Forbidden and Terrified
Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget. What a hard line to walk, and often did I fall off the line.......
1. Chapter 1
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Forbidden and Terrified
How could I be so naive? How could I ever believe for one second that he-the picture of perfection- would ever love me? Why did I even come to Forks anyway? I had had absolutely no chance with a person like him, but why did he act like it?
These questions-along with millions more- circled around in my head. I frequently came up with more unanswerable questions. They wove in and out of my current thinking-haunting me.
‘And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.' It was the other way around. The lion had not fallen for the lamb-it was the lamb that had fallen for the lion. He didn't return that love. I was the masochistic lamb- destining me for endless agony and hurt.
The broken girl sat there, staring at the wall for hours on end. Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days. The girl's father worried constantly about her. Never did he realize what she really was going through. Sure, he had harbored a broken heart when her mother had left, but still he didn't comprehend the depth of it.
He still shuddered at night when her screams were voiced. A night never passed without her piercing screams of pain and emptiness. They disturbed him with what they were expressing. Such pain, such anguish, such...desolation. He just didn't know what to do. What father did?
One did, the one that the girl had once hoped to call father, but that dream was ripped from her as soon as he uttered that one single negative word, no.
‘You are the most important thing to me, to me ever.' ‘You are exactly my brand of heroin.' Every moment, every word haunted me. Why had he put on this whole charade, when he was just going to end it suddenly? Did he always do that in every town he lived in, breaking the heart of a random girl every time? Even if he did that, I couldn't blame him for being a horrible creature, no I loved him too much to do that. Even though he had ripped my heart out and created the horrendous hole in the center of my chest.
The girl's father still didn't know what to do. She didn't eat, didn't sleep. He had no experience with this. He was so desperate; he asked his best friend if any of his daughters had been through anything similar to what was wrong with her. But his question had no reply; of course they hadn't gone though anything like this. Neither of them had been in true love.
Every time that he left, he didn't know if she would still be alive when he came back. Images of his beloved, but broken, daughter slitting her wrists or overdosing on medicine haunted him. How would any father, or mother, feel if their only child had chosen to take their own life? For those 15-19, about 11 out of 100,000 will commit suicide this year. Will she be one of them?
Her large, chocolate eyes were once alive, but now they resembled those of the deceased. When her eyes held emotion, it hurt him to look. Agony filled them-to such a magnitude that he couldn't comprehend it. It wasn't like someone had left-it was as if someone had died, like she had died.
I was a ticking clock; with each tick of the second hand I was closer to the end. No, not the end that had already occurred, but when I was finally dead, not just mentally, I was already that, but physically. With each beat of my heart I was nearer to not experiencing this emptiness. But what if it didn't end? Shall I be condemned to suffer through this half-life for all eternity? Where ever I would go after I was gone was pain able to follow? Could heaven be that cruel? Or had me turning my back on humanity set my fate in stone to go somewhere else, besides heaven?
‘If I could dream at all, it would be about you.' I no longer dreamt about my wandering Romeo, no, all I dreamed about was the emptiness, and the searching. ‘That's practically an insult, the way you look right now. You're much more than beautiful.' ‘Bella, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you.' All of these declarations made out of what seemed to me as love, but none of them ment a thing. Every promise that he had made, broken, was every word, every touch, a lie?
Her father watched from the doorway as his daughter clutched at her sides, rocking back and forth, back and forth. It was almost like she was holding her small, vulnerable body together. That was the first time he had seen how deeply she was hurt. Unimaginable pain-no-agony was in her once lively eyes. Tears streamed down her face, sweat clammed up her forehead. He couldn't take it anymore, just watching his daughter suffer like that. He walked over to her, and rubbed her back, hoping to soothe some of her pain. But, at his touch, she recoiled- cowering into her sheets. The touch of anyone painfully reminded the poor girl of her uninterested soul mate.
Her grip upon herself tightened, stabbing her nails into the skin of her sides. The skin nearly breaking, nearly drawing blood. Barely able to drag a ragged breath into her lungs, which seemed to have disappeared from her. She willed for the numbness to wash over her again, to release the pain. She curled over, rolling over on the bed- over to his side. She had never, not once, touched that sacred side of her bed. Memories flooded her mind, ripping the hole even wider. She clutched at herself frantically, as if it would actually help. Of course it didn't, it was a reflex, one of the few she had left.
The man wished to help her, to fix her of this broken heart- but she didn't want to be helped. If she wasn't broken, how could she ever be sure that he had truly existed? ‘It will be as if I never existed.' She knew that he would he would be very through, almost every physical aspect of him and his family- gone. But the traces that he had left on her would stay there forever more.
‘Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget.' What a hard line to walk. The smallest things reminded me of him. The stereo, which I tore out of my truck, making my fingernails a bloody mess; music, that caused me to remember my beyond beautiful lullaby, they eventually ended up broken in a trashcan; all my books, especially my favorites. They all had a thick layer of dust upon them. Love stories, they all were, I especially couldn't think or read Wuthering Heights- it just reminded me of so much.
So many things that I am forbidden and terrified of, but the thing that terrifies me the most is myself. I have become this horrendous zombie. I was very similar to the undead-except I was alive. Many a things did I miss; I missed my best friend- the little pixie who was a seer. I missed the sense of a future, now all I had was a dark abyss, a void in front of me. I wasn't going anywhere, except farther and farther into the darkest chasm I have ever seen. But the thing I missed was him. I missed having someone to love-even if he didn't return that love, I missed his caresses, his kisses, his ability to make me melt and turn my bones to sponge. Yet, I was forbidden and terrified of remembering these things.... I had the worst balance in the world- often did I remember and forget...