TRIGGER WARNING. So much angst. I've been trying to capture the essence of writing it, so, naturally, I went all out. Character Death.
Here, with her cheek is pressed against the cold tile, body shuddering as a cool night breeze blew through the open bathroom window and over the exposed skin of her back. Amy was glad she had the quiet- but she wondered if something- any noise- would have been any more of a solstice because right now, the quiet was so loud.
Well, she thought sullenly, we had a good run.
At about the same time she wondered why an April night in Texas was so damn cold. And so she lay there, bent at the middle, bra straps digging into her otherwise bare shoulders. When she felt that moment of familiar suffocation, she'd only managed to get her top off before giving out and deciding this spot on the floor would be well enough as any other. Maybe it was the night light. It's warm glow was so welcoming, much more than those harsh fluorescents, and so Amy hadn't even bothered to turn them on. Not to mention, she didn't want to risk the light seeping out from under the doorway and waking Lauren. So this was enough.
Alone. Entirely, literally, virtually, hypothetically... alone. She'd fucked it all up one last time. And she recollected how on Earth this whole domino effect got started- but the answer is simple. As much as she wanted to point the finger, she knew she may as well been pointing in a mirror. It's all on you, Amy. Master of your own fate. Self-fulfilled prophecy. With the faintest groan, she balled her fists against her eyes.
She was a little hard on herself, she knew. But that didn't change the facts.
She'd just never really been a happy person. Not even as a child. Rejected first and foremost by her own mother, for not quite being the picture perfect daughter she wanted, and then coupled with her father's absentee tendencies. Welcome to psychological damage 101. And Farrah tried, oh, she really did, to just come to terms with it all- but she knew, deep down, that she would never have the dream life she fashioned for the two of them. Amy could see it in her mother's eyes- in the way she talked about her. Switch went off. Lights dimmed a little bit.
Oh, Amy. Great girl. She's a sweet girl. The pressed robotic tone, as if she was looking a little too hard to find the good things in her offspring. But, alas, then came Bruce- and then Lauren- and she chippered up a bit.
Amy was all but swept under the rug.
Not anyone's fault. Not really. It's just another disappointment.
At least there was always Karma.
At least, almost always Karma. That was, until something better came along- and her best friend chased after it, leaving her trailing, tripping, trying to catch up. And it wasn't only Liam. Although; yes, Liam was what gave her this monumental conclusion; it had always been this way. It wasn't until heartbreak- repeated- made her look back on their thirteen years and friendship, and pinpoint all the times it happened. Mackenzie Prior in fifth grade? She was so cool, and Karma's new neighbour. Bye, Amy!
When Karma made the senior girls volleyball team and eighth grade- along with all of her new, older friends? Bye, Amy!
And, most devastatingly, Liam. Bye, Amy!
There was a lot of regret about everything that built up to this point; which was maybe one of the most depressing parts about the whole situation. It wasn't something she expected to have; but there was conflict that came with it. How could it be so terrible when there was every hug? Every laugh, every smile, and, at the end- every kiss? And while those may be bountiful, Amy could count the number of times she was ever, truly happy on one hand- all of which included Karma. And what was she to the other girl? What was Amy?
She was... second best. First only if there was nothing else around to preoccupy her- and she even had to fight for that.
So... yeah, there was regret. And it saturated within her so deeply.
And it wasn't as though she really counted on this- any of it. Not the guttural hatred for herself, or Karma, Liam, Lauren... It wasn't as though she planned to fall in love with her best friend. Unrequited love mess. The amount of sorrow she felt when Karma was upset- the hitching, time, freezing, fist clenching jealousy and agony that swelled in her chest every time she chose Liam over her. Every time she saw them together. Every time she wondered about what it was that he could give her that she couldn't. And she fought for that, too. For every scrap of attention- every look her way that Karma gave her. She'd loiter around her lockers for just a while longer, pretending she was busy- praying that Karma would talk to her first.
And Amy realized... she hardly ever did.
She wished she could have been better equipped to deal with the amount of joy she felt every time Karma smiled. Or the transcendence she felt every time she was the cause of it- or a laugh. God, she loved making Karma laugh. It was in those moments she felt important. The hope that maybe, every time that happened, Karma would come to her senses.
She never did.
A sharp pain ripped through Amy's gut, and she heaved; nails clutching the floor beneath her. The breeze caused the sweat that covered her back to become sticky, and she shuddered again- feeling another gag at the back of her throat.
And Amy hoped- for so long- for months and months on end that it would go away. It would leave. But it never did. Even with Reagan- there was the idea of Karma. The God damn hope that the jealousy would drive Karma to the same realization.
Because ever since that first kiss, that jigsaw piece in the big picture that slapped everything together for Amy- it wouldn't get out of her head.
