Chapter 20: Black Knight: Chapter 19

The following three days pass in a daze. It’s like they’re happening, but they’re not.

Not really.

I told Elsa I’m down with the flu and skipped today.

Truth is, I’m down with myself.

It’s one of those times where everything is too much. The air, the sounds, the people.

All of it.

I stare at the empty crisp bags surrounding me and wipe the salt from my lips.

Technically, it’s called a food breakdown, where you eat everything and anything in sight. Not my M&M’s and pistachio gelato, though. Those are sacred and I didn’t want to ruin them in this unholy site.

So after I dropped Kir at Henry’s house for a sleepover, I went to the grocery store and got all the crisps and the cola – not diet. Then I went to McDonald’s and ordered the biggest menus of burgers and French fries. I finished the shopping journey by buying more pastries and cake than I could carry. Lots of damn cake. I shoved them all down my throat in no particular order. I just ate and ate and ate until my jaw hurt and my stomach protested, but I didn’t stop.

Even after the puking, I brought my stash with me to the toilet and continued eating and eating and fucking eating as if the food will somehow sew the hole inside me.

It didn’t.

So I drank half a bottle of tequila and had a Xanax pill – or was it two?

I lost count after I vomited everything I ate. The alcohol was definitely after the vomiting, because it sits on an empty stomach like pure, burning acid.

This time, I didn’t have to stick a finger in my throat. It’s as if my body is rejecting food because it’s become a foreign entity.

I lay my head on the closed toilet after I finish emptying my stomach for the second time. My gaze keeps filtering to the glinting metal amongst the mess. There isn’t any energy in me to stand and freshen up anymore. I just want to stay here and…disappear.

That’s it, disappear. How hard would it be?

The ironic part is, it’s not even because of what happened with Xan – or didn’t happen.

I can survive that, his rejection and his complete closing off. What I can’t survive is the hope I had that night, the feeling of finally having a purpose.

For my entire life, I’ve struggled with that, with finding a place and someone I can bare myself to.

Xander gave me that. He saw me, and unlike what I’ve always feared, he didn’t hate what he saw.

But then he pulled the carpet from under my feet.

Finding somewhere to belong just to realise you never do is like a betrayal. Perhaps, it’s the worst type of betrayal.

Maybe that day I abandoned him in the forest, Xander felt betrayed, too, and that’s why he’s been taking revenge ever since.

I understand that – I think I can anyway. I just can’t pretend it’s not affecting me or that I can be strong.

What’s being strong even like?

Is it waking up in the morning and not looking at the sharp blade I stole from Mari’s kitchen? Is it smiling while FaceTiming Dad, even though I want to scream at him to return? Is it forcing myself to look in the mirror so I can have my makeup done?

Or maybe it’s staring at my knight in the eyes and having a stranger staring back at me and not flipping there and then.

Once upon a time, he used to be mine. Now, he’s anything but.

The fog turns thicker with every breath I take, wrapping itself like a noose around me.

For the first time in my life, I have no energy or will to fight it.

I have absolutely nothing to lose, and everything to suffer.

“What the hell, Kimberly?” Mum’s voice rings like an alarm before her shadow falls over me in the bathroom.

Like a small kid with broken wings, I crawl up so I’m sitting and face her. No idea how I look. I’m wearing my pyjamas and my hair is in a messy bun. I put mascara on this morning, so it could be smeared all over my face. I didn’t check, because the thought of seeing that face made me want to ruin it.

Mum, however, has on her designer trousers with a khaki shirt and Louboutin heels. Her rich brown hair is elegant and with a beautiful wave to it.

“Hi, Mum,” I slur, then slap a hand over my mouth.

I’m drunker than I predicted. Oops.

“Have you been drinking?” She shakes her head and points at the food containers, the half-empty crisp bags “And what is that junk food? What did I say about losing that weight, Kimberly?”

“I’m sorry.” My chin trembles. “I’m sorry I’m a disappointment, Mum. I’m sorry you have to be stuck with someone like me.”

With every word out of my mouth, tears stream down my cheeks. They’re not only tears, though. They’re everything I’ve felt since I was a child.

Every time Mum is in sight, I feel so small; I dress wrong, breathe wrong, act wrong.

I exist wrong.

“If you’re sorry, fix it.” She stares down her nose at me. “Be worthy of being my daughter for once in your useless life.”

