Renascence Ch. 04

Authors Note:

Thank you for letting me share this story with you. Those who have been voting, commenting and emailing, thank you so so much. Your continued support has been inspiring me to dig deep and write something truly meaningful. I've been trying to face the uncomfortable emotions to honor the integrity of Grace's character. It's been hard, but also very rewarding.

I hope reading this story will touch you as deeply as it has touched me to write it for you.

More to come soon :)

Cheers,

Nora

—

Renascence

Noun:

The revival of something that has been dormant

—

I always slept in the fetal position.

It was like I was still in the womb, swimming in all the red, taking no breaths but still existing, still living even though I wasn't born, wasn't alive. But I hadn't been alone in the womb. Emma had been there, her heart ticking in that way that watches do, slow, methodical, calculated by her brain, running the factory of her body, her mind the foreman, giving orders while all she did was existed. And I'd existed too, right beside her, my body growing faster than hers, as if I was sucking out all the life force, taking everything and leaving her the leftovers. I'd taken so much from her then, and I've taken so much from her now.

That was why she'd been the smaller of the two of us. Shorter than me by a quarter of an inch, stunted by all that I had stolen from her. She hadn't minded it when she was alive, hadn't cared because I suspected that she loved me more than herself, almost as if loving me was loving herself, but I wondered if she would care now. I'd never asked for forgiveness, never given it a second thought until she wasn't there anymore, until it was too late to ask all the questions never asked. It was like an argument, the kind you'd think about in the shower later, replaying it and thinking of all the things you should've said — that was my life now, an argument with myself. I was angry because there was so much I wanted to say and I only had myself to blame, like I was stealing from myself too, taking away the opportunities that would've helped me win the goddamn argument.

We might've been middle-aged before I would've realized that I had a lot to apologize for. I'd always been a burden on her, always sticking to her like plastic wrap, molding myself around her, becoming her second skin, clinging to her because the only real purpose that plastic wrap serves is sticking to things.

The anxiety attacks hadn't started because she'd died. It wasn't as if they'd been a dormant disease, the fire only ignited the second things began to fall apart. No, I'd always been weak, always anxious, always rethinking and reevaluating and wondering if I was doing anything right. As long as Emma was there to lead the way, as long as she set the example that yes, this is the way we do things, I'd been able to live with it. Skinned knees were okay, crying was okay, getting a C+ on a paper was okay because that was life and that was the way the world worked. Like darkness and light, failure was the absence of success. Without it, you might not truly understand success at all.

But now Emma is not here to show me the way. Now I'm on this dark path that I can't escape, planting one foot in front of the other, trying to fill the void in the center of my chest with heavy emotions, the kind that weigh me down and make me tired, so fucking tired.

And so I sleep in the fetal position, making room for a person that is not there.

—

Gabriel Hart was not Emma's replacement. She was clear weather on a summer day, but Gabe was the thunderstorm, rumbling in the darkness, flashing bolts of lightning to show me that things could still be bright, but then taking it away because he was still a storm, and storms always mean destruction. And if he was the thunder, then I was the rain—something that the clouds wanted to get rid of, something that weighed too much to deal with, something that only existed to fall.

We acted as if nothing had happened. Tender touches, tender kisses, tender gazes, all swept under the rug so that we could walk over it, stomping out the ashes from the fire. We shared the same air in the classroom, whispering breaths that had meant something one day, and then the next it was lost amongst all the other breaths, all the other people that mattered as little as we pretended that we did to each other.

Chemistry was supposed to be some bullshit made up by Hollywood, but I couldn't kid myself—chemistry was fucking real. Gabe and I were elements that reacted badly, but under the right conditions we might've created something new, like some advancement worth telling the world about if only we hadn't been some fucked up experiment in the back of the school, sharing kisses and sharing secrets that could never be told. We had radiated toward each other, magnetic, drawn by forces that didn't really make sense because science really hasn't come that far. There was no way to explain feeling so much for a person that you barely knew.

