Dying To Forget (The Station)

by Trish Marie Dawson

  His words are like a punch to the gut and I sit still for a moment, looking at him in a sort of stunned silence.

  “Piper, are you okay?” Bree is behind us with Preston at her side and a handful of curious onlookers from the skating floor are staring at us.

  Ryan releases my arms and I scramble off his lap in a flurry of ungraceful movements. My legs are shaking as I stomp away from him. I don’t look back. I don’t ever want to see Ryan’s ugly face again.

  ***

  The knife feels cool against my hot skin as I drag it up my forearm, watching tiny beads of blood spill out of me. The pain is an instant distraction and I sink deeper into the tub, letting the bubbly water splash over my shoulders and around my throat. When the water line is just below my chin, I pull my arm out to look at the small, clean cut I just made. It’s still bleeding freely and I sigh, knowing I’ll have to bandage it up before Dad gets home from work.

  The paisley curtain above the tub shifts slightly as the breeze from outside the open window struggles to get into the house. The cool summer air feels good in contrast to the hot bath. I breathe in the subtle smell of lavender soap as the water cools around my body. I don’t want to get out until my toes and fingers are pruned like raisins.

  At first I don't bother to move when my cell starts buzzing in my shorts on the floor beside the tub. I let it go to voicemail as I check out the new cut on my arm again. It's still bleeding. When my phone rings for the second time, I sit up with a sigh and reach down to pull the phone out of the back pocket. It’s Bree.

  “Bree, I’m taking a delicious hot bath. This better be good,” I say in a fake chipper voice.

  I bristle as I hear Bree sniffing back tears. “Piper, can you come get me?”

  “What? What’s wrong, where are you?” I am now standing in the soapy tub, reaching for a towel. Bits and pieces of the last party I went to flash through my memory.

  “I’m at the party, remember? Preston’s been drinking and he’s being an ass, and…and, I don’t want to call my parents. Can you come get me?” Bree is pleading with me.

  “I’ll be right there. Let me get dressed, okay?” I tuck the phone back into my shorts and slide my clothes on. My hair is still up in the messy bun I made for the bath and the lower half of my hair is wet, making the usual ash-blonde color a sort of chocolate brown.

  I wave off my tired and makeup-less reflection in the bathroom mirror and pull my dark sweatshirt over my head, making a mental note to wrap my cut when I get back to the apartment.

  I take the streets across town, speeding down the hills and rolling through stop-signs, hoping that Bree is okay. When I pull up in front of the party house, she is sitting near the curb, looking sad and tired, but her face lights up when she sees me.

  “Piper! Thanks!” She says as she slides into the front passenger seat.

  I lean over to hug her and give her a faint smile. She's wearing a new outfit…a skin-tight black dress with spaghetti straps and a pair of shiny red heels that look like they cost more than my car. Her parents must have updated her wardrobe for the summer. How nice to be rich.

  It was obvious she had been crying since dark streaks of mascara covered her cheeks.

  “Jeez, Bree…you look like crap,” I say softly and she laughs.

  “Let’s go, before Preston knows I’m gone, please?” She asks and I oblige…pulling away from the curb with a screech of tires. We’ve gone half a block before she talks.

  “Are you okay, I mean, after seeing Ryan today?” She asks quietly.

  I glance away from the dark road to look at her. Her eyes glint in the pale moonlight and I can see the sparkle of her new diamond earrings. They were a graduation present from her parents.

  “I’m fine.” I force my voice to stay steady.

  She nods in the darkness and reaches forward to turn on the radio. We listen to Civil Twilight as I push down on the accelerator. Bree is the only one I told about what happened with Ryan. She is the only one who knows why I've changed so much, so quickly. And she knows when I don’t want to talk about it. I love her for that.

  “Your place, or mine?” I ask.

  “Can you take me home? I told my parents Preston would drop me off later. I don’t want them to worry.” Her voice is tiny as she stares out the window.

  “Sure.”

