The Sweet Hereafter: Heart Of Darkness
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Part XXXXI: What Have You Done?
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"My Lullaby, hung out
to dry
What's up with that
It's over
Where are you dad
Mum's lookin' sad
What's up with that
It's dark in here
Why, bleeding is breathing
You're hiding underneath the smoke in the room
Try, bleeding is believing
I used to
My mouth is dry
Forgot how to cry
What's up with that
You're hurting me
I'm running fast
Can't hide the past
What's up with that
You're pushing me
Why, bleeding is breathing
You're hiding underneath the smoke in the room
Try, bleeding is believing
I used to
I used to
Why, bleeding is breathing
You're hiding underneath the smoke in the room
Try, bleeding is believing
I saw you crawling on the floor
Why, bleeding is believing
You're hiding underneath the smoke in the room
Try, bleeding is believing
I saw you crawling to the door
Why, bleeding is believing
You're hiding underneath the smoke in the room
Try, bleeding is believing
I saw you falling on the floor"
--Natalie Imbruglia
"Smoke"
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It took a great deal of strength not to cry on Dr. Bliss' shoulders, because crying is about the only way I can possibly describe how I feel on this, the single most miserable day of my meaningless existence. My life is an endless purgatory, interrupted only by moments of profound misery. Yeah, that sums it up nicely. She wants to help me, I know. But I also realize that I have reached a point where there's nothing else she can tell me. I know what I have to do, and it's up to me to do it. Even so, she lets me lie there on her couch in silence until sunset. I barely even acknowledge her existence. I always do this to people. When I don't want to deal, I just ignore. I foster a resentment to anyone that might want to help me to make sure that I'm a lost cause. Maybe I'm just reveling in the drama of it all. I'm just stalling. Anything is better than going home. Facing those people I don't have anything in common with but my last name and some chromosomes, I just can't do it today. It's not that I can't go through the motions of us being a normal family. It's that all pretenses were dropped ages ago. No one makes any effort. No one even tries anymore. We're not a family. We're just people that live together. We tolerate one another. Just barely. And we're all using each other. What makes me want to wretch is that I'm no better.
I only stand up when she starts packing to leave for the day. I know what she wants to say. She wants to tell me to stop doing this to myself. And I want to stop, that's the ironic thing. Ever since I had that taste of a better life, I don't want to give it up. But somewhere along the line, I decided that depriving myself of happiness is the only way to pay for my sins.
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I didn't bother making an announcement that I was home. Why would anyone care, anyway? I carry my bag up the stairs and shut the door to my room, locking it behind me. I just want to be alone. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to hear anything. I've never been so angry with myself before. And it's only the top of the iceberg, I'm certain. I throw off my clothes and clamber into my bed. A little nap would do me some good, anything to keep me from having to think. I can just forget about everything.
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"It seems to me that there are more hearts broken in this world than can be mended
Left unattended
What do we do?
What do we do?"
--Gilbert O'Sullivan
"Alone Again, Naturally"
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I'm standing half naked in front of my stupid mirror, trying to settle a score with myself. But every time I try to start, I feel like I'm going to be sick. I hurt inside, worse than I ever imagined. I flatten my hands against the cold surface, pressing my forehead flat against the glass, questioning the girl that mimics each move I make. "What have you done?" I recoil in horror. I'm going to be sick. "What have you done?" Someone's crying. It's me, isn't it? How could I not cry as I stand in front of this hateful looking glass? The person staring back at me is so wretched that I can scarcely contain my repulsion. I'm definitely going to be sick. I can feel it's already started, that awful prickly feeling in the back of your throat when you know you're only a minute or two away from violently heaving the contents of your stomach all over. I've never hated myself more than I do in this moment. I'm sure of it. I look behind me to make sure that my bedroom door is still closed and locked. I don't want anyone seeing me like this. I grab my garbage can and heave, trying to keep from choking on my own vomit as my body forces what feels like half my insides out. My throat burns at the acid, and I can tell you with no uncertainty that my cheeseburger and fries doesn't taste nearly as good the second time around, to say nothing of the smell. Misshapen chunks stuck between my teeth and under my tongue, making me want to gag further. Slowly, I lift my head and glance to the side, weighing to make sure that I'm done, breathing raggedly as my body hits me with round two, two pieces of what's left of lunch come flying out my nostrils along with a viscous liquid. Perfect. I'll smell that for the next hour or two. As I lift my head, shaking and wary of my surroundings, I can see my closet propped open and the warm glow of a light string beckoning me with its hidden treasures. I dimly remembered hiding in here. But I just have no use for it anymore. Today I finally succeeded. I created a world where no one could get at me. I finally shut them all out. There's no one left to hurt me, but there's no one left to save me, either. All because I couldn't just let myself be happy. I couldn't accept the chance I was given by him. I had to destroy it, prove that I'm not worthy. Otherwise, how will anyone pity me?
