Page 34 of Haunt Me

My brain is on fire again. My body follows suit.

“Remember what we were saying about our dads being flawed in some way?” she asks.

“Yeah?”

“Well, my dad has one that I just thought of.”

“I know, he’s strict. But, I mean, look at you. Of course he has to be.”

She blushes and I think I do too, but she shakes her head.

“Not that. I’m not sure… It’s not up to me to say if he’s too strict or not. But he does leave me alone a lot.”

I frown. “And without a phone,” I add.

“I have one, but he doesn’t let me use it for more than three hours a day, so…”

My heart constricts. Ignoring your kid for so many hours should be a criminal offence. I hadn’t thought of it until now, absorbed as I have been by my own needs, as per usual, but this is not right: She is alone every day, wandering around until she found the woods, and me. Bleeding knees. Fainting in the darkness. She has been coming to meet me every single day, including most weekends—which means she has zero supervision during those hours.

She’s alone when she leaves, and alone when she comes back. My chest actually hurts as I inhale.

“Look, Eden…” I turn to her.

“Don’t!” she hisses, and I take a step back,. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

Her teeth are clenched and her voice is so broken it comes out as a whisper. Her eyes are shining with tears and now I’m the onewho is terrified. I’ve never seen her fight back tears like this. She’s usually calm or cold. She turns her pain into dark sarcasm. But tears? Never.

“If I catch you feeling sorry for me, Isaiah, I’ll never come back to the woods. Never.”

She turns around and leaves me standing there.

I watch her walk around the street and disappear into the mist, shaking with a terror so great I’ve never known the likes of before.

It’s a good two minutes before I can bring myself to start walking back, and a good three hours before I fully stop shaking.

She called me ‘Isaiah’.

She told me not to pity her.

She—she flooded me with so many emotions I can’t begin to untangle them all.

She ruined me.

I miss the days when I belonged to myself, when I had full control over my brain’s and my body’s functions.

Actually, that’s a lie.

I don’t miss them at all.

…

She doesn’t come to our spot the next day.

Or the next.

At first, I think that it’s good that she doesn’t come. She needs to recover, go to the doctor, take care of herself. But then the panic starts setting in. What if she fainted again? What if she didn’t tell her dad what happened and she keeps starving herself without him knowing?

It’s killing me not knowing.

---