Page 51 of Run For Me
Who hurt me?
The question should be who hasn’t.
Me:I’m not ready to talk about that yet.
Little Dove:Well, I wish I still had someone to take care of me. I missed out on a lot of nurturing because of my parents dying. I wish I had that.
My fingers hover over the keys, wanting to tell her I’ll take care of her. That I’ll be that person. But I can’t say something like that to her because it isn’t the truth. I can do a lot of things for her, like taking care of her sexually. But anything more than that? I’m not capable of it. She certainly makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, makes me different, but nurturing her? Nah, that’s not me.
Me:I’ve always wondered if it’s worse to have lost your parents at a young age, or grow up with parents who were there, but not.
Little Dove:Is that how your parents were?
Me:Are. They’re still like that.
Little Dove:I’m sorry. That must suck.
Me:I’ve accepted it for what it is. I’m an adult. I don’t need them.
Little Dove:Everyone needs their parents sometimes.
“Okay, enough heavy shit for today,” I say out loud, dropping my phone to the bed. It dings, but I’m not looking at it. I can’t. Digging into my past isn’t on the roster for today. Glancing at my nightstand, I pick up her journal to read.
Mom has been in bed all day. We were supposed to go to the park, but I think she’s sleeping. I know she didn’t sleep last night because she wasn’t in bed with me. We share a bed now that we’re staying with Grandma and Grandpa because they only have two bedrooms. The door is closed, and I can hear her snoring. I don’t want to wake her up. She’s so tired lately and no matter how much sleep she gets, she still looks tired.
Grandma and Grandpa are out at a church thing, so I can’t ask them to take me. I hate feeling so alone even though there are people around me all the time.
“Same, Sailor. Same,” I mutter, flipping a few pages.
Mom and Grandma had a fight today. I’ve never heard them fight. Though, I guess it wasn’t much of a fight but them yelling at each other. Grandma thinks Mom needs help, but I’m not sure why. Is she sick? She’s still sleeping all the time, and Mom always said when you’re sick, the best thing to do is sleep. But she isn’t coughing or anything. When I ask her, she says she’s okay. I want to ask Grandma what I can do to help, but she never answers me. I love her, but she still treats me like I’m a little kid. I can help my mom, if only she’d let me.
Having read all this before, I know where it’s going. I know what’s going to happen, but I still have a tightness in my chest. Why reading this hurts me so much, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s reflective of my own life in a way. Yeah, my motherand father are still here, but like I said to Sailor, would I have been better off if they weren’t? Is the damage they’ve done to me better or worse than the damage that would have been done if they died?
It’s rare I allow myself to think about this stuff. There’s no point. No fixing it. I am who I am, and there’s no changing me. Not at this point in my life. But Sailor is right. Sometimes I wish things were different. That I had a different life, different parents. That I wasn’t so fucked in the head.
I turn to the next page, noting it’s dated three months from the last one.
I need to start writing in here again. I can’t imagine anything helping me, but I have to give it a shot. Writing in here helped me sometimes so maybe it will again. I don’t know, but I have to try because I feel like my life is over.
Mom is dead.
She died.
She… killed herself.
How do you do that?
How can you be so selfish to take your own life when you have a daughter who needs you? Parents who love you? A life to live.
I guess she was so sad about my dad dying, so… does that mean she loved him more than me?
I snap the book shut, dropping it to my lap.
I want to hug the little girl inside of Sailor because I’m sure all of this mess is the root of her thoughts. The thoughts that scare her and make her think she’s broken. And maybe she is broken, but it isn’t because of her dark thoughts. There’s a reason she has them. A reason she yearns for someone else to be in control—to take the control from her and show her that she’s safe. That someone will take care of her. To let go of everything and just… float. Allow someone else to be the one in control. But she doesn’t look at it that way because she doesn’t understand it. I understand all too well why I crave control. Power. Why I don’t trust anyone and instead need the trust of others. Why I can’t wait to hunt her down in those woods and take every goddamn thing from her. Take it all.
I don’t think I’m a bad person, but maybe I am. I’ve done some fucked up things in my life and I will continue to do them. I’ve learned to keep my head balanced. I have to give in to my urges a little in order to sate them, or else they become unbearable. I get all weird in my head, like right fucking now, and it sucks. It’s stupid. There’s no reason for me to worry about any of this shit. I was fine until this journal came into my life. Sailor’s thoughts are messing with my head. Hell, she’s messing with my head. With her big, shy eyes and pouty lips. This is why I don’t do the relationship thing—why I don’t keep girls around.
Meaning, Sailor has to go too.