I look at myself in that awful mirror once more. I look worse than ever, far worse than my stay in the hospital. I hate how I look. It's all wrong. I yank the pink ribbon out of my hair, balling it up and throwing it in the waste basket along with the remnants of my last meal. I don't deserve to wear it anymore. I hardly even feel anything as what may be my oldest and original link to the love of my life sinks into a puddle of sick. I don't have any more tears to shed, dreams to dream. It's all ending. My hair falls around my head in clumps, as though it too is giving up the ghost. My dress is lying in a wad on the floor. The white undershirt and matching socks I'm wearing feel dirty and worn, like me. Feeling nothing but emptiness and rage, I sock the girl standing in the mirror, again and again, listening to the satisfying sound of cracking glass with each impact. An angry red streak is left in the wake as the mirror finally shatters into pieces, and I pull the shards out of my knuckles, not even registering the discomfort. At least I don't have to look at myself anymore. One more minute of that girl staring at me, and I might have puked a second time. What a flimsy mirror, breaking for so meager a beating. My fist seems to disagree. Too bad, Betsy ol' girl. I'm just getting started today. Item by item, my meager possessions meet their death. I'm only vaguely aware of upending my bed, ripping my sheets to shreds, smashing my lamp, tearing my plethora of pink dresses. I hate this stuff! I hate my life! I hate Olga, and my parents, and that stupid Football Head for making me fall in love with him! I hate everyone and everything! But nothing else compares to this intense hatred I feel for myself, for everything that I am. I can feel myself bleeding, cuts on my hands and feet from repeated impacts with broken glass and splintering wood. Never has a case of rage made me feel so empty of anything good in my life. Nothing can help me. No one can make me happy. So I might as well spread as much pain and suffering as I can.
Ironically, as I look at my closet and its nearly empty hangers, I notice one dress that somehow escaped my wrath. It's a frilly and fancy one, a designer work I snatched from under Olga's nose that time she was wallowing in misery because I changed her grades. Okay, maybe I'll hold onto that one. I like the look of it, and it makes me feel like I'm a different person. Besides, it's too expensive to waste.
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On the day I walked away
All the blue rolled into grey
Now in the dark, alone I lay
I should've stopped
But I could never, ever stay
Somewhere in the night
Inside my dreams you burn so bright
And I'm with you there and everything's all right
Somewhere in the night
Before the darkness turns to light
Let me love you there
Somewhere in the night
Second chances, I won't get
I wouldn't dare to hope, and yet…
Everywhere I turn, I see your silhouette
Been so long
But I never will forget
Somewhere in the night
Inside my dreams you burn so bright
And I'm with you there and everything's all right
Somewhere in the night
Before the darkness turns to light
Let me love you there
Somewhere in the night
Time after time I find that I'm living without you
Up on the hill, I see you still
But I just can't reach
Who would answer your prayers?
Who would wait by the stairs?
Not me…
Not me!
