by CJ Lyons
Figured my day would be best spent beside the fireplace, listening to the radio and reading. Although lately it seems I can’t write anything that’s particularly profound or interesting even. You know, like the cool existentialist stuff or the theories of writing etcetera etcetera.
Today was my Dad’s birthday, so I’m guessing Terra’s going out with a few old friends tonight. They still like to celebrate for him, even if he’s not around anymore. I think that’s sweet. Maybe next year I can-
Never mind. I’ll be dead. The thought of that makes me more sad now than I ever have been about it. I’m picturing Terra, all alone, sitting in the pub with her friends, knowing that I’m not going to be at home waiting for her with a bracing cup of tea. That breaks my heart to think about.
Don’t want to die and leave her all alone. Can’t do that to her. There must be some way… I have to live for her. If I die, there won’t be anyone left for her.
She’s going to cry, she might lock herself in her room for days and days like she did when Dad died. Remember knocking on her door for a long time, then finally sitting down outside it, because that’s as close as I could get to being next to her. When she finally opened the door, I had fallen asleep beside her door, and she carried me to my own bed. When we were there she just held me for a few minutes and cried.
Who’s going to wait outside her door when I’m dead?
146 Days, 4 October, Saturday
Guess I just have a mild head cold. Headache and sore throat. Also feel like someone dropped ten thousand rocks on me when I was sleeping. Argh. My back is all sore so now all I can do is lay here on the couch and watch the fire.
Terra came home late last night, and demanded I go up to bed to sleep. Guess I fell asleep on the couch. It almost seemed like that night all over again. Wanted to tell her again, that I’m going to die in 146 days. She would believe me if I told her, I know she would. But she doesn’t want to believe that chart. She really is of the mindset that if you ignore something, it’ll go away.
I figure she’s going to read this journal one day, so I guess I can write it out here.
Terra, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you so much, but I want to live the last days of my life happily with you. So I can’t let you know that we have an exact timeline, which eventually comes to an end. I love you so much. I’m so sorry.
Think I’ll leave a note for her on the 27th of February, a letter for her to keep. I can’t think of what I’ll write down. Let’s assume an inspiration will come to me that day and I’ll find the perfect words to say to her before I have to go. There’ll be lots of snow that day, there always is. Hopefully, that will help her. She loves the snow.
Hope the fact that I’m going to die on a snowy day doesn’t make her hate it. Please let it comfort her…
145 Days, 5 October, Sunday
Okay, so I’ve decided to deal with this whole issue as positively as I can. Think I will construct some sort of bucket list. Pretty sure that’s the term anyway. Right. I’ll have to think of a list of things I want to accomplish before kicking said proverbial water container.
1. Make Noah smile for real.
2. Begin a collection of something.
3. Make snow angels on New Years Eve.
4. Sew a marvellous dress for Terra for Christmas.
5. Dance in the rain.
6. Paint a picture. (prolly abstract, I’m rubbish at art)
7. Learn to knit.
8. Buy a lava lamp.
9. Write something really interesting and profound, that people will remember.
10. Fall in love, even for a few seconds.
That’s a good start. Might add some on later, or as I think of them. Anyway, I have a headache now, so I’m going to sleep and hope that it’s gone in time for school tomorrow.
144 Days, 6 October, Monday
Skipped class again today in an effort to dispel this horrible headache. It sort of sucks, because I was counting on seeing Noah today. Figured if I needed help catching up from the days I missed last week, today would have been a good day, because I don’t have work…
Oh well. Wish I knew his phone number so I could just call him and ask if he wanted to hang out. That would simplify matters significantly.
Had some crazy freaky dreams last night too. You know, the ones where you can only remember glimpses of things that happened, and you just have to keep replaying them in your mind, to make sure that you actually witnessed it. Even though it’s all just a dream anyway…
Argh, Definitely need to go to school tomorrow. Terra’s starting to do the not-so-subtle nudge-nudge-hey-go-to-school-you-slacker thing.
So many hyphens!
143 Days, 7 October, Tuesday
Something I read today. There is no such thing as a memory that does not exist. That is to say that, if you remember something, it happened.
So even dreams count, I suppose. I remember my dreams, they became experiences. I remember feeling pain, love, happiness, sadness; all emotions that accompany those memories. Those feelings for my dreams are just as real as my feelings for this reality. When we dream, we’re just travelling to another place, where we can experience just as much as we can when we’re awake. Maybe that’s why I am always so affected by my nightmares.
I always experience them as something real, and don’t have the ability to brush them aside as fanciful fantasies made up by my brain.
This is how I know what happened to Noah the night he showed up at my house, all broken and bleeding. I dreamt of it.
Didn’t actually enter his house. I was just there, watching things from the sidelines, little flashes of things. Memories that didn’t belong to me played in front of me like a poorly edited movie, scenes jumping from one to another.
A happy family, a small child hiding in a closet, someone doing laundry, a man digging a hole in the garden
Noah, rolling up his sleeve, placing a shiny razor over his arm and pulling it down, searing through his pale flesh. The blood ran down, glistening and pure. He looked at it as it dripped down onto the floor, his eyes empty and sad.