  I thump my hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the music and ignore the rising number on the speedometer. I have every street in between Bree’s house and my apartment memorized. I floor the pedal as we head up a hill and let the car barrel down the other side at nearly fifty miles an hour. A sliver of moon is all that shows in the inky sky and it seems even the stars are hiding.

  It’s Bree’s scream that abruptly yanks me out of my music reverie but I see the car backing out of the driveway too late and the front end of my Focus slams into the back of the Honda. The last thing I see as my body is pitched forward into the airbag is Bree’s beautiful brown hair billowing out around her before she crashes through the windshield.

  CHAPTER 2

  It seems like hundreds of people show up for the funeral. But I doubt even half of them actually know who she really was. I feel like I have a scarlet letter sewn onto the front of my shirt. Not everyone knew Bree, but they all know I’m the girl that got her killed. Her mom wouldn't even look at me. Not that I wanted her too.

  The breeze has settled around us, which makes the trees at the cemetery look like stocky and still security guards. I stare at them, wondering if they hate me too. Trying not to rub at the small cut above my eyebrow, I squirm in my scratchy black dress, tugging in aggravation at the too-high collar for some relief from the heat. For the first time that I can remember, I resent the warmth of the Southern California sun as it beats down on me from above, burning my nose and scalp where my hair is parted.

  Dad ushers me around the somber faced and raven-dressed crowd after the funeral, doing his best to shield me from the angry and sad looks, I guess. It doesn’t matter really because nothing anyone says or does will make me feel any worse than I already do. Lovely Bree. My best friend, the only one who truly knew me, and she’s gone…all because of me.

  ***

  “She’s cutting herself again!” Dad yells into the phone.

  I cringe from behind my closed bedroom door, not wanting to hear the conversation he is having with my mother. Honestly, if she cared, she would have come home the first time he called her about my ‘problem’. His voice lowers and now all I can hear is the echo of his garbled tone from the other side of the house. Whatever.

  I flop down onto my bed and burry my head into the pillows. I want to fall asleep and never wake up. I miss Bree, and I have no other friends to talk to about her. I also have no desire to go to college in the fall, though Dad insists on it. The last thing I want is more school. From underneath one of the pillows I rub my hand along my arm, where the newest cut is starting to scab over. I have six scars now. Sometimes I think they are beautiful and other times they just remind me of the pain and that’s when I cut again. I can’t help it.

  The therapist urges me to write when I feel like cutting myself, 'Journal' as she calls it. What a joke. Dad insisted I go after Bree died and we've spent weeks talking about nothing, and then what happened with Ryan just sort of slipped out. She has me almost convinced that not all boys are the same and encourages me to try dating when I'm ready. Dating. Yeah, right. Even if I wanted to go on a date, there's no one I like, no one I trust.

  I spring upright when Dad throws my door open and I glare at him. “Can't you knock?"

  He tosses the phone onto my mattress before walking away. “She wants to talk to you.”

  I pick the phone up and hold it limply to my ear. “Yeah?”

  “Piper. Is it true, are you…hurting yourself again?” My Mom asks with a deep sigh as if I’m boring her. Typical.

  “I’m fine Mom.”

  “That’s not what your dad is saying,” she snaps, and then softens her tone a
bit. “Honey, I wish you could tell us what’s going on. Is this about Bree?”

  I stiffen when I hear her name. “No. I’m fine Mom.”

  There’s a pause and then a long sigh on the other side of the phone. “Okay, let me talk to your father.”

  I get up and carry the receiver into the living room where Dad is sitting, sulking on the couch in front of the TV, where he is most evenings.

  “She wants to talk to you.”

  After tossing the phone into his lap, I return to the familiar solitary confinement of my room. I climb under the comforter with my clothes on and pull the sheets up over my head. I just want to go back to sleep.

  ***

  When I open my eyes, the sun is bright behind my orange curtains and I groan in protest. I roll away from the window and catch a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror that hangs from the inside of my bedroom door. My eyes look a greenish-brown today and my hair hangs around my face limply. It's an unfamiliar and desolate face staring back at me. I pucker my pale lips at my reflection, hoping the pout will bring some color back to my mouth but when that doesn’t work I bite down on them until they turn a rosy red color. Better.

