Pt. 16 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.
A weekly blog serie where I share pieces of Mia’s stories and journey (as I’m currently writing the whole novel!)
I wait patiently but I notice my right foot tapping immensely. A habit I have whenever I’m feeling uncomfortable or fearful of the unknown. And right now, I fear any uncertain outcomes that may be coming my way. If she doesn’t come out soon I will be force to unlock the door.
I check for the time. It’s only been five minutes.
As my mind wanders of to exactly what she might be doing beside from obvious reasons, I think of ways a person could commit suicide in a bathroom, well aware that all sharp items have been stripped out from her room and bathroom two days before. However, this gives me no comfort as she still hasn’t come out. My foot continues it’s uncontrollable tapping which releases a domino effect. I now notice my finger tips bouncing off each other, fidgeting as they join the nervous train.
According to the rules of logic all is well until it’s not. I calm myself down and attempt to rationalize the situation. I give her the benefit of the doubt; she’s a fighter and underneath carries the will to live (as I did). I’m hoping.
My reasoning only lasts seconds though.
I approach the bathroom door. I knock once. But nothing. “Emma?” I say, assumably to hear her voice. To hear her will.
“Yeah…” she replies, her voice is gentle. Not the same girl who slammed the door a few minutes back.
After eight minutes she makes a sound and there seem to be movement as I hear footsteps. I stop fidgeting and bound for cool and collected. I come out empty as I search the words to say. To my surprise I seem OK with that. For saying too much can be unbearable.
She sniffles as she opens the door. Faces down. Her dark brown hair hides most of her face as I’m sure is why she let it all down in the first place. But the drops rolling down her cheeks and the the constant sniffles tells her secret. She’s been crying. Quietly and alone. Her frame tells a tale of a lost girl who’s hurting.
“Thank you,” she mutters. Her voice is still gentle, almost impossible to hear. Vulnerable even.
“For…” she sniffles some more, lifts up her head and wipes off the tears on her red cheeks. “For not being a nagging bitch.”
I can’t help but smile at her choice of words. She can’t either. Our chuckles lightens the mood but her watery eyes suggests there is more. More pain. More tears.
“It’s just that…” she begins to sob but this time around non silent tears. “I’m so tired.” She covers her face with her hands and continues her cry for help.
I reach for her hand as I draw closer. Somehow, I suspect a hug or any embrace isn’t enough to heal her back to hopefulness. But I hold her tightly in my arms for a brief moment. Her sobbing in my arms breaks down walls and my heart is now able to feel her throbbing soul case. One by one, her sobs punching through my heart. By now, I could feel the whirlwind disorder, her life crumbling in my arms.
Once apart, I could see clearly the tiredness she speaks of. Behind her hazel eyes, I could see the cry of a little girl lost in chaos. As much as she tried to hold it all in, it’s now obvious she couldn’t silent herself no more. The question is, where do we go from here.
Happy Friday, to you all and thank you for stopping by!