Somewhere in the night
Inside my dreams you burn so bright
And I'm with you there and everything's all right
Somewhere in the night
Before the darkness turns to light
Let me see your face
Feel your warm embrace
Let me love you…
Somewhere in the night
--Scott Bakula
"Somewhere In The Night"
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I'm standing within the center of my inner realm now, where I've cast countless incantations and offered numberless prayers to a boy who has become a demigod to me. As I gently pick up this latest in a long line of shrines to my beloved, I find I am without tears or pity. It's eerie how easily it crumbles in my hands. How many of these has my mother thrown out over the years? And now I'm doing the same, closing my eyes to the welt of pain it causes. I must not feel, I have to stay numb. Perhaps it's time that I put away childish things, but I'm gouging you out of my life as I would a blind eye. It doesn't hurt as badly as I'd imagined it would. Good, because I don't want to feel. Nevertheless, there's an unmistaken feeling of relief that accompanies the destruction. It's only a minute or so after the dirty deed is done when I am forced to face the sad realization that there is nothing in my life now. I am nothing, and I am alone. Ouch. Being hit with that harsh reality is more painful than I expected. I guess that makes me even with myself. I've never been this alone before. Finally, the sounds of destruction die down. Funny how I never noticed the awful racket I was stirring up while in the process of making it. Then again, I've always been the type to see what I want to see, hear what I want to hear.
My feet hurt, and my hands are still bleeding from that stupid mirror. I'm sick of this life. That's all there is to it. There's a dull pounding at my door, but I can hardly hear it. I fall onto the floor butt first, crunching glass and other debris into tiny pieces under my weight. Looking up at the ceiling, I start laughing uncontrollably. It must've been a queue of sorts, because in that same moment, my bedroom door crashes open, Olga crying hysterically, but there's something pitiful about it. I guess all the noise I've been making was bound to draw someone's attention. Better her than Bob. Olga treads over my treacherous floor with reckless abandon in her effort to reach me. I incline my head upwards and she clutches me as though I'm her own child rather than her sister.
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"Maybe today,
We can put the past away,
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend,
You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in,
And if you do not want to see me again,
I would understand,
I would understand,
I would understand. . ."
--Third Eye Blind
"Jumper"
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I'm looking up at her face as she holds me, tears running down from her mascara streaked eyes, and it's clear to me that I feel nothing. There's no hostility in me, but there's no warmth either. I'm completely empty. Somehow, it makes me more receptive to her. I clumsily put my arms around Olga, listening to each sob as she cries my name, referring to me as her beautiful baby sister. I can't remember the last time anyone showed me this level of concern, and now I can't even fully appreciate it. Odd, I know that I didn't always feel this sedated. I usually have something to say about everything. Now, it's as though things don't matter anymore. I recall feeling this way once before. After taking that bogus out-of-love potion, I was convinced that I could no longer feel anything. Turns out it was all in my head. This time, it seems more serious.
Olga cradles my hands lovingly, stroking my fingers, crying into my hair. . .are things really this severe? "It's okay, sis. I'm okay." I say quietly. Only I know that it's a lie. Oh sure, cuts will heal. I'm pretty resilient, physically speaking. You don't get very far playing baseball in the street if you can't take a little pain. It's the scars no one can see that worry me. I'm screwed up, and I know it. Maybe Olga knows it too. But the difference between Olga and my parents is that for some unfathomable reason, Olga cares about it. She cares about what happens to me. And it's rarely been mutual with me. It kind of makes it hard for me to hate her, when she has to go and do stuff like this, even if it does make me uncomfortable.
My sister fishes a photograph out of the detritus on the floor. Ironic how it's surrounded by pink books in disarray, perhaps standing guard over my heart's treasure. The one closest to me is lying open, its pages mocking me. I'm glad none of those drew her attention. I couldn't stand to hear my poetry recited back to me right now. The picture Olga is looking at is one I've had printed more times than I can remember. Every time the one I carry with me gets a little faded, I replace it. I couldn't bear to see him as others do. He'll always look this way to me—perfection personified. Some might say that that makes all the difference. I don't know if I'm that romantic anymore. When I look at his picture now, I don't know what to feel. Too bad Olga does.
