’t know who I am.
When a child loses her parents, she is called an orphan, when a wife loses her husband, she is a widow.
What am I?
Am I still a twin, even if I’ve lost mine?
And my muffled screams and thoughts are lost in the wind of the night, as the rain pelts down and fills the windowsill and everything goes dark.

Athena x