I don't know what happened to her. Dont know what it is that so cruely ended her. That so suddenly left me with a hole in my word. No-one seems to be able to provide an answer to that particulary harrowing question. And so my imagination fills the blanks. I try and stop it. Try and picture her as the glimmer of hope she was in my life. Try and see nothing but her eyes filled with pride, in the way they only did when she looked at me. Try and hear her voice when it gave me love and comfort above everything else. I try and picture her as the mother she was. The mother she became without even trying. But no matter how hard I try, I can't keep my thoughts from twisting into her final moments. Can't fight the darkness the blocks her light. Can't battle the nightmares that haunt me as I sleep. Can't outrun the ending of her life the boogeyman brings with him when I finally succum to the exhaustion that overwhelms me. More often than not, it's her harrowing screams that fills the emptiness as I sleep. I flail around in the dark, following the sounds of her blood curdling cries for help. But no matter how fast I run, how hard I try I always find her choking our her last breath. I always arrive in time to watch her life leave her body. But i'm always too late to help her. Always too slow, to ill equipped to save her from whatever monster has cut her down, when she had so much left to give. Sometimes there is no-one there. Just me and her, with whatever evil that hurt her being long gone. Other times, there's someone lurking in the shadows. Someone faceless, and laughing as I battle to undo the damage they have done. And sometimes, the evil is me. Sometimes, I look on from above, watching as I curl myself over her body, making sure every last drop of life is squeezed from her.
Those are the worst. The ones that have me waking drenched in a cold sweat. The ones that have me screaming and shaking so loudly that Dad pounds my locked door, threatening to break it down if I don't let him in. But I don't, and eventually, when my sobbing has subsided and i've given him some half hearted indication that i'm ok, even though we both know i'm not, he leaves. Retreating back down the hall, into his own room and whatever particular form of hell Gillian and her ghost have got him trapped in that night. I never let him in, because he'd want to talk. Want to make it better. Want to re-assure me that it was nothing more than a nightmare. And while that's exactly what I need, I don't need it from him. I need it from her. And so I force myself to shut off the light, and find sleep oncemore.
They talk about the calm before the storm. But for me it's the other way around. The nightmare, followed by the dream. She finds me, after each particularly haunting epsiode. Sometimes we're in her office, curled together on her couch. Sometimes we're walking the streets, going no where and neither of us minding at all. Sometimes we're in some café somewhere, huddled over some ridiculously oversize icecream bowl, gossiping about everything and nothing.
The first time we did that, was after i'd had a really crappy day at school. I'd had some massively pointless fight with one of my friends, as teenage girls tend to do. I'd arrived at the offices tears lining my face and pretty certain my entire life was over. She'd taken one look at me and without a word fetched her bag and coat from office, taken my hand and was guiding me to her car. She'd driven to some place that i'd never been too before, left me in a booth to dry my tears and returned five minutes later with two spoons and what I can only describe as mountain of desert. There was icecream, and sauce, brownie chunks and wafers, and a million other things that tasted like heaven and made the world seem an infinitely better place almost immediately. My eyes must have popped out of my face when she sat it down on the table between us, because she'd laughed and said that there was nothing that couldn't be fixed with insane amount pudding. She was right. I left that café an hour later on top of the world. But while she put it down to the sugar, I know that it had nothing to do with icecream and everything to do with her. I later found out that she'd been about to go into a meeting with an incredibly important client when she'd found me in the corridor. Her dissapearing act had lost them the job, and with it a shed load of money. By all accounts, Dad had been ranting and raving and about ready to have her head when we'd returned. But when we rounded the corner of the hallway joining his office and hers, with our arms linked and giggling about who know's what, the only indication that anything had ever been wrong being my slighlty puffy eyes, he let it go. He told me much later, when i'd cornered him about his feelings for her,
that he fell for her even more than he thought possible that day. When her actions had revealled that no client, or case would ever be more important to her than me. Her love for me, cementing her position within his heart forever. It became a tradition pretty quickly after than. Whenever i'd had a bad day or needed cheering up, she drive me to some wacky place and with two spoons and too much sugar together we'd put the world to right. And she never told Dad what we discussed. Never told him what particular crisis of mine had taken hold of her attention, and had her completely unreachable. And despite his pressing her for imformation when she returned me home, he understood. If it was life or death, she'd tell him what was going on. Otherwise, there were some things that only a girls mother needed to know.
