A/N: i'm not really going to have author's notes on this fic, unlesss reviewers have questions!
so here we go!
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Part I: Awaken
Wednesday, 4/08/86
I wish I could say that I'm glad it's all over. I want to believe it, and sometimes I do, but only on the surface of my mind, only for a short period of time…but do I really? No. Never. Ever since then, since I packed it all away and locked it up in the deepest, darkest corner of my memory – ever since I feel different. And yes, I do believe that change is a wonderful thing that makes the world go round . . . but not this. What's so bad about this change is that it isn't in my circumstances, or setting, or anything physical . . . it's me who has changed, and it scares me . . . I feel as though part of me has died – never, ever did I imagine such pain. I never used to be scared of anything - save what I had imagined to be true… now the mere thought of all that happened leaves me rigid, motionless, gasping for breath.
My baby brother worries me. He's much calmer since the . . event . . . He hardly ever cries, and when he does it's real grief, not just screaming . . . but his eyes . . . his eyes scare me the most. Usually they are just his innocent baby-eyes, but sometimes, especially when we're alone, I think my imagination gets the better of me. I see Jareth looking out at me from my brother's eyes. It's hard not to push him away or throw a blanket over him, to keep out that cold stare. Hard not to let go if I happen to be holding him at the moment . . . I hold him less and less now . . . Those eyes seem to watch me, even when I'm in my room with the door closed. They watch me all the time – I can never get away from their piercing gaze . . . They draw me in, like He used to.
That reminds me of something else about Toby that makes me shudder when I think of it – the day after all of this had happened, Toby said his first word. And it wasn't "dada" or "mama", it was "Jareth". My wonderfully concerned parents didn't even hear him, and when later they did, they confidently assumed it was just baby-noises. I heard him, however. I almost fainted when I saw those chubby lips enunciate that Name. God, I would pay dearly to know that it was just my imagination . . . yet something tells me that Toby does remember everything, and will never be as innocent as he would have been.
I see pain in his eyes and wish I could hide. Those eyes, His eyes and Toby's seem to be blaming me for all that happened. But how can it be my fault? How? Toby was in danger, and I saved him, because he is my brother . . . I paid the price, so why should it haunt me so? I already am suffering! I gave up all of my dreams so that Toby could have a normal life – haven't I been punished enough?
And now all my dreams are gone . . . that entire cushion between me and the real world that I had made for myself, it all burst like a magic bubble. And here I am, sitting in all the broken pieces that are slowly losing their former value and turning into a pile of rubbish. I could even swear that I had once seen all this happen, some old dream . . . all my old dreams aren't totally gone . . . they're just scattered and powerless – swirling around me like a broken record, until I'm dizzy . . . but there are no new ones, however hard I try to think of them . . . but then, maybe I don't try very hard . . . sometimes I wish that they still could have power over me, that I could be taken up by them . . . now all that takes my breath away is the fear, the emptiness, and my lifeless life.
Writing this is such a great help… I seem to forget now as I remember . . . I'm not making any sense, am I? I used to be such a sensible person . . . but as I read what I write, I know that it's just the echo of my broken, twisted imagination. Yet I'm glad that there even is and echo . . .
Toby's crying. Such a rare event, it must be serious – I'd better check on him.