And so I wrote it off as chemistry.

We kept on ignoring each other all the way up to the day before Christmas, the day that we were being let out for a short break to celebrate the holidays that we didn't really deserve. We didn't exchange hellos or goodbyes, but sometimes we caught eyes, speaking across the room in silence, trying not to look like we wanted the same thing. Our eyes said all the things we couldn't, speaking its own language, sharing the madness. Sometimes his eyes would soften, looking at me like I was a tragic little teenager, and it sucked because I couldn't even correct him. I wanted to tell him that I could survive this. I was surviving everything else, things like death and despair, so yes Gabe, I'll survive this. I'll survive you.

I tried to work on my speech. I had to give it in front of the class on January 2nd, the last day in the torture chamber winter session class. I thought about writing about wine because Mrs. White had given me the idea, but wine sounded stupid when I put my pen to paper. Who gives a fuck about wine anyways? Dad maybe, but fuck Dad.

I could only write poetry that didn't really make sense. The words strung together in cobwebs in my brain, linking together but not creating anything that could catch flies. I wrote in my little purple notebook, scribbling nonsense just so I could transfer that nonsense out of my brain and leave it on paper instead. I wrote about this, about Gabe being a thunderstorm, about Emma in the womb, about the void that I kept trying to fill.

—

Christmas was exactly as depressing and stupid as I'd predicted it would be. Mom and Grandma fought about trivial things, getting into the little things until somehow they got lost in the big things, bringing up shit that was twenty years old. Resentment was so heavy at the dinner table that you could almost taste it, until you could taste nothing else. Turkey and mashed potatoes and green beans and everything American sat on the table, a feast made for a group of people that were pretending really hard that they were a family when they didn't know the first thing about it.

A few days after Christmas I got an express delivery box from Dad. It was almost like I'd been an afterthought, one that kept gnawing at him in the back of his mind until he just gave in, sending me gifts so he could make himself feel better. I dropped off the box at the post office without opening it. I wasn't feeling that generous this Christmas. Satisfaction wasn't cheap, and I couldn't afford to give it him.

Things changed a little on New Year's Eve. We didn't watch the ball drop on TV or anything, but we all sort of sat together in the living room and tried existing around each other. Grandma knitted like she was on the cover of Grandmother Weekly, and Grandpa whittled a piece of wood making something that I couldn't be bothered to make out. Mom went through her phone, probably stalking old high school boyfriends because she could afford satisfaction and it was a gift she fully intended on spoiling herself with. I read Pride and Prejudice because I was really hungry for a bullshit love story. I wanted to read about Mr. Darcy, the shittiest love interest of all time. The arrogant, egotistic bastard that had to buy Lizzy's love. Sometimes it was nice to read about shitty guys to distract your brain from thinking about nice guys—the nice guy.

He texted me at midnight.

We were only human. Humans aren't really good at resisting temptation. Read a history book if you want proof. We destroy everything, and its all rooted from temptation.

Gabe: I'm sorry about everything.

Me: I am too.

Gabe: I didn't check to see how you were doing. I should have texted you sooner.

Me: There's no rulebook for this. You're just protecting yourself. It's understandable.

Gabe: I'm not protecting myself. I'm protecting you.

See, I wish he hadn't said that. They're 'nice guy' words. The genuine kind, not the kind that come from neckbeards that pretend to be your friend so they can get in your pants and then call you a whore when you reject them. I think Gabe did get tempted to get in my pants after I acted like a deranged cocktease, but his intention had never been to hurt me. For a few hours we'd lost control together, but then it was over and we just sort of pretended that we were okay with it. His texts suck because it confirms that he's just like me—that he's been pretending. We both cared too much and I don't think either of us understood why.

Me: I'm sorry I did this to you.

Gabe: I did this. I hurt you.

Me: You didn't. We'll get over it. How are you?

Gabe: I'm alright. How are you holding up? How's break?

Me: It's a nightmare. My family is pretty dysfunctional.

