Page 46 of Fractured Souls

What the hell have I been thinking? I feel like I am going crazy with how up and down my emotions seem to be lately.

We sit down and a few minutes later, Brielle and Atlas follow suit. I know I need to apologize to them, so I take a breath and decide to get it over with now.

“Brielle, I'm so sorry. I can't explain to you how sorry I am for all this trouble. But I'm beyond grateful to you for letting me fall apart in your home and not giving up on me. I know you don't have any answers, but you were still there for me, and it meant a lot even when it didn't seem like it. I didn't mean to fall apart like that, but it was like I found you and finally, after three long years, I had a break and could let myself feel. But at the same time, the feelings were too much, so I built my walls so high I couldn't see over them to do anything.” I blurt everything out, hoping that the truth will lessen whatever comes next.

“It's okay, honey, it really is. I just want you to be safe and okay. If you need to break down, this will always be a safe space for you. I know this isn't easy, and I'm sorry to bring it up, but we have to start talking about things. I need to know what happened.” She sighs and looks pained before she adds, “Honey, the only thing I can find on your mom’s death is that it was an electrical fire. Can you… Could you tell me what happened?”

I slowly nod, not having expected her to just move past everything that I’ve done wrong. But I need to try and learn that they may not be bad.

I can try. I guess that means starting with the worst day of my life.

Taking a few deep breaths, I allow myself to go back to that day. Back to the day my mom was brutally taken from me, and I open myself up to Brielle. It’s like I know somewhere deep inside me that I can trust her, which is the only reason the words come out of my mouth while I let the tears fall for my mom, who I never got to grieve for.

* * *

3 years ago: August 18th, 2015

Mom and I spent the long weekend going school clothes shopping before school starts in two weeks. I can't believe I'm going into 7th grade. I'm a middle schooler now. I've been homeschooled for many years, but Mom is letting me go to school now this year. I get up this morning and run to my mom's room to wake her up like I normally do, but she isn't in her bed. Weird. She didn't even make her bed, and she always makes it. I run out towards the kitchen and see Mom staring at her phone. She's frozen where she stands, looking like a statue with wide, scared eyes.

“Mom, what's wrong? You're up before me, and you never are.” My mom works late at night, so she usually doesn't go to bed until two or three in the morning, which is why she has me—her personal alarm clock, as she calls me—to wake her up.

She looks up at me, blinking before pasting on a fake smile and saying, “Oh, baby girl, good morning. Nothing is wrong. Mom was just her own alarm clock today. Come sit, let me do those curly locks of yours before they weigh down your head.”

I laugh and follow her to the bathroom where she brushes and Dutch braids my hair. My favorite way to have it done!

When we are done, Mom says, “So baby, what do you think of a road trip? We can go anywhere you can dream of, but we have to leave today. How does that sound?” She says it excitedly, but I can tell something is off.

“But mom, what about school?” I say with a pout. We can't just leave. Why is she acting this way?

“Oh baby, for now we will have to keep homeschooling. But I promise someday soon you can go to a real school. Let's go pack our bags now so we can get on the road.”

I cross my arms and give her an angry look. “But I don't want to. I want to stay here and go to school and meet friends like you promised!”

“I know, baby, but we can't, okay? We have to go on a trip. Please just pack a bag and we'll talk in the car.”

She looks like she is going to cry but is trying not to. It makes me even more mad. She promised!

“No!” I shout as I storm off and hide somewhere she won't be able to find me. We moved here about two years ago and I found a small crawl space in the back of my closet. I never told mom about it. It was my little hiding spot. I like to take snacks in here and have alone time. Sometimes I dream about my dad when I'm here too. Mom doesn't like talking about him, so this is my spot to think about him. I just know he'd be a strong knight if I ever got to see him.

A few hours later, I come out hoping Mom doesn't want to leave anymore. Maybe she was just upset. She always tells me we have to calm down before discussing things because when you're scared or angry you might say things you don't mean. That must have been what happened. She didn't calm down before talking to me.

But when I come out and find mom pacing the living room, I realize something is wrong. She's still in sweats and a large t-shirt. Her hair is in a messy bun. Usually, my mom looks beautiful. Well, she still does, but she usually curls her hair. It's long and red just like mine. She always wears makeup, although she won’t let me wear any yet.

Mom likes to have things super clean, and when she's sad, she cleans even more. But right now, everything is messy like she tore apart the living room and kitchen. She looks more frantic than she did before. Muttering to herself, chewing on her nails, which she always yells at me for, and her eyes are all red and puffy like she's been crying.

“Mom?” I whisper, feeling bad for hiding for so long now. Mom needed me.

She turns around and looks at me, her eyes wide with fear. “Oh, finally. Where were you hiding? It's time to go. I packed for you already. You can't have hiding spots I can't find anymore. We have to go now. You can yell at me in the car."

She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me around, but before we can even take a step, there are three loud bangs on our front door. Mom jumps, grabs my arm, and pulls me towards the back door. Not even grabbing our bags. I go to say something, but as soon as she opens the slider, someone is pushing her back and coming in the door. I scream as my mom gets thrown to the floor.

Before I can get close to her, someone else grabs my arms and holds me against their chest, whispering in my ear, “Be a good girl now, sweet Harleyyyy.” He sings my name, and I freeze, not daring to move.

Three more men are in my house, making it four total. One holds me, and the other three grab my mom. She fights, but they easily overpower her, tying her down to a kitchen chair.

The guy holding me whispers in my ear, “Be my sweet Harley and watch and nothing bad will happen to you. You'll come back to where you belong.” I look down at the arm wrapped around me and see a tattoo. It's a weird devil of sorts, but my eyes aren't making it out clearly with the tears streaming down my face.

My mom screams, and tears begin streaming down my face. “Mom?” I sob, and she looks at me.

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