"Why, Helga? Is it really worth all this?" I refuse to look at her. The fact that she needs an answer to that question proves how little she knows about me. "You love him, don't you, Baby Sister?" Doi! Instantly, I shoot her a look that lets her know I mean business. And this is clearly none of hers. On the plus side, I think I'm starting to feel stuff again. It sure beats the alternative. But I don't want her intruding into this. She's taken enough from me already. "I knew it. It's complicated, isn't it? I've never been able to understand those things myself. And ever since my engagement fell apart, I haven't really wanted to. But I know what it's like, waiting to be loved by that special someone. I can remember it clearly, Helga."
"Just shut up!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. Oh yeah, I'm definitely feeling more like my old self. And to think, all it took was Olga. Finally, a chance to tell her off properly! "What could you possibly know?! You've never been lonely in your entire life! How could you be? You're perfect! You've never had to go without. Bob and Miriam just can't get enough of you! I'm lucky if they even remember to feed me dinner! You could have any man you choose, yet I can't have just one! You've won every award there is! You have everything, Olga! You're smart! You're talented! You're popular! You're beautiful! You have it all! Everything you could ever imagine! And I'm nothing! Do you hear?! I hope that you're satisfied! Because the only things I have left are my thoughts and my feelings, and I won't let you have them!" I'm infuriated beyond belief that Olga won't let go of me. I'm ready to punch her one. The worst fate I could imagine is letting her see me cry. But there it is. I can't hold these tears back any more. I've been doing it my entire life.
"That's just it, Helga." Olga speaks as though I'd never unleashed that hateful tirade against her. How dare she ignore me! "It's your own feelings that are hurting you, because all you do is bottle them and shake. Don't you know what happens when you shake a can of Yahoo soda?! But you're right about Mommy and Daddy. And I do know how you feel, because I did go through it."
"Oh you lie!" I hissed back at her. "Be careful you don't choke on those words you lie so much! Like I'm supposed to believe any of this?! I may be a lot younger than you, sis, but I wasn't born yesterday!"
"This was a long time ago, Baby Sister. I was younger than you. And I was a quiet girl. I didn't have any awards or trophies. I wasn't a difficult child, but nothing about me stood out, either. I was alone. Mother was a lot busier back then. She still had a job, and she went to it every day after dropping me off at school. Daddy worked selling advanced communications equipment to businesses, that's how he broke into the beeper industry. And neither of them had much time for me. So I decided to make them notice me. I signed up for every after school activity there was. I studied music, literature, art, different sports, everything. I burned the candle at both ends to earn the highest marks. I did it all. I turned myself into a star. And suddenly, I became the center of their world.
"Well, that's just perfect, isn't it Olga? What you're saying is that my own parents will never accept me for who I am. That I have to mold myself into some sick carbon copy of you to make them see me. Well, that's not going to happen, Sis!" I spat the last word at her like an epithet.
"Then you won't be repeating the same mistake I made. You should live for yourself, not for others. Not for the approval of anyone else. I have been playing this part, this role of overachiever for so long that I no longer know how to be anything else. And I don't want the same thing to happen to you." Olga looks intently at my photograph of the most beautiful boy in the world. "The crazy things we do for love and acceptance." She said wistfully, smiling momentarily before coming out of the reverie. Then she turned back to me, my concerned sister once more. "You're afraid, aren't you?"
"What do I possibly have to be afraid of?!"
"Are you afraid of what your little friends might think if they found out you aren't the tough as nails girl that you've made yourself out to be?"
"Spare me. I don't care what any of those geeks think! I do what I want, and I don't have to justify myself to anyone." Ha! That'll show her!
"I see. So what you're really afraid of is the rejection. That if you told him the truth, he wouldn't return your feelings, and you would be left alone."
I hate it when she's right. Good thing I don't have to take this crap if I don't want to. "Leave me alone, Olga!" I shouted, struggling to get away, but she held fast.
"Don't you see, Baby Sister, that this is your chance to show it?"
"Show what?! Let go of me!"