He cut himself…
There was a tense silence.
“What is this?” Noah’s father (or that’s who I imagine it was, can’t actually remember his face) spoke in a dangerously low voice, his hand clamped firmly around his son’s thin wrist, coaxing a few pearls of blood from the shallow cuts.
Noah remained silent, closing his eyes, condemning himself. I could tell this just from the way he set his shoulders and stiffened his trembling movements that he was just waiting for the inevitable impact.
It came as a heavy crushing blow of his father’s fist into the left side of his face. Tears sprang into his eyes, and he fell to the floor, landing roughly on his arm.
“You want to cut yourself?” his father asked, crossing the kitchen to where the knives stood in their wooden compartment. “Then do it right!” He returned to where his son lay, holding a long, thick knife, tilting it to catch the bright white light.
Abruptly, he knelt down, yanking Noah up by the front of his shirt. Noah looked up at him blearily, still starry-eyed from the first punch.
“You like cuts, you little freak?” The knife flicked, slicing through the white fabric of Noah’s shirt. Blood spread quickly, staining the perfect white.
“You like that?” Another cut, followed by a cry of pain, “Huh?”
“No!” cried Noah, attempting to pull away.
His father roared, slamming him into the floor by his hold on the front of his shirt. “Then why did you do it?” The knife dove again, ripping a broad deep cut up his forearm.
“I don’t know!” sobbed Noah, “I’m sorry!!!”
“You’re sorry?”
“I’m sorry!”
“Shut up. Shut up.” His father repeated through clenched teeth.
Noah whimpered, tears rolling from his eyes, “Please…”
His father stopped, the knife held aloft. “What?”
&nbs
p; “Please stop. I’m sorry.” Noah’s gaze found his father’s, staring deeply.
“Don’t say another word.” He commanded.
“Father…”
Something in the larger man snapped. He attacked, punching and swiping with the knife, determined to harm any available part of his son.
“I’m sorry!” screamed Noah, shielding himself from the flurry of attacks. Blood spattered onto the polished tile, spreading and joining together. “I’m sorry!!” he screamed, over and over, trying to escape.
I suppose his screams went unnoticed due to the sheer size of their estate.
As of right now, he’s sleeping on the couch in the living room. I opted to sit in the large armchair beside the fireplace, which I started up a little while ago, before he got here. It’s strange to look at him, sleeping quietly, when flashes of him in my dream keep interrupting me.
He showed up here after school, shivering and shaking in the rain. Was only drizzling a bit, but he still looked pretty cold. We didn’t speak much, he seemed really out of it. Gave him some dry clothes, and grabbed all of the blankets off the bed in the spare room for him to use.
He was asleep almost as soon as he settled into the couch. Before he was totally gone, he kept repeating “Thank you, thank you…”
Didn’t reply. Just tucked him in and cleared his hair from his face. There’s still a faded bruise on the side of his face, from that punch that rattled in my mind as I thought about it. There’s also a small cut with a bruise around it on his forehead that I hadn’t noticed before.
Another thing I just noticed as I’m sitting here is that he breathes really shakily through his mouth. Normally, I’d assume he had a cold or something, but just because it’s him, I think he’s in pain.
Woke him up to give him some painkillers, which he blearily took without question.
“You… you’re here…” he mumbled, exhaling softly, “I just thought I was a dream… I’m still asleep but… when I got home, you’d already thrown it out… then the lighthouse turned back on….”
He’s a bit strange when he’s half-asleep. Correction: He’s a bit strange all the time. More so when he’s sleep-deprived.
Just looking at him makes me feel tired. Maybe I’ll have a short nap before dinner.
142 Days, 8 October, Wednesday
So my short nap ended up being more like a full night’s sleep at a bizarre time of the day. Was six am when I woke up, with my diary in my hands, and the fire completely dead. One of the spare room blankets was draped over me. Looked over to the couch; Noah was curled in a ball underneath the thin flannel blanket he kept.
Stood up and stretched, picked up my pre-warmed quilt, and placed it on him, willing some warmth onto him.
He always looks so cold.
Went to the closet and grabbed the small space heater Terra found at a garage sale. After setting it up and switching it on, I went up to my room and resumed sleeping in my own bed.
Terra came and woke me up at about 11:15, telling me to get up and go make brunch for everyone. Clearly she didn’t care I was blatantly skipping school. I wonder if she even knows that it’s Wednesday…
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, she had already awakened Noah, who was sitting on the couch with a blanket around him. He still looked tired and confused, even after sleeping that long.
“Good morning!” I greeted him cheerfully, figuring this would be an appropriate way to start our day.
“Good morning.” He replied, studying me carefully. I’m used to his piercing stares by now, they don’t freak me out anymore.
“What do you want for brunch?”
He looked at me curiously. “For brunch…?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking I want some waffles.”
I led the way into the kitchen, smiling as Terra downed a whole cup of coffee. At least she can make coffee without burning the house down. Heh, I just realised she could be reading this. Whoops, oh well. No erasing ink.
