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“You do understand that this tragedy is not your fault,” The woman ahead of her spoke, her hair slightly bouncing as she leant forward. “Don’t you, Emma?”
The more she complied, the quicker she would go home. The faster she could return to her bed, where she would lie for hours, soaking in her own dread and mental horrors. “Yes.”
Her therapist would consistently tell her that Abigail’s death was undeniably horrible, while also sprinkling in the fact that she had no partake in such a disaster. That she was allowed to feel angry, depressed, but to always remind herself that she wasn’t responsible. Emma didn’t want to believe that just yet.
If it wasn’t for her kissing Nick… Abigail wouldn’t have run off. Wouldn’t have distanced herself away from her. If only she knew that was the last time she’d ever see her… If she knew it all then, she wouldn’t have thought about it for a second.
As she picks at the frayed velvet cushion on her lap, her therapist gives her a look. Fuck, she knows exactly what it means. That she wasn’t convinced. She refuses to meet her eyes, starting to glare at the messy scribble drawing that was pinned on the bulletin board by the window. “Emma… I want you to feel comfortable. What are you thinking about?”
“I don’t know.” Emma says, she begins to feel herself drifting away. Her consciousness floating off somewhere unknown, her vision unfocusing while her ears follow suit by ringing heavily. Her therapist’s voice is muffled now, where she begs for Emma to reply. To come back. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t handle it anymore.
When her hurtful thoughts weren’t eating her mind away, she’d zone out and end up in another world. Sometimes it lasted hours, even days, it depended on how much she wanted to stop thinking.
She awakes from it later. A familiar ceiling hung above her head, soft noises came from her television, she was home. She had no recollection of what occurred after the therapy session, but that was no surprise. She assumed her mother helped her up here, clasping her arm tightly as they trotted up the narrow steps… She felt bad for putting her through it, too. She didn’t deserve that.
After taking a shower, she let her wet hair stick to her face while she stood in front of the mirror. She lifts her hand, and slowly glides her palm down the foggy glass, revealing a broken, torn girl. Emma Mountebank.
She used to love her name. The way those around her said it, the way her fans on her channel typed it with love, she couldn’t get enough. Now, she hates every part of it. She hated the letters, how it looked on paper, how it sounds when she’s called downstairs by her family. It left a sour sting on her skin, making her nose burn with hatred. She can’t take it much longer, everything felt like an insult. Like a disgusting nudge that the only person she trusted with everything was dead forever, and that she played a part.
She left the bathroom with a frown, her eyes clouding with tears, she sat on her bed with her towel still wrapped around her body. She didn’t care to wipe the slow tears away as she put on clothes she’d just found on the floor, the holes of her shirt still feeling empty even when it was on her chest. She landed back on her sheets with a hard thud, her face squishing into her pillow.
She’d fall asleep soon after, not a night had gone by where Abigail wasn’t in her dreams… Or nightmares. Honestly, she couldn’t tell which was which anymore, she felt the same when she woke up.
This dream however, was odd. She was watching herself from afar, eventually catching on that this wasn’t made up; She was reliving a certain day at camp. She spots herself sitting on a log next to the cabins, one leg crossed over the other as she kept an eye on her campers that were playing on the tire-swing.
Abigail then appears, stepping along the grass until she’s right next to Emma. She turns, and smiles once she realizes who it was. “Abi! I haven’t seen you all day.” she says, her voice echoed through the air. The shorter girl grinned to herself, pushing her shoes into a mushy bit of mud.
“I’ve been busy with my art class.” Abigail explained, the dyed part of her hair swirls as her head shifts to Emma. She then glances down at Abigail’s hands, which were faintly doused in a green paint.
“Ah… Making a mess?” Emma joked, a chuckle slipping from her glossy lips.
Abigail flushed, “Just a bit.”
Even though she was spectating, she could feel the sensation in her stomach. The feeling of needles poking her.
Like she was trying to wake herself up.
But she didn’t, she watched. She stays asleep, keeping herself from waking up to reality. Now, a quick white flash crosses her vision, knocking her back into a completely different scene. It takes a minute to focus, then floods in all at once.
She sees herself in Abigail’s art class, she’s sitting on a desk, her eyes set on the girl who was now putting away some supplies her campers left out. “They had a hard time today.” Abigail pushed a container of brushes inside of a cabinet.
This was a day or so after their conversation on the log, she remembers. Abigail’s fingers are no longer stained with paint, Emma raised a brow. “What were they working on?” she asked, then standing as Abigail starts to pull a painting off of the rack by the door.
She showcases a certain kids artwork to Emma, it appeared to be of a cardinal; Perched upon a naked tree, snow shyly falling in the background. “They don’t like to paint.” she laughed, not hiding the awkwardness in it.
“Is that what you’ve had them working on all week?” Emma questioned, her attention switching from the painting to Abigail. Whose eyes widened at her words, she almost seemed afraid to answer.
“Yeah…?” Abigail replied, her voice hardly louder than a whisper.
There wasn’t an ounce of green on that project. “Then why did your hands have green paint on them yesterday?” Emma couldn’t stop the smirk that draped upon her mouth, Abigail shook her head.