I nod frantically. “I’ll fix it.”

She does another glance over and her lips thin in a line, in disgust, in disappointment, in distaste.

Mum isn’t seeing me or the scar that’s visible since my pyjamas are short-sleeved. She doesn’t see the tears pooling in my eyes or the screams behind those tears.

She’s seeing a mess that she’s stuck with. She’s seeing someone who can ruin her image.

That’s all that I’ve been to her since I was born, a liability, a damn mistake.

I heard her tell Dad that last year, around the time my mental health took a sharp dive and the fog became my constant companion.

Dad fought with her and stood up for me, but I don’t remember his words. It’s strange how the human mind only focuses on certain things, but not others, how I can only remember her saying I’m a mess, but not Dad calling me an angel.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve always craved attention she’s never given, love she’ll never grant, and care she’s not capable of.

Still, I find myself begging her with my eyes.

She turns around and leaves without as much as a glance. On her way out, she mutters to herself, “What have I done to deserve this?”

A strong wave of nausea hits me and I open the lid, clutching the sides with both hands, and heave until nothing comes out. I’m dizzy, and I feel as if I’ve been vomiting my soul aside from my gut.

The fog invades the bathroom like a being. It has a large body, all filled with black smoke while its invisible hands wrap around my throat.

Mum’s words tighten the imaginary noose around my neck, or is it imaginary? Maybe those are the words I’ve always needed to hear. Those are everything I am.

Those voices heighten and tighten around my chest like thorns, prickling away at my heart.

Xander’s words are like that last stab. It’s not even the strongest one, but it’s the most fatal.

Since we were children, he’s been my sanctuary against Mum. Not only did he take that away, but he also took his position as my support, my safe haven.

Then he pretended I didn’t exist.

He’s even worse than her. At least she never pretended to care about me.

He showed me the world, then pushed me off the edge.

He painted the stars into the dark sky, then pulled them down in one go.

When we were young and I told him I loved stars, he got me one, a special star.

, he said. He stole it from his dad and I should keep it a secret.

I dig into my pocket and bring out the bracelet with the ugly black motif in the middle.

He said it’s ugly on the outside, but only because it travelled planets to be with me, just like he always will.

I retrieve my phone and type the text I always wanted to send him but never had the courage to.

Could be the alcohol or the pills or both.

I wish you were never my friend. I wish you had never told me you’d be there for me. I wish you didn’t know so much about me and still chose not to be with me. I wish there was never me or you or us.

I let the phone fall to my side.

The fog’s hold on my neck turns into rope, tight and hard.

It’s a place where everything and anything are possible. The world is at the tip of my finger, so I take it.

Reaching under the empty bags of crisps, I bring out the blade. It’s been there the entire time with the food and the alcohol and the pills – the ones Mum didn’t see, because she never sees me.

When did it start getting so bad so fast? When did I start losing myself this hard and with no way to come out?

Is this how it feels when nothing is left and it’s all just…fog?

Fog doesn’t tell lies. The fog has been here many times before when I’ve lost myself to that impulse and I couldn’t get out.

Or is it an impulse?

Maybe it’s what I was always supposed to do.

This time, my hand doesn’t tremble; it’s steady and precise. This time, I don’t cry and look at the door expecting, Mum will come here and tell me she’s here for me.

This time, it’s all over.

I slice through the veins vertically in two long, swift moves. At first, it’s just a sting. I feel it, but I don’t at the same time.

Blood oozes out in a steady rhythm, red and vibrant. With it, all the pain filters out and it’s…relief. Complete utter relief.

But it’s not enough.

So I cut harder, not horizontally like a newbie, but vertically and deep until blood splashes in a small fountain all around me.

It’s a mess, just like Mum said.

Maybe she’ll call it a mess, too, when she finds me.

Dizziness assaults me almost immediately. My gaze is focused on the blood as my head lolls back against the wall. I try to concentrate on the wound and how it purges the fog out of me, how it frees me, but all I see is that bracelet and that stupid star.

The star I didn’t have the chance to wear, because I was always scared he’d take it away.

Now, nothing will.

Now, I’m the one taking everything and leaving it empty. The fog slowly dissipates, but no one comes through, no one barges through the door and tells me not to go.

Maybe it’s because I was always meant to go.

The sound of everything ending is just that…the end.

A tear slides down my cheek as I close my eyes and surrender to the darkness.