"Everyone wants to be loved, Helga. That's part of what makes us who we are. Your love, your affection for Arnold, is part of what makes you real. Haven't you ever stopped to consider that what you have to offer might be exactly what he's looking for? Tell me, does he have anyone he likes?"
I tried to wave off the unwelcome images of Ruth, Summer, and especially Lila, but I couldn't stop the imagery of them laughing at me, stealing away my birthright and claiming it as their own. I can't let such a thing to happen. I will not allow it! I was the one who was born for the express purpose of loving him. And none shall take that away from me! That's what I thought to myself, anyway. As for my nosy, older sister, "Who cares what that numbskull does in his spare time, anyway? It's a free country! If he wants to waste his time mooning over some bimbo, what's it to me?! It's not like it's any of my concern!"
"Then he is looking. So you should give him the love he seeks. If you really have those feelings, then don't torture yourself by hiding them. Show him what you really are. Love him. Support him. Accept him. And when you do, you just see if he doesn't reciprocate. Because from what I've seen, he's a boy with a lot of love in his heart, and I can't think of anyone who would be a better steward of it than you, Helga." Olga releases me. Finally! But somehow, I just know that she isn't done with me yet. She stands up, trying to avoid smashing more glass and splintered wood underfoot. The messy remains of my Arnold shrine stare at me in abject disapproval, frowning somehow. "Stop doing this to yourself, Baby Sister. I will put a lasting smile on your face. But I can't do it if you insist on fighting me all the way."
I looked at her, feeling such a mixture of shock and confusion that I didn't know if my little world could ever make sense again, not to give the impression that it bred much in the way of logic and reason to begin with. "Why do you even care, Olga? I've never liked you, never wanted to be close, never offered you anything but grief. Maybe I don't hate you, but I still can't stand you! More than a few moments of close, personal contact with you is enough to send me running, screaming into the night. The sad truth is that you and I are too different to ever really get along. I want as little to do with you as possible, Olga. The less I'm around you, the better I feel about you."
Olga turns away from me, and I know she's trying to hide her tears. Tears I had caused, because I always have to say what's on my mind, consequences be damned. She looks back at me, wiping tears out of her eyes and ruining her perfect makeup. "When your sister is in trouble, you're supposed to do something, Helga. It doesn't matter whether we get along or not. This is what sisters are for. You're supposed to do something."
"Oh, Criminey." I whined quietly, knowing she was breaking through my defenses. Once in my life, I do something nice for my stupid sister, and fate repays me by giving me a veritable wedgie with my own kindness. Can't she see that I've given up? All the fight has been drained out of me. It's over. Why is it that no matter what I do, I can't win? I can't get Arnold, no matter how I try. When I try to forget him, something always pulls me back in. It's like I'm doomed to misery and failure, no matter how I try. Why does God hate me so much?
"I'm going to fetch a garbage can, gloves, and the vacuum. We'd better fix this mess before Daddy notices; he'll be home sooner or later." Olga picks me up and carries me to the bathroom, plunking me down on the toilet. I don't protest, there just isn't any point. Besides, she owns me right now. "But first, let's get you cleaned up." She opens the medicine chest and assembles her tools. It hurts like hell as she pulls several small pieces of glass out of my feet with a pair of forceps. Fortunately, the mirror was thick, and I had apparently managed to avoid any tiny slivers. Just to be safe, Olga insists that I take a cold shower in the morning, so my pores don't open. Perfect. That's exactly how I want to start my day. I was wrong about the tweezers, though. The disinfectant is much, much more painful. I'm lucky enough to get an extra helping of the stuff on my wounded knuckles. From here on out, I stick to socking Brainy. It feels just as good, plus the kid's got a glass jaw. A few bandages and I'm on my way. Thankfully, she's forgiving enough to let me apply those on my own.