“That’s more of a… Personal project.” Abigail answered, she returned the camper’s painting. She paused, turning back to look at Emma. “It’s uh… Actually for you.”
Emma’s brows raise again, “For me?”
Abigail nodded quickly, the bottoms of her shoes tapping away from her. She was now beside her own large desk, uncovering a piece of thick paper, Emma tried to peek behind her, but Abigail seemed to notice, and blocked her way.
Shortly, she’s gathered the gift, and steps forward with a nervous smile. “You can tell me if you don’t like it…” she flips it over, what’s plasted along the white background is… Gorgeous. Emma’s thumbs reach for it, taking it slowly. “I-I understand if you don’t, I don’t think it’s my best work-“
“Abi.” Emma stops her, still staring at the painting. It was of her. Abigail must’ve been working on this forever now, she could tell. The sweet tint of pink that was tapped on Emma’s cheeks, the strokes of her hair, each colored with extreme accuracy. Every bit of her features was spot-on.
In this, she was resting beside the steps that led up to the lodge, her legs were outstretched, her hair damp. The dark green paint was used generously. Splashed on the outline of a loose shirt she’d worn that day after swimming in the pool… Even the wooden staircase beside her was insanely detailed.
“You’re amazing.” Emma smiled, Abigail wasn’t expecting that answer. She looks away for a short moment, “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
Abigail twists the ring on her finger, silence lingers for a moment between them. “Why wouldn’t I?” she says timidly.
Now it was Emma’s turn to blush with embarrassment, “I… I mean, this is a lot of hard work…”
“Yeah… It was, but… That’s why I did it.” Abigail sighs, “I’m really grateful to have met you this summer, Emma. You’ve helped me… With more things than you can even imagine. It’s the least I could do.” her words are strong, it was then that she knew Abigail had meant it.
“Oh, Abi…” she feels her body lurch forward, her arms softly wrapping around Abigail’s neck. “Thank you.” the smell of her vanilla perfume holds onto Emma’s skin. She then pulls away.
As she watches it play out, she wishes she’d held on just a bit longer.
The dream then turns from sweet, to grevious.
She sees herself inside of the van. The sky is dark, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, her lungs still shaken from all of the running she’d done… No. No, she doesn’t want to live this again.
Wake me up! It’d felt like she was banging on a glass cage; The cage being her mind, which was no doubt laughing at her. She had the chance to wake up, and she didn’t.
“Hey, um… Where’s… Abi?” The question leaves her mouth, she doesn’t want to hear anymore. She tries to block it out, but she cannot.
The faint voice of Dylan invades her poor attempt at escaping, “She… She didn’t make it.” he sounded pained, like he didn’t want to tell her the truth.
She couldn’t speak, unable to comprehend what she’d just heard. “What…?” she looked at Kaitlyn, who appeared to be just as hollowed by the situation. “What are you saying?”
Dylan swallows, breathing in sharply before answering. “Nick, uh… He was attacked. Something happened to him and…” Emma begged for an explanation, she impatiently shook her head. “He didn’t let her leave.”
After that, she witnesses the pure shock leave her face, which is soon replaced with a deep sadness. The two other counselors walk away, and she’s left all alone in the shelter. She didn’t know where they were running off to, and quite frankly, she didn’t care. She circled around the empty stone-walled cellar with a camera in hand, documenting her puffy eyes and swollen lips.
Everything she’d learned in the past ten minutes had caused her stomach to ache. She felt so nauseous to the point where she could vomit, her chest feeling as if it was about to cave in from all the inhaling she’d been doing. The scene fades off, and now she’s watching herself sit on the steps of the lodge.
Her hands trembling, dried tears hardening at the crevices of her cheeks, her knees knocked together. She stared out into the distance, the sun began to rise with excited rays. The sunrise was her favorite part of the day, she’d always woken up an hour early just to witness it, but not anymore. Police escorted her to the car, where she’d be forced to answer questions revolving around what happened. She didn’t want to. She refused, even.
She jolts up from her bed. Her elbows shaking as she held herself up, it wasn’t long before she began to cry. She left her bed, immediately walking to her dresser, she yanked the very bottom drawer open and found exactly what she’d seen in her dreams. Abigail’s gift rested in her hands.
Each stroke was just as vibrant, she gazed to the far corner where Abigail’s signature was present. She let the cries block her vision, the sobs hurting her throat. “I wish… I could tell you how sorry I am.” she muttered, knowing her words would’ve been unrecognizable if anyone was listening.
She can’t get it out of her head. Abigail storming off, upset. She should’ve gone after her, she should’ve given her an apology, anything that would’ve let her see her one more time. One more chance to make things right, but she was too late. She’d missed it.
“You can’t let this ponder on you forever, Emma. Mourn, and accept. Remember?”
Her therapist's advice hurls itself into her thoughts, the anger that clouds her mind is too aggressive to stop. Accept? Abigail should be here. She should be alive. Emma wouldn’t accept a death that wasn’t inevitable, it could’ve been avoided. To let go of someone that had allowed her to unlock a part of herself she never knew was there, that had the sweetest smile and choice of words… It was impossible. She wouldn’t do it.
She’d remembered the response she’d given that day, finding herself agreeing with it, still. No matter what the woman had advised, she would never understand how she felt. “Easier said than done.”