It was a weird breakfast, in retrospect. Didn’t anticipate Noah would be so… refined when he ate. He eats like a proper gentleman. You know, he holds his fork and knife properly, and uses a napkin gracefully, etc. He was fun to watch.
Apparently, I was watching him a little too closely, and got really distracted when his thin pink tongue flicked out after he took a drink of juice. It was like it played in slow motion, and I really stared. So… attractive?
When I snapped back to reality, both he and Terra were staring at me. Chuckled, and appropriated my staring to the fact I was still a little groggy. To cover up my embarrassment, I stood up, and gathered the used dishes, busily hurrying to the sink.
Terra stood up too, breathing out a tired sigh. “Well, I’m gonna hit the sack, I’m beat.”
Was going to comment on the irony of ‘hit the sack’/‘I’m beat’, and how they reference violence when they actually mean exhaustion, but I didn’t. Guess I could’ve.
Noah stayed until after brunch, then mumbled something about going home before his absence was noticed. Wondered if I should try and convince him to stay, thinking that if he went home, he’d just come back with more bruises.
Was so torn, watching him go out the door in my clothes. Should have washed his, and let him wear them. Think even the smallest thing like that would set his father off. Maybe that’s just speculation from what little I’ve seen of him.
Really don’t want anything I’ve done for Noah to be the reason he gets hurt.
It’s unfair that this sort of thought should occur to me. Don’t understand why he has to go through all that pain for something so small.
If he’s hurt next time I see him, I’m going to be really upset. Although, I have vowed to keep a good humour around him, he seems less down when I’m smiling around him.
Had work today, mostly running errands for the doctors and spending time with the ladies in the senior wing.
141 Days, 9 October, Thursday
Just about freaked out like crazy in class today. Had just sat down in Math, and was digging in my bag for my calculator when he sat down behind me. Turned to greet him, and stopped short when I saw him.
He looked terrible. Even though he is generally good looking, not even that could hide the fact that the entire left side of his face was swollen and pink. He had taped a couple bandages over some of the bruises, but they still burned through the off white gauze.
I swallowed, opening my mouth, trying to say something, but nothing came out. Just gaped, opening and closing my mouth, then stood up, slamming all my books back in my bag, grabbed his arm, and led him out of the room.
Ignored the call of the teacher, marching down the hallway with Noah at my side. Knew that some of the other students had gotten up and were watching out the door.
Noah was silent, and followed me without resistance. Led him all the way to the infirmary, and sat him down on the bed.
“Okay, tell me.” I looked at him seriously. Tried to imagine how my face looked, and hoped I didn’t look scary and/or angry. He avoided my gaze, staring pointedly at the railing of the bed.
“Noah. Tell me what happened.”
“I went home. I was reading. He came into my room. Then he questioned why I was home at that time. I explained that I had been at your house and he struck me. Twelve times. I made an attempt to stop him, the thirteenth blow knocked me unconscious. I do not know if he continued after that.”
I breathed out a heavy gust of air to stop myself from yelling. Wanted to storm into the office and call the police and demand the arrest of his father.
“Why?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Why can’t we go to the police for this? Why won’t you do anything about it?”
“Because…” he faltered, “…because he owns the police. He owns everyone.”
I furrowed my brow, trying to look him in the eye.
“So he always gets away with everything he does, because no one believes a word against him. He is in charge of many aspects of the city, and is
a well-respected man of the community. It is only me he has any sort of ill-regard for.”
I sat back, sighing deeply. “I understand.”
He finally looked at me, the crisp shine of his ice blue iris almost shocking. It was so light compared to the darkness of his hair.
That moment was weird, I stood up, but it was like my body was moving of it’s own accord. It almost felt like I was being controlled, or I was watching from outside my body.
Wrapped my arms around him gently, careful not to put any pressure on him. Just enough to hold him close. Rested my cheek against his head, and stroked his hair.
Felt his arms come up and hug me back. There, his hand touched my arm, and a burst of new emotion flared in my chest like he left a spark there that caught fire. Something like pain, with pleasure. Ecstasy mixed with agony. I could feel his heart aching.
The weirdest part of that moment, though, was that I had no idea how long it lasted.
“This is… the first time someone…” he broke off, leaning into me, “…someone held me and cared for me… in years…” He sniffed, and tightened his grip on my shirt. “Thank you.”
I smiled, in spite of my worry and fear, “You’re so welcome.”
Was going to invite him for dinner today, but decided not to, figuring it was best for him to go home. I had to really think about this. If he goes home, he’ll be around his father, this is true, but if he doesn’t, the next time he returns there, it’ll be a punishment for sure.
Wish he could have had a father like mine. Parents are supposed to love their children. It’s so unfair.
Terra was happy to see me today, and requested spaghetti for supper. Obliged happily, and supervised her closely while she made the toast. Even toast isn’t safe in her hands. Good grief.
140 Days, 10 October, Friday
Today was a relatively normal school day; Noah attended our classes, and seemed less down than usual. He pretty much completed my Math work for me, which was really helpful, and we studied Shakespeare together today.