Those dreams are my favourite. The ones that bring me most comfort. When after my awful nightmare she meets me in the café with two spoons, a smile and enough pudding that for a short while has me convinced we may be able to find a way to right this particular wrong. Might be able to find a way to bring her back. We talk, and for the short time that we are reunited, she does best to repair what is breaking within me. Does her best to reasure me that it wasn't my fault. Does her best to make me see past her ending, and to the life she shared with me. She never stays long, despite my cries for her not to leave alone again. But before she goes, she wraps me in her arms and whispers her love into me ears. She holds me tight, and tries to give me everything I need to go on without her.
Her voice is so honest, so filled with emotion, her embrace so warm and soft that it seems real. So real that I almost forget it's nothing more than a dream. And sometimes for a brief second or two when I wake from our meeting, I manage to detatch myself from the pain that all but owns me now. Try to take her lingering presence from my dreams and use it to find a way forward.
But when I do, I can't help but think about how dissapointed she would be in us. We barely talk now, me and Dad, and in the moments of reality, I see her before me once more. But unlike in the café, where her smile brings light and joy back to me, this time she's shaking her head. Has dissapointment lining her features. And there's a guilt darkening her eyes. Guilt that I know she would feel, if she could see what it is that she's done too us. I see her, see her sadness at what we've become and I want to fight. Want to run to him, and let him help me. Let us help each other. She would want that. Would want us to be holding onto each other. Would want us to be guiding each other through this never ending storm. I see her, and I know she would want me to be his little girl, would want me to let him piece me back together. But no matter how hard I try, I can't find the strength to be anything other than hers. Can't find the courage to allow myself to let go. It's what she would want, but I can't do it. Can't bring myself to feel anything other than her loss. Anything other than the crushing weight of guilt that I never told her all that she meant to me. That the last words that fell through the phone to her were twisted with hatred and anger. Words that were designed to hurt her favoured over the 'I Love You' that my heart was screaming. Favoured over the 'Come Home, Mom', that my heart was begging for. I used words with such venom I can still taste them. I thought I had time to make it right. Thought that i'd have time to take them back. Thought i'd have time to seek her forgiveness, and replace my faked poison with all the things I really felt. But I never got that chance, and it kills me.
So I don't let Dad comfort me, and I push him away whenever he tries to ease my suffering. It may not be what she would have wanted, but it's what I deserve. I deserve to be lost and alone. So after those few moments of reality, after those few moments where I am present in the real world, I let my anguish role over me once more. Let her absence drag me back into a world that is plagued with guilt and suffering. A world that I cannot escape. A world that, actually, I would not want to escape, even if I could.
It may not be a real world. May be a place purely of my imagination. It may be a darkness that holds for me the cruelest of nightmares and unimaginable pain. But it is a world where she still exists. A world that even if just for a few moments, lets me hear her voice and feel her touch. So it may be hell, but I would choose it over any heaven. It may be hell, may have me isolated from everyone I still have left, but it's a hell that returns me to her. And for that reason, I will never leave.
Phew! Glad that one's over. I originally planned Emily's voice just to be the beginning of a chapter in which we see Cal dealing with the package from Wallowski, but once I started writing I couldn't help but feel like she needed a section all to herself rather than one that's taken over with whatever's inside the box! Hope you enjoyed. Much love for to you all for continuing to read, despite the dark path we're on and extra special thanks to those who are reviewing.. you and you're words are what make me keep writing!