  I hear my cell ping with a text message alert so I roll over onto my stomach to reach for the phone. I haven’t used it much since Bree died, but since no one really calls me, my curiosity is piqued. The muscles in my face go slack when I open up the text. It’s from an unavailable number. And says only one word: MURDERER.

  I throw the phone across the room and fling myself back onto the bed, burrowing under the covers once again. I pray for sleep to take me but instead the tears begin to flow and I cry into my pillow until it’s damp. I can't control my moods. Every five minutes I'm angry, sad, bitter, weak, defeated, broken, or vengeful. I feel ugly from the inside out, always.

  Eventually, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling fan as the blades make their slow rotations around the room and my mind takes me to dark places; places I don’t want to go, but can’t seem to keep myself away from lately. What's the point in fighting it?

  Dad is at work, which means the house is empty for at least another six hours. I get up and wash my face in the bathroom. Suddenly, I'm tempted to brush my teeth, something I haven't bothered to do for three days. I open the cabinet and one of Dad’s medicine bottles catches my eye. I reach inside and slowly remove the bottle, shaking it gently in my hand. It’s full. Perfect.

  A few minutes later I sit down at my desk, with a piece of paper in my hand and my favorite blue pen with the chewed cap. I left my window open and the warm summer air flutters through the curtains, gently caressing my skin. For a while I rub the fresh bandage on my arm and blink at the bright day outside. Tears prickle at the edges of my eyes and start cascading down my cheeks, dripping off my chin and plopping onto the paper in fat splats. I hate that I cry all the time now. I hate it. I lick my lips and take a deep breath before scribbling two words onto the paper:

  I’m Sorry.

  Taking a big gulp of air, I push away from the desk quickly and accidentally knock the empty bottle of Diazepam onto the floor. After picking it up, I carefully place it next to the paper before walking over to the window to peer into the too-bright sunshine. In the courtyard below there are two young boys riding their bikes and an older woman sitting alone by the pool, watching them. She’s wearing a bright yellow hat and every time she looks up at the children, the glare from her hat forces me to squint. I can smell BBQ from somewhere nearby and inhale it deeply. It mixes oddly with the cucumber-melon candle I have near the window, but I like it…the smells conflict with each other…sort of like everything else in my life.

  Nothing since Ryan Burke has been easy. Everything since Bree's death has been unbearable.

  When my eyes feel heavy and my body is sleepy, I crawl into bed and pull the covers up tight around me. After fluffing my pillow until it’s comfy, I snuggle into it, being careful to keep my hair tucked neatly around my head. My eyelids feel heavy and I blink slowly, looking around my room, watching the curtains sway in the breeze, feeling hollow and empty inside. I'm dying to forget it all.

  Before I close my eyes, I remember Bree’s funeral and all the people that came to say goodbye to her. No one will go to my funeral. That’s the last thought I have before the light is gone and the darkness swallows me.

  CHAPTER 3

  I groan at the bright light behind my closed eyes, hoping that if I squeeze my lids tight enough the light won’t get through. It doesn’t work. What am I lying on? I’m flat on my back, on something hard and…cold. Where am I? Oh no. It didn’t work. I’m in the hospital! Crap. With that thought my eyes fly wide open and I bolt upright. Disoriented from the blinding glow around me, I almost fall off a bench.

  I steady myself, gripping the edge of the cool marble surface as I swing my naked legs slowly around until my feet touch the ground. I jerk them upwards immediately, surprised by how cold the ground is. Everywhere I look it’s the same white light. I can’t tell if I’m inside or outside and my stomach clenches with anxiety.

  “Hello?” I whisper at first.

  The sound of my small voice echoes softly around me, but no one responds. I’m hesitant to place my bare feet on the ground again which oddly feels like glass, but I do, and though it’s still cold the initial shock wears off quickly. Slowly and cautiously, I stand up and my hair cascades around my shoulders, loose, clean and smelling like…grapefruit? I reach up to touch it and run my hand along the smooth strands. When I went to bed my hair was not this clean. What’s going on?