Her stomach finally gave another flip and she lost her lunch. It wasn't much, but she let it out, right there on the floor, because getting to the toilet or even thinking about getting there proved too much for her. And then she turned the other cheek, she knew her hair would be splayed in her own vomit but- who cares? By this point, she was mildly catatonic. It was too late- or too early, after a long day, her powdery bones felt like they might snap under any strain. But she felt- with yet another pang of regret- that lying on the bathroom floor wasn't hardly as violent as she felt inside.
This wasn't love anymore. It breathes and it's angry, it kicks and punches and it has claws and teeth and it got on top of her and it crushed her. And she had been been crying- no, screaming, wailing, and she couldn't shake it from her back no matter how hard she tried to fight it. So she's done. Its game over. Her face was so far in the dirt that she may as well been buried alive. It's obsession. And maybe it's always been, and she'd always been in over her head, and that's why she spent so long at the bottom of swimming pools or face down in the shower, because it didn't make a difference either way.
She'd tried everything she could.
When she admitted it, Karma had rejected her. When she fucked- or should she say- allowed Liam to fuck her, she hoped that would cause such a catastrophic damage that it would somehow set everything right. For better or for worse. She at least half expected Karma to trash the idea of Liam for knowingly fucking her best friend, but assumed that she would forgive Amy after a brief adjustment period because, after all, they were best friends. Who was she kidding? Amy knew she wanted to hurt Karma, too. That was the first time, the first real time that she ever hated her. And Amy was pretty sure that never went away- she only managed to cease the fire. It was never put out.
But, no, she had run back to Liam instead. And Amy didn't even have the fucking human decency to try to be happy for her.
When Amy tried so desperately to create the best birthday party (born from her own guilt induced pity party) all Karma could do was be entirely engrossed in what Liam had to say to her through a letter. And the feeling of the vast cavern in her chest? Now that, she thought, was priceless. She'd lost her best friend to a condescending, ignorant boy. All of that work, and she'd gone running back to the asshole.
And so she tried to make peace with it all. Tried to move on. But she couldn't.
She couldn't she couldn't she fucking couldn't.
And guess who Karma turned back to when things with Liam took a turn for the worst? Me. The thought of it made her press her forehead against the tile even harder, made her toes curl. Guess who Karma drunk kissed in the shallow end of the pool? Me.
That, had returned whatever hope she managed to shake away.
But, as with the most common trend in Amy's life, that was only another failure. She had failed to live up to her mother's expectations. She had failed to become valedictorian, she had failed ultimately, every single thing she set her mind to. She failed at getting Karma to love her.
Rolling onto her back, Amy feels the compression of her lungs start to crush her. Like a living burden, sitting atop of her chest, staring her down with beady eyes.
I tried, she tells herself, no one can tell me I didn't do at least that much.
It had been so long since the wedding night, but the wounds were still fresh, and unhealing. If anything they'd become infected. She couldn't help but wonder that if, maybe, she'd done it a little bit sooner, things would have turned out differently. If, maybe, Karma hadn't gotten too invested in Liam before Amy spilled her guts, that the outcome wouldn't have been the same.
But she knows it's horse shit.
Karma was Karma.
And she was only Amy.
And she is so tired. But the sleep won't come- she wonders if it's fair; it's for all the selfishness she possesses. The inability to move on. The amount of times she lied, the amount of times she blamed someone else when she knew the only culprit was herself. How many times she purposefully tried to hurt Karma. And there was no way to take any of it back- and she would, if she could see herself on the bathroom floor now.
Sucking in a deep, rattling breath, she presses the heels of her hands against her eyelids- not caring that her elbow now rested in her own vomit. The breathing is harder than it was a few minutes ago. It doesn't concern her- but she does feel a little bit sorry for Lauren. Knowing that it will be her step sister to find her on the floor tomorrow morning. But she wouldn't want it to be anyone else- part of her may resent Lauren for being everything she couldn't be for her own mother, but at least she knows that Lauren would understand. Maybe not entirely. And then maybe she would make Karma's life the same hell that Amy had been living for the past thirteen years.
The pills are having their intended effect; the corners of her vision slowly became blurry, and her pulse was starting to slow. With the little amount of energy she had left, Amy carelessly embraced herself in a sort of hug, curling into fetal position; allowing her hands to rest on all the places she knew Karma's would if she were there, holding her. Around her waist. Her ribcage. Her arms. The worst part about it all, was that she didn't really hate Karma. It was still love, although it had manifested into something more cruel. At the bottom of it; it was still love.
It's hard to imagine her voice, soothing her, coaxing her, telling her everything was going to be okay now. Not when she knows Karma would be inconsolable when she found out. But there was a note- under the pillow on Karma's side of her bed, she'd left the fondest of goodbyes.
It wasn't her fault.
Not really.
Maybe in another life, things could be better. Maybe she would find Karma again. Maybe things would workout, and she could be exactly the person that she was looking for. Amy could hope for that. But this one had been too hard, and she'd just been in it a little bit too long.
And Amy's one last wish was that she had held onto Karma just a little bit longer the last time she had seen her.
But she didn't regret it.