Gabe: I get that. Mine is too. How's your speech coming along?

Me: I haven't written a word. I don't know what to write about.

Gabe: Emotions are powerful. Write about something that you feel strongly about.

Me: Would it be a bad idea to write about you?

Gabe: Lol probably. Anything else come to mind? Something sane maybe?

Me: I don't function within the confines sanity.

Gabe: You will. I promise you will.

Me: I could write about Emma. My sister.

Gabe: That might be good for you. I used to write letters to Kev. It helped.

Me: Does it ever stop hurting?

Gabe: No. But it does become bearable over time. You just have to learn how to cope with it.

Me: Were you the one driving? In the accident?

Gabe: Yeah. I was about your age when it happened. I was so excited about getting my drivers license that I started driving around everywhere. Kev always wanted to tag along. My mom didn't want us wasting the afternoon at the mall but I didn't listen to her. I still wonder how different things could have been if I'd just listened to her.

Me: Emma offered to drive because I was really anxious about getting behind the wheel. I insisted on driving. I wanted to conquer my fear. I still wonder how different things could have been if I'd just listened to her too.

Gabe: That's how it is at first. You'll replay that day over and over. You'll wonder what you could have done differently. You'll stop being present in the world. You'll stop trying. You'll stop living. But you have to remember that your sister loved you. She wouldn't have wanted this life for you. Make your peace with it. You can spend the rest of your life wasting away or you can live enough for the both of you. You can honor her memory. Coping is not about forgetting what happened or even forgiving ourselves. It's learning how to live with it. Some things really are out our of control. We don't control fate. We just control how we feel about it. Took me a long time to come to terms with that.

Me: Why do all this? This goes beyond the requirements of your job.

Gabe: I don't think I'm capable of watching you suffer. You shouldn't be going through this alone. I know I'm playing with fire here. I shouldn't even be texting you right now, but the clock struck midnight and the only New Year's resolution I could think of was helping you. You may not need me, but I'll be here anyways. I just wanted you to know that.

Me: Does that mean we're friends?

Gabe: We are.

Me: I've never made a friend without Emma's help before. I've always been shy.

Gabe: You're capable of making friends. You just got used to letting someone else do it for you. You're funny, intelligent, perceptive and a little infuriating, but I like that about you. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend.

Me: Aren't you scared of me?

Gabe: I'm terrified of you.

Me: Haha so why do you want to be my friend? Why are you doing this?

Gabe: Because the thought of you fucking up your life scares me more.

Me: Wouldn't you get fired for texting me?

Gabe: Probably.

Me: Then this isn't a good idea. This could ruin your life.

Gabe: I really don't give a fuck as long as its saving yours.

I realized then that all the friends I'd ever had were superficial ones, the kind you'd hang out with and celebrate birthdays with and laugh about stupid shit with, but Gabe was teaching me that this is what friendship was really about. Being there for someone, putting yourself on the line, being selfless and supportive and kind, so fucking kind that it fills up your whole heart, until it feels like it'll burst because there's no way to contain all the feelings. I was so overwhelmed that I honestly felt like crying.

Me: How did you learn how to be such a good person?

Gabe: Years ago when I was a fucked up teenager someone showed me kindness. That person pretty much saved my life.

Me: You've mastered the art of paying it forward.

Gabe: I wouldn't put it that way. I haven't mastered anything.

Me: That's bullshit. You're an amazing person. Whoever that person is, you're making them proud.

Gabe: That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.

Me: I'm a fucked up teenager. Someone showed me kindness. I'm a pretty fast learner ;)

Gabe: Lol you're such a smartass.

Me: You like it :)

Gabe: I do so I'll take full responsibility for encouraging it. Get started on that speech.

Me: It's like one in the morning.

Gabe: Then go to sleep. Or would you rather work on that speech?

Me: There's no third option?

Gabe: No :P

Me: I think I'll pick sleep. I'll work on the speech in the morning.

Gabe: Goodnight, Grace. Sweet dreams.

