Part II

You should hate me for a 4 month gap, but don't please. This is the second part of the last post. Enjoy.

             That was at the end of April. I graduated in June and started classes at the University of Toronto on a dance scholarship. One day in early September, I went to Scarborough Bluffs with my friend Ashley one morning before our dance class. On the way back, she was driving and I was on the passenger side. A truck was merging onto the interstate it skidded and slammed directly into the passenger side. That’s when I went into the coma. I was about 17 or 18 weeks pregnant and I never knew until the doctor told me.

            There’s only one reason I still have hope today. He goes by the name of Aubrey. He’s the older brother of the girl in my dance class I was riding with. After the accident he came to visit me every day. At first it was out of pity, but it grew into friendship and, eventually, the dysfunctional relationship it is today. His mom hates me. She swears it’s my fault that Ashley and I got into that accident and she doesn’t want us together, but I don’t care. I know I was only 17, but that didn’t change anything.

            Between classes, a part-time job at a movie theater, and dance team practices, I have barely anytime to see him. We have to sneak around so his mom doesn’t catch. She’s crazy. She would probably throw some kind of fit and call the cops. She can’t stop us though. We’ll do as we please regardless of her opinion. He’s taking me to lunch later today, and then I have to go to work.                       

                                                               After English Class

            I walk out of the English building and see him leaning against his car, waiting for me. I smile as I walk over to him, throw my arms around his neck, and bury my head in his chest.
            “Happy birthday,” I whisper.
            “Thank you,” he says and kisses my cheek.
            “What do you have planned after lunch?” I question.
            “Depends. What time do you have to be at work?”
            “Not until 4.”
            “Good.”  He smiles and opens the door for me. I get in and wrap my arms tightly around my torso. It’s almost as if I have to do this told hold myself together. I can feel the delicate strings holding my life in the balance starting to unravel. He gets in the other side and gives me a questioning look.
            “What’s wrong?” he asks. He can always tell when something’s bothering me. I hate it.
            “Nothing really, just this dream I had.” I tried to be vague. I hadn’t told anybody since it happened two and a half years ago and I didn’t ever intend to tell anyone. He raised his eyebrows skeptically.

            “You sure?” I turned and looked out the window, trying desperately to hold back tears. How could I not tell him? Especially after all he’s done for me. He kept me sane the past 2 years. My heart and mind were clashing. I want to tell him, so I don’t have to go through this alone, but at the same time I’m embarrassed by my weakness and stupidity. It’s something I don’t want to share with anyone, but I don’t want to bear the burden on my own either.

            “Can you stop?” I ask, my voice laced with impending tears. He pulls over to a secluded park. I get out and go sit down on a bench. He comes and sits down next to me and grabs my hand.

            “Onika, please tell me what’s wrong. I only want to help.” I sigh. I guess it’s time. I tell him my whole story, not leaving out a single detail, even describing the minute and seemingly insignificant emotions I felt along the way. He never says a word while I speak, just listening intently. When I finally finish, I exhale and stare off into the distance. After a moment of apparent composure, I break down in his chest. Tears paint my face with an expression of grief.

            He embraces me and whispers, “It’s okay now. You were so strong. There’s nothing you could’ve done.” I settle in his arms as my erratic breathing steadies. He strokes my hair repeatedly, soothing me.
            “Trust me, I’m going to be here, right by your side, until you tell me to leave,” he says with conviction, “Okay?”  I toy around with the idea in my head…right by my side.
            "Yeah, I'd like that a lot." I smile and hug him back. A sense of liberation and strength flowed through me. In a single instant, he freed me form years of guilt, embarrassment, depression, and reclusiveness. He was the elusive "one". I never actually believed in people falling head over heels in love, but this, this is something real, genuine, and undeniable. I can feel it.

There might be another part but idk. Comment though

I'm Back...Maybe

 Sorry I haven't posted in so long. I'm always super busy or tired. But anyway, I had a creative writing assignment for English about 3 months ago and we have the option to continue it for extra credit, so I just now realized it could possibly be a decent fanfic. I'm definitely not Kiara, Dani, or Koyoa, but I tried. Tell me what you think...         

            In a split second everything went black. It stayed like that for a long time. I don’t know how long though. I was stuck between life and death. Hanging on the edge of consciousness, fighting with all I had just to stay alive. I tried to breathe and it worked. What was that sound? It’s like beeping interpolated with blurry voices. Where am I? I finally found the strength to open my eyes.

            “She’s coming to!”

All of my muscles are sore and wires are attached to nearly every visible surface of my skin. A hospital. I look to my left and see a doctor and a nurse solemnly discussing something. I clear my throat to get their attention. They turn around with pity written all over their faces. I frown.

            “What happened to me?” I question.

            “Well,” the doctor starts, “2 weeks ago you were in a near fatal car accident and you slipped into a coma. You sustained a minor brain contusion and several lacerations, but luckily, nothing too serious.” I exhale. I’m fine…but wait, he’s not finished.

            “Unfortunately, you lost your baby boy.” I gasp and instinctively clutch my now-barren abdomen. I hadn’t even known. How could I have been so careless? An unfamiliar substance stings the rims of my eyes. Tears. After my dad died, I promised to never cry again, but this, I wasn’t prepared for. Everything in my life was so perfectly calculated so nothing like this would happen. It’s all my fault, I let him down.

            I wake up in a cold sweat. That was 2 years ago and to this very day, I still have nightmares about it. I don’t know why that was the hardest part for me. Everything before it was so much worst, but something about losing him, but never knowing he was there really messed with me.

            Sometimes I wonder if things could have gone differently. Maybe if my dad was still alive, I wouldn’t have had to grow up so fast. My mom was devastated, she couldn’t even function. The roles eventually reversed and I ended up taking care of her. She depended on me for everything.­

            One day I grew tired of all her silly demands, moping, and incompetence. We were arguing about responsibilities-this and grief-that and family should be there for each other. I just walked out. I couldn’t take it anymore. She called for me over and over and over. She pleaded from the doorstep for me to come back. I should’ve listened.

            I knew nothing good could come out of walking around Queens alone at night, but I didn’t care. I wandered aimlessly through empty streets and dark alleyways with no specific destination in mind. I stopped at a convenience store on the corner of Utopia and Union to use the bathroom, but I didn’t notice the look the cashier was giving me until it was too late. After I came out, I was going to leave, but the door was locked. When I turned around he punched me in the jaw and I slid to the floor. He dragged me behind the counter and ripped my sweats off. It was all downhill from there.

            I woke up in the same spot on the floor and he was gone. The pain was almost unbearable. There was dried up blood on my thighs. I didn’t cry though. I made a promise to myself and I didn’t intend to break it. I picked the ripped sweats up from the floor, tied them around my waist, and made my way home.

            Everyone noticed something about me was different, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone what happened. I tried my hardest to forget it, but things like that don’t just disappear.

            It made me stronger and more guarded. I didn’t feel emotions anymore. What else could possibly be worst? Never ask that question because then life will do all it can to prove you wrong.