It isn't long before we're both cleaning the horror that has become my bedroom, also known as Ground Zero. There isn't really much for either of us to say. So we don't say much of anything, save for coordinating our cleanup efforts. I can't say that I'm disappointed. Olga made an extra large smoothie for Miriam, so we shouldn't be hearing from her for awhile. Big Bob is out with a large client and from down south, which is basically a nice way of saying that there are at least three men out in Hillwood tonight, drinking heavily and shoving dollar bills between some bombshell's boobs, and my father is one of them. And me? Well, I'm still stuck with the prospect of going back to school in the morning and facing the consequences of what I've done. That's it. I've changed my mind. Somebody please save me!
When Olga and I are finally finished with the cleanup, she looks at me with a smile. She wasn't happy about helping me retrieve my hairpiece, but I'm sure with a heavy duty cleaning, it will be as good as new. It's endured worse over the years. At least, I hope it has. "I think you know what you should do, Helga. So I'll leave you to it." You're darn right I know what to do. It's high time that I stop existing and start living. My hands are shaking as I reach for the phone, but somehow manage to grab it and dial his number. I just know my voice is going to crack. Still, it feels great to have finally taken control of my life. With this call, I'll apologize and get myself back in his good graces. I'm impressed that I'm able to let the phone ring twice before hanging up. What am I thinking?! Nothing good has ever transpired between the two of us over the phone. My eyes unwillingly dart to a loose floorboard where I stowed a tape I stole from Arnold's answering machine some time ago. No, I definitely don't want to go that route. I plunk myself down at my desk, opening a drawer and feeling instantly thankful that there were some things that escaped my childish wrath earlier today. I withdraw a writing tablet stocked with high quality paper and reach for my favorite pen, smiling to myself. I work much better in this medium anyway.
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"Yeah a man loves a
woman, but he can't understand,
Why she's sad when she stares, at the ring on her hand.
Or she sits in some club, where the long shadows fall.
Drops a coin in the jukebox, not the phone on the wall."
--Hall & Oates
"So Close"
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Before I get into the notes from this chapter, I'll explain why there was no update last week. The truth is, I just needed a week off. Last time out was so dark and depressing that I couldn't go back into that place again. I needed some time away, lest I get dragged down with poor Helga.
So anyway, I took the week off, but I'm back now. And it feels good to be back. I'm sure you all missed me. I tried to put a lot of depth into this chapter. I wanted to work as much as I possibly could into here. Hopefully, all went smoothly. I did my best to capture differing emotions in Helga, and to bring her to some kind of rock bottom. I felt that was the only way she would ever listen to her sister. At the same time, I didn't want to put her in a completely hopeless place. She was in pretty deep, but I didn't want to leave her without a lifeline. I felt that I could truly make her shine within these depths, and I'm going to leave it to you to determine whether or not that happened.
Olga's presence also meant a lot to me, this was her entire reason for being in the story. I wanted her to finally do something for her sister, and I tried to give Olga some depth while I was at it, make her more three dimensional. Some people might not like the way I portrayed it, but I stand by my decision on that one. There probably aren't a lot of Olga fans out there anyway.
Feedback on this chapter means a lot to me. This is it, the penultimate release. I'm still scared at this progression, there's something about ending the story that sets me on edge. But I don't want it to go forever, and people start talking about the days when it used to be good. This is the ending I have been building to for one time. It's the fourth one I came up with, and I have to say, it's way better than the original idea. As I continue the commentary project, I'll probably discuss the other ideas I had for the ending. But first, I've got to bring this thing to its conclusion.
Before I sign off for this installment, I'd like to take the time to thank my two pre-readers, Shinji Langley and The J.A.M. The two of them helped keep my course straight and true. Your insight means a lot to me, guys. And I'll get to the e-mail soon. Thanks for all your love and support, just don't think it means you're not expected to review, heh heh.
Okay, I'm officially running out of things to say. I love this story, I love this community, and I'm going to be sad to see it all end. I promise to return later this year with a new story. Oh, that's right, this one isn't over yet. Check back next week for the finale! An in the meantime, send your questions, comments, compliments, complaints, love letters, death threats, marriage proposals, and ransom demands to:
Lord Malachite
12/13/04
6:27AM, EST
E-mail: ranger(underscore)writer(at)yahoo(dot)com
AIM: Asukaphile26