Inevitable (revised)

We stood on the edge of reason together. The wind was harsh, blowing her hair all over, shielding my view of the world. The rain hid her tears, but her voice pushed up into her mouth often. She was at war with her thoughts. At war with me.

“Don't you do it,” I whispered, fear pulling me back into darkness.

Empathy flooded me. I could hear her every thought, her every desire. She wanted me gone; I was distracting her.

I hate this, she thought. I hate my life! I hate everything! It's not fair! It's so fucking retarded!

“C'mon, you. Ya know what's right.”

Just shut the hell up! That one was directed at me. She shook her head, eyes shut tight. It was her way of trying to get rid me. It never worked, though, because it was my job to care, to guide and protect her. I never have and never will stop trying. In my coop of darkness—the darkness she bestowed upon me—I tumbled in every direction. When I fell back down, I lifted my head, eyes weary and shoulders bowed.

“Please,” I said. “Ya know you don't wanna do this. Please.”

Her voice escaped, its tone full of agony. She was holding onto the window frame on either side of her, and when her sobs hitched, her body leaned forward. I looked through her eyes—which were wide, stricken with apprehension and anxiety—and the dark, chaotic world rose.

Her thoughts were as hectic as the storm, her screams blending with thunder. She was regretting her decision to jump, to end her life. She was scared. At the same time, however, she knew this was what she wanted. For years, she felt that there was no place in this cruel world for her. No one understood her. She was elusive, a waste of space and explanation, a bad fit.

The ground rushed toward us.

This was it. The end of our existence.

#

I didn't know where we were. Everything was black.

Daddy? I braced myself as her head rolled. I'm so sorry. Ugh.

She was in pain, the past a blurred image. She grimaced and I felt for her. We must still be living: her heart was a stereo, flipping through a dubstep track, unsatisfied. Her brain was still active, also, because I was still here, talking to myself where she couldn't hear me. Worrying.

Faint feminine voices drifted into earshot, and I caught some of what was being said.

“No...but they found...not inside...”

“Why? I can't...it's...”

“Right...and yes, she's paralysed...mm-hmm, very lucky girl.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Paralysed? She moaned, fear locked in her throat, and her eyes fluttered open. The room bathed in a dim gray light. I caught a glimpse of two figures standing near an open door, wearing white.

Her eyes closed, an ugly adrenaline in the pit of her chest threatening to trigger tears. Where am I? she thought, and she seemed satisfied with the perceived situation. I knew what she was about to add before she did; she'd already processed her presumption. A hospital. She liked the sound of that, at least. No school, lots of attention, unfamiliarity from home, unfamiliarity from him.

After some time, someone entered the room, and she pretended to be asleep. The person pulled up a chair next to her, the sound of its legs resting on the tiled floor at our bedside. Then he placed his hand on her swollen forehead. I knew it was a he. I remembered his deceiving touch. It was rough, big and firm. She knew too, because her heart rate increased and she held her breath.

“Kate,” he said in a low rumble, his thumb rubbing the bloody gauze wrapped over her forehead. “Why?”

Her eyes remained closed. She was good at pretending. She pretended the bruises and scars on her body were nothing when people asked. Pretended she liked her father's groping, his caress when he'd make her cuddle half naked. Pretended she was happy. Her voice screamed inside her mind, reminding him to lay off, that she was his daughter, 'asleep' and defenceless.

His hand tightened on her wound. Through clenched teeth he said, “Why, Katelyn?”

She made a noise and stirred, a deep soreness spiking between her eyes. “Stop,” she said under her breath.

“Ya know what's best for you,” I told her, blind and oblivious to any possible actions he might make next. “Don't give in. Open your eyes.”

Kate held her mouth ajar, but nothing came out. She wanted to tell him to get his hands off her, but even if she could get the words flowing, she wouldn't know how to go about it. For a while now, she had been his puppet. She was forgiving, though, because she loved him. Deep down. He was her father, her—ahem, secondary—protector, albeit not a good one. But with me around, she knew between right and wrong. Deep down—where I lingered—she was aware he had no morals, but she didn't know where else to go on this Earth. He was all she knew. His actions, his words, his touch.

Death always seemed the best way to go.

“Kate, get up if you know what's best for you. You do. You do!” I said, on my hands and knees.

Stop! she thought, pain and wooziness numbing her. Please.

“You were trying to get away from me, weren't you,” he whispered louder, closer.

I could tell he was furious she fell from her bedroom window. He knew she had tried to commit suicide. We all knew. In complete darkness, I was overwhelmed with tension and voices, so many voices.

A sound rumbled past her lips and she managed to open her eyes. She looked up at him, trying so hard to fight. To win. His expression was dense, his eyes bloodshot, and he still hadn't shaved that hairy beast off his upper lip.

He grabbed her neck and she struggled to breathe. Her trachea slipped and crunched beneath his grip, pressure in her head intensifying like a balloon ready to pop. “You're going to recover,” he said, leaning so close to her that his prickly lip brushed her ear. He then kissed it, the tip of his slimy tongue grazing her earlobe, and she tried to pull away but, of course, failed. “And then you're going to come home. Like a good girl.”

Her eyebrows were pulled together with discomfort and anger, and her laboured breathing frightened her. Her heart rate had picked up speed, as though she were on speed.

“Kate!” I said, my voice an echo of itself, distanced.

She drew in a sharp breath; her stomach lurched. When hot, ragged breath squeezed past her lips, it felt like we were falling from the window again. Her eyes grew heavy, heart slowing now, vision clouding. I nearly cried at her effort. I could feel her trying to pull-start this freezing chainsaw, but time was slithering away.

“Kate, don't!” I said. This couldn't be it.

Everything went black.

I could hear her heart beat slow, slower—until it thudded one last time and stopped.

A fuzzy, comforting warmness swaddled us, as though we were newborns. But we didn't cry. There was no more pain, no more Daddy Dearest.

There was freedom.

And for that, we smiled.