Page 7 of Obsession

I chose between the two doors on the right side of the hallway and was lucky to get into the bathroom on the first try. At least it was bigger than the one at home. The room was tiled in white and smelled of fresh detergent, which indicated that it had been thoroughly cleaned. What really excited me was the fact that we not only had a shower, but also a bathtub – for those days when I wanted to lie depressed in the sudsy water and think about the shitstorm that was my life.

I held onto the sides of the white sink, pushed my shoulders forward and lifted my head to look at my pale and tired reflection. Bloodshot eyes and the obvious signs of a massive addiction stared back at me. My hair, which was an unnatural shade of blonde – dyed in the hope of forgetting whom I looked like – hung heavily over my shoulders and reached my lower back. My brown irises had turned a milky color, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find any remnants of the old Katherine. At that moment, a completely different personality and image seemed to have taken control of my soul.

Dyeing my hair hadn’t been a wise decision, but I had made some other changes to my appearance that I was still proud of, namely my two tattoos. Two black wings stretched across my back with the words “Wild Angel” written between them. Nicky had talked me into it when I was drunk off my ass, but I didn’t regret it, at least not the wings. She was also the one who had the brilliant idea to write “Wild Angel” on my skin because she thought it suited me. What would have suited me in reality was “depressive drug addict”. Yes, the perfect description.

The other tattoo was a sprig of thorns wrapped around my left ankle like a bracelet, with a much sadder meaning. As lameas they were, I liked my tattoos and wanted more. If I knew what exactly, I’d get another one, but I wanted to be sober for it. They gave me a sense of power, of protection… of camouflage. Usually, people didn’t try to fathom the personality of tattooed people, it was like we were handing it to them on a silver platter. We painted our feelings on our skin to be seen, and that often caused them to keep their distance. However, I didn’t have enough tattoos to inspire that yet.

I turned on the water and splashed my face, then swallowed a clonidine pill. Having had a UROD and two months in a rehab facility, I thought things would get better, but I was wrong, and I knew my desperate desire for drugs made it so. I didn’t want them for pleasure, I wanted them as an anesthetic.

For me, drugs were a self-induced hypnosis into which I let myself fall and forget everything, and given the turn my life had taken, forgetting was a welcome blessing.

I knew that feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t help, but how was I supposed to resist in this city where I knew no one and where the darkness that had kept me safe had disappeared? I asked myself as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, which seemed to be the only one who empathized with my misery.

***

For the rest of the day, my father and I kept our distance. I spent my time unpacking a few things and scattering my favorite things around the room.

The posters of my favorite dancers had been destroyed many months ago, along with the dream I had worked for all my life.

I refused to eat dinner, but it was brought to my door against my will because one of the side effects of my addiction was rapid weight loss. It wasn’t exactly a healthy way to loseweight, and my blood work showed just that, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I always focused my choices on perfection. My mom pushed me to do that. She was perfect, and I wanted to be like her. I grew up emulating her, analyzing her every move while creating my own template to become a perfect copy of her.

Big mistake.

Many parents have divorced, and their children expected it, and as hard as it was, they eventually managed to move on. However, when the parent who used to be your support suddenly leaves you, you feel like the earth shatters beneath your feet and all your hopes for the future are dashed. I would have expected my father to leave me. His betrayal would have hurt, but it wouldn’t have wiped me out. The connection I had with my mother was the stuff dreams were made of, and it split me in half. I was prepared for every failure and betrayal because she was there, and I never thought she would be the one to destroy me.

She didn’t just leave my father. I was much more affected by it than he was.

***

I was frightened, silent as a corpse, my breath stuck in my lungs while my heart pounded in my chest. The whole courtroom was silent, and I could only see my mother’s face.

She had tears in her eyes, her face was a mirror image of my own, only much more beautiful.

Her black hair was perfectly styled into a bob.

My role model.

My father’s lost eyes, struggling to hold back the tears because he did not understand what had brought him there. What had made the woman he loved leave him like that?

The answer was simple: money.

“All things considered, I declare Amanda and Christopher’s divorce final with the consent of both parties.” The judge announced with boredom on his lips and slammed the mallet down, unaware that at that moment he had signed my death sentence.

“No!”I shouted unconsciously and jumped up from my seat, but the room suddenly went dark, and I looked around and realized that I was actually lying in my bed.

I rubbed my face and propped my head in my palms. This nightmare wouldn’t leave me, wouldn’t let me forget how my mother had left me. I kept waking up from it and letting out the scream that hadn’t been able to escape back then. Sometimes I hated the way all my feelings came out to play in my dreams.

If there was one thing that I was sure of, it was that my mother still loved me and that she had assumed I would go with her. That had been the plan; that her new husband would adopt me and offer me everything, much more than my father’s salary as a fireman – but she had been wrong. I may have loved my mother and followed her in everything, but she was dead to me the moment she decided to leave her husband, who loved her so much, for a richer man.

I sighed, ran my fingers through my hair, and searched under the covers for my phone. My headphones were still plugged in, and I could hear the hum of a song as I had probably ripped them out of my ears in my sleep. I stopped the music and squinted at the display. It was only 04:13am, and I still had two hours until I had to get ready for school.

The week had passed in slow motion. I stayed in my room and fought the addiction that wouldn’t go away. The first day of senior year in a new city, in a place where I had no friends.

I tried to go back to sleep, but to no avail. The images of the trial were still fresh in my mind, and I could not block themout. I was still trying to find a reason for my mother’s departure, a more important one, even one that I was to blame for.

Before she left, I was a different person. A completely different Katherine who was now dead.

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