  “Hello, is anyone there?”

  After hearing no response, I step away from the hard bench and turn in a semi-circle…nothing to see but the dazzling whiteness. I can’t tell where the top meets the bottom of the room…if it is a room I’m standing in. I reach up to rub my arm unconsciously and gasp as I realize not only are my bandages gone but my cuts are healed. I hold my forearm up to my face and rub my hand along my skin. It’s soft and smooth…scar-free. What the hell? This is when I start to panic. Tears build up in my eyes and I open my mouth to scream but a gentle male voice behind me startles me into silence.

  “Piper Willow?”

  I whirl around to see a middle-aged man with grey hair smiling politely at me. The first thing I notice is his outdated clothing. He’s wearing a blue argyle sweater vest with a long-sleeved white shirt rolled up to his elbows, and pleated brown trousers with matching loafers. I gape at him, sure that I don’t know him while he nods sympathetically at me. He’s holding a metal clipboard and he taps one of his fingers down on it before speaking again.

  “You are Piper Willow, yes?” He raises one of his bushy eyebrows at me.

  “Um…yeah.”

  I tug at the bottom hem of my long tank top, wishing I was wearing more than my pajamas. I feel exposed and naked standing before this stranger. He seems to relax a bit after I answer and he thrusts a hand out in front of him for me to shake. I take it weakly, letting him pump my arm twice.

  “Piper, my name is Niles…Niles Abbott. And I need you to come with me please.”

  He smiles his gentle smile again and even though I don’t know him, I feel…safe. My feet make soft sounds on the cold, glassy surface of the ground as I follow the strange man through the blinding light. How he can see where he’s going, I have no idea. I stay close behind him, afraid that if he gets too far ahead of me, I will lose sight of him.

  “Excuse me, Niles…I mean, Mr. Abbott. But, where are we?”

  “I’ll explain everything to you dear, just as soon as we reach the Station.” His answer attempts to be reassuring. His patient voice is calm and matter-of-fact but I'm not comforted, not in the least.

  “What station? We aren’t in the hospital? Where’s my Dad?”

  My last question comes out barely above a whisper as I struggle not to cry. Niles startles me as he turns around and smiles, obviously aware of information I don't have yet.

  “No Piper, this isn’t the
hospital, and your father is at home…he’s fine. Please, follow me.”

  He turns away and continues on through the light. I hang my head, staring at my bare feet as we walk. Even though my cuts are gone, I keep rubbing my arm. It’s soothing. I almost bump into Niles when he stops abruptly.

  “We’re here,” he says softly.

  I look up to see a long and rusty metal gate, entwined with flowering vines and two giant redwood trees standing at each end, like towering guards. I stare at the massive trunks in awe. I’ve never seen a tree so tall before. The redwoods reach up so high that the tops dissolve into the surrounding incandescence. Niles steps aside and gestures for me to approach the gate.

  “Ladies first.” He smiles.

  I think I blush in embarrassment as I pass him and step up to the large gate with trepidation. I have no idea how to open it but I place my hands on it and it glides easily to the side. I push harder until there is enough room for both me and Niles to pass through, grinning wildly at him as if I’ve discovered the cure to cancer while he nods at me in approval. After he steps in behind me, I tug on the gate to close it. It easily slides into place with a satisfying clank.

  The blinding white light is muted but not gone. As I turn around I find myself in a courtyard of sorts. I can’t see the sky, but I guess that we are outside. There are several sterile looking buildings lined up in a curved row, facing us. I gape at them as I read the simple block letters printed above the doors.

  The Admissions Department is the largest building and it sits just in front of us. To the right is the Training Department and next to that is a much smaller building labeled “Staff Only”. On the other side of the Admissions building is an equally impressive structure…Consignment Department…according to the sign. A smaller building sits on the far end and I think I see children running around inside it. What is this place? I so badly want answers. I can’t see beyond the buildings…there just seems to be a wall of white behind them, though not as blinding as where I woke up.