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It is hard for oneself to say, "Clear your mind. Do not think of anything." In theory it seems easy, but the reality is far more difficult.
I wanted to just be lying on the floor of my trailer, crushing my parent's photo to my chest and not think of anything.
But as usual I rarely ever got what I wanted these days.
For hours I laid on my floor having memory after memory pop into my head. I did not even try to push them away or repress them. I just let the ghosts of my past walk right in.
The result led to me not caring about anything. I did not care about myself. I did not care about the people who I knew were still outside my trailer. I did not even care about Paul. I did not care what happened to me. If I was to die on this floor then so be it.
I was tired.
Tired of the pain. Tired of the horror. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of the crying and screaming. Tired of the guilt.
The guilt is what hurt most of all.
Why did I have to survive when everyone else died? The world would have been a much better place if my mama or papa had survived. Or my aunts, or my uncle, or...anyone else would have been better.
More tears streamed down my face wetting the floorboards.
How did Petras deal with all this? How did he manage to move on with ease and get married and start a family? How did he start over?
How did Elie manage to take it day by day? How did he manage to find a job and travel all over and just...be okay?
I desperately wanted to be okay.
But I did not think that was ever going to happen.
Life was horrible.
Maybe it could do better without me.
A loud crash sounded from behind me, but I did not move.
Someone else had entered into the trailer from the window unless they could walk through walls like Edward Mordrake.
Mordrake...I should have just let him claim me that night, then I would not have to be dealing with any of this.
Footsteps echoed in the tiny trailer. Trying and failing to not step on the glass littering the floor.
Someone moved around me, "Madalina?"
My chest tightened. Please, no. Not that voice.
He walked over and stood right in front of me. Slowly he lowered himself in front of me, mimicking a hunter as he tried not to spook a doe. I still did not move when he pressed himself onto the floor and was staring into my eyes.
It truly seemed like a reversed nightmare. The same blue sapphires that stared into my soul and saved my life were now staring into what was left of my soul when I did not even want my life.
Time crawled on as nothing was said and all we did was stare at each other.
"You need to get up." Thomas finally spoke.
"No I do not." Replying in a voice completely removed of emotion.
"Yes you do Madalina. You have a lot of people out there worried about you."
I did not answer him. The minutes ticked by.
"You're bleeding." He tried again.
"You think I care about that right now? I do not care about anything, not even myself." Telling him.
More silence.
"Why did I live? I should have died. I was meant to die." Staring at him.
Thomas let out a sigh, "I don't know why you survived. I don't know why you lived and everyone else you cared about died. I just don't know."
"You should have just left me there. You should never have found me. You should have let me die." A tear spilled down my face, "I should have died."
"Don't say that." His voice cracked, "There must be a reason you lived."
"What reason!" Raising my voice in a yell startling him.
"Tell me what reason! So that I could watch everyone I love die and then have to spend day after damn day trying to forget? To push it aside so I could try and live my life? That is not possible. I cannot live my life without feeling guilt at every laugh I take or every smile that is on my face, or the happy memories I am making while my past will not let me forget!" Howling as I clutched the photo harder.
Sobs escaped my body once more. How did I still have any tears left? I had been crying since I was eleven.
Thomas grabbed my hand and clutched it in his, "You don't need to feel guilty and you don't need to forget. Don't ever forget the people you loved and what you went through because that only makes you stronger."
"But I am so tired." Sobbing out.
"I know, I know you're tired but you have to keep fighting." A few tears fell out of his eyes, "Not for yourself but for the people who care about you. For the people that loved you. What would your parents say right now if they were here?" Thomas questioned.
Be happy and live, not only for you but for us
My papa's words flowed through my head.
I squeezed my eyes shut, "I do not know how to get up and pretend that everything is okay? I do not know how to go back to that."
"You don't have to be okay all the time. You're only human Madalina. You're allowed to scream and cry and be angry. You're allowed to not feel okay sometimes, and screw pretending to be happy all the time. If you're not happy then don't pretend to be happy. You don't have to put up this brave, perfect front anymore. Just be you." Thomas told me.
"How do I face them now after everyone knows about this?" Lifting up my left arm speckled in blood, "How do I keep them from seeing only numbers when they look at me?" My voice quivering.
"By holding your head up high. You tell them what you want them to know and leave it at that. You keep them from seeing only your numbers by just being yourself. Madalina, this tattoo is apart of you and you can't keep running from it. It shows what you survived, what others like you survived. If you treat it like nothing at all, soon it will be nothing at all and then no one will even notice."
I sucked in a breath, "I am scared." My eyes watered. It felt so safe here down on the floor. I did not want to leave.
Thomas squeezed my hand, "It's okay to be scared. Everybody gets scared. You stay down on this floor until you feel ready to get up, and I'll stay right here with you until you do." He gave me a small watery smile.
Nodding I grabbed his hand back and whispered, "Okay."
Paul had been counting the minutes since Thomas had entered the trailer. Counting the minutes and pacing back and forth.
He had just reached ninety-two minutes.
Counting and pacing, counting and pacing.
The trailer door opened.
He stopped his pacing. The air vanishing from his lungs.