Me: You too :) thanks for everything btw

Gabe: Anytime :)

What was that saying? When life closes a door it opens a window or whatever? That's probably not how it goes, but I like to think it does because right now it felt like a window had been thrown wide open. The clouds were clearing, if only for just a little while, and maybe for now I could enjoy the clear summer day, remembering Emma and remembering the way she had made everything beautiful. I could go back to those skinned knees, of falling in front of everyone on the playground, of feeling that humiliation until Emma was pretending to fall too, pretending to cry because she knew that as long as she was with me, as long as we fucked up together then it was all going to be okay.

Emma's not here anymore, but she taught me that you could still be okay after bad things happened to you.

And so I slept in the fetal position, feeling the emptiness beside me where she should have been, but tonight I didn't cry. Tonight I just tried to remember how it felt to be okay.

—

Gabe had said that emotions are powerful, but what he hadn't realized was that the most powerful emotions are the bad ones. I had to shut those emotions away for a few hours, making room for some of the good so that I could write my speech. My good emotions aren't as powerful as they used to be; they're dim, bleak, muted, but I'm stripping them out of my brain, digging through all the files, looking for where they hide because I needed them today. I look for all the memories, the beautiful ones that don't taste like blood in my mouth, the ones that don't remind me of big blue eyes, vacant and lifeless, the eyes that looked just like mine, just as blue as the sky on a clear summer day.

I wrote about Emma, but not really. Mainly what it was like to have a twin because for some reason that has always fascinated the world. The difference between monozygotic (identical) and dizygotic (fraternal) twins, getting right down to the biology and of it without getting into the sex aspect. I didn't really want a room full of hormonal teenagers thinking about my parents having sex.

I touched a bit on twin telepathy, how there's no science to really prove it, but I wrote a few pretty good points because let me tell you, it exists. I gave examples that were really weird, like how Emma broke her wrist and I felt it for weeks; how I wanted an ice cream from McDonald's and across town Emma was eating one; how Emma got nauseous on a cruise ship and I threw up even though I was fine.

It was a good essay. I made strong points backed up with sources, and tied everything together with a conclusion that I hoped was going to leave a lasting impression. I probably could've gotten an A if it wasn't for the fact that the damn thing was a speech and a big part of the grade would come from how I delivered it in a room full of people I really didn't give a shit about.

I practiced it in my room, pacing like a goddamn lunatic, saying the words out loud until I couldn't recognize my own voice anymore. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to do it. I even texted Gabe to see if there was any way to get out of it, but he told me not to push my luck. No favoritism, I guess.

—

The class clapped. Like seriously. They fucking clapped.

"Any questions for Grace?"

I shot Gabe a look. As if giving the fucking speech wasn't bad enough. The corners of his lips twitched, suppressing a smile, a cheeky little fucked up smug type of smile that he was lucky he couldn't show in class because otherwise I might be fully tempted to wipe it off his face.

"Go ahead, Charlie."

The girl with the pink hair lowered her hand and gave me one of her warm smiles. I think her name was short for Charlotte, but I could see why she would prefer Charlie. She didn't look like a Charlotte, not because she wasn't sweet enough for it, but because people with pink hair and neon green nails and a tattoo of stars behind the ear were better fitted for a Charlie. I liked her though, Charlie or Charlotte or whatever. She was nice.

"The twin telepathy stuff was really interesting. Do you know if it works from a distance too? Like across the world?"

"I don't have any personal experiences of it since my sister and I never travelled out of the country without each other, but I did hear some stories at a twin convention from twins that were separated at birth. I don't know if they could read each other's minds when they met, but they did have a connection right away."

Miranda raised her hand and I wished like hell that Gabe could read my mind because I didn't want to fucking deal with her.

"Miranda?"

Fuck.

"Where's your sister now? Do you still 'feel' her or whatever?"

Ha, Gabe looked mortified. Served him right.

"I think that's all the time we have for questions. How about we move on to the next speech?"