I rip my gaze from it to focus on Aunt.
She sits on the edge of the bed, a frown etching between her brows. “You don’t remember?”
“I was going to the car park and then —”
Her parents killed his mother. The only reason Aiden approached that monster is to make her pay for her parents’ sin.
I blink a few times at the onslaught of Jonathan King’s words.
It’s a dream.
It can’t be true.
The more I deny it, the harder the memories hit me. They’re like the crashing water that swallowed me and suffocated my breathing.
I gasp for breath.
But there’s nothing. No air.
I can’t breathe.
“One of your classmates found you in the pool. You stopped breathing and the school called an ambulance…”
Aunt continues speaking, but I’m struggling to breathe. Something heavy smashes my ribcage and my lungs.
I curl a fist in the hospital robe and hit my chest over and over.
Hit.
Hit.
Hit.
Breathe.
Breathe, you stupid thing.
“Elsa!” Aunt yells, her voice crackling. “W-what’s wrong?”
Hit.
Hit.
Hit.
The stronger I hit, the harder I can’t breathe. No air comes in or out. I’m going to suffocate.
Just like in the water, I’m going to stop breathing.
This is the end.
“Elsa!”
Aunt’s voice turns shaky and brittle. She tries to grip my wrist, but she can’t. Nothing stops me from hitting over and over again.
Steel blood runs in your veins.
You’re my masterpiece, Elsa.
My pride.
My legacy.
The room fills with noise. I barely register Uncle’s voice. Aunt’s cries. The doctors. The nurses.
Someone is talking to me. A blinding light is shoved in front of my pupils.
Hit.
Hit.
Hit.
Get out.
Strong hands restrain me, but I can’t stop hitting. They strap my hands and the material slashes into my wrists.
They tell me something, but I don’t hear it above the buzz in my ears.
It’s all over now.
Everything is over.
I scream above all the sounds in the room.
Get out!
Get out of me!
A needle pricks my skin.
Ow.
My hands fall on either side of me and my movements slow down.
My eyes roll to the back of my head.
It’s over.
All of it.
Happy now, monster?
3
Elsa
When I wake up next, Aunt and Uncle sit by either side of me.
Aunt’s eyes are puffy as if she’s been crying while she wipes my hand with a soft, damp cloth. It’s soothing, lulling even.
I’m tempted to close my eyes and go back to the void I just came from.
It’s quiet in there. So quiet that I see nothing, smell nothing, and feel nothing.
Here, antiseptic and detergent surround me from every side.
I hate this smell. It’s a reminder of my surgery and how utterly abnormal I am.
I’m about to chase sleep when I notice something on Aunt’s hands. The sleeves of her jacket ride up, revealing scratch marks on her wrist.
My frantic gaze bounces to Uncle. He’s leaning both elbows on his knees and watching me with furrowed brows and a stiff upper lip.
No.
I didn’t.
… right?
The scene is like a flashback from those times I used to have nightmares.
And episodes.
I had an episode in the hospital. I think I hit my aunt again. Those scratch marks are because of me.
I hurt her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, slowly sitting up.
“Honey.” Aunt stops wiping my arm and lunges at me in a bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“I’m sorry for hurting you, Aunt. I’m s-so sorry.” I sob into her neck. “I didn’t mean to. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, okay?” She pulls back and brushes my hair behind my ears, her expression stern. “You’re just stressed. Right, Jaxon?”
“Yes, pumpkin.” Uncle inches closer and forces a smile as he takes my hand in his. “You just had a panic attack. The doctor said it looked worse than what it actually was.”
“But…” I motion at the scratch marks on Aunt’s wrist, lips trembling. “I h-hurt Aunt and…”
“The doctor said I shouldn’t have stopped you in the middle of a panic attack.” She smiles, stroking my hair like I’m such a good daughter. “So it wasn’t your fault, hon.”
How can she be so easy-going about this? I hurt her.
I did it before, too.
If Uncle didn’t get her out, I don’t know what I would’ve done.
If the doctors didn’t inject me with something just now, I could’ve done much worse than scratches.
Aunt is the only mother figure I’ve ever known. It can’t be normal that I’m hurting her.
“Tell me about what happened at school,” Aunt probes and Uncle inches a little closer.
My lips tighten in a line.
That familiar itch starts under my skin.
The reason I had the panic attack is about to grip me again.
The room starts spinning and my free hand fists in the sheets until my knuckles turn white.
Aiden approached me for revenge. He approached me to hurt me.
To destroy me as he promised.
It was all a lie.
A game.
I was a pawn on his chessboard since the beginning, and I was too naive to notice it.
No. I did notice.
I was just too stupid to take it seriously.
“Pumpkin.” Uncle’s voice hardens. “Stay with us.”
I shake my head, focusing back on their faces. The haze almost disappears as I take in their worried expressions.
Aunt’s face is all flushed as if she’s expecting me to hit her again. Uncle’s body is angled forward as if to stop me if I do.
I can’t put them through the hell that happened earlier again. They abandoned their work to be here. I can’t just burden them more than I already am.
Aunt takes my hand in hers. “The surveillance cameras weren’t working in the pool area for reparation reasons. Do you remember what happened?”
A full-body shudder zaps through my spine and my limbs stiffen.
I was floating and floating and floating.
I couldn’t breathe.
All I sucked were gulps of water and more water.
I can still taste the chlorine on my tongue.
It was cold. So so cold as I floated in there.
For a moment, I thought it was the end. Because that’s how the end feels like, right? It’s endless.
And lonely.
And cold.
Hell isn’t only scorching fire. That water was my special type of hell.
A cold hell.
Someone pushed me.
I think a hand pushed me straight into the pool.
But I can’t be sure if it’s true or a work of my imagination. After all, I was out of it from the car park to the pool. I shouldn’t have gone to the pool in the first place.
If I lost time on the way to the pool and can’t remember the faces I saw, why couldn’t my mind play a trick on me? By thinking that I was pushed, my mind can protect itself from believing that I jumped in there of my own volition.