The Heartbroken - S01 E39

Story 2 years ago

The Heartbroken - S01 E39

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 39

*CONTINUES*

I was nine years old

when cancer took him

away from us.

It was such a stupid,

stupid reason for a

person to die. I don’t

remember much about

the day he died, only

that there was a lot of

crying and hugging and

I’m sorry. In fact, I

don’t remember much

about his last days at

all, save for the image

of him looking paler and

thinner every day,

trying to talk and crack

a joke, trying to laugh

at my stories, trying to

stay awake as much as

possible, but mostly

just trying not to die.

There was one night

that Mom cried so hard

it scared me.

I brought a book to the

hospital. It was one of

his favorites, though

right now I can’t seem

to remember which of

the dog-eared books it

was. I pulled the seat

next to his bed and

said, “Look, Daddy. It’s

your book.”

This, I remember

clearly. He had looked at

me with dim eyes,

almost already half-

asleep, but they were

shining with tears as he

said, “Read it aloud. So I

can hear.”

I kept mispronouncing

the words, even

skipping the ones with

too many letters. I

messed up the lines. I

kept stuttering as I

stumbled past the

words. But none of that

seemed to matter.

After a few minutes,

just before Dad dozed

off, he took my hand in

his and said, “Great job,

sweetie. That was the

best version I’ve heard

in my entire life.”

And he didn’t just try to

stay awake, didn’t just

try to talk, didn’t just

try to look me straight

in the eye. What really

made Mom cry so hard

was when he tried to

smile.

It was the last time he

smiled.

It was so, so stupid. He

didn’t smoke, hardly

drank beer, didn’t even

do anything that could

ever harm his body. It

was nothing but a bad

mixture of genes and

heredity, f-----g up his

life and his family’s life,

leaving behind a

dysfunctional mother

who was never home

and a nine-year-old girl

who shut herself out of

the world, trying to

read the books her

father used to read,

having no idea what

most of the words

meant, as if reading

them would bring him

back, as if reading the

words would bring the

smile back.

That was when Cedric

came into the picture.

When I was alone,

antisocial, and mostly

just sad. Cedric came

along and became my

friend. Then he said he

liked me and we began

to go out. He made

everything seem all

right.

Only to tear it apart

again.

It seemed too much,

too much, too much to

bear so I quickly got out

of the house. There

were too many feelings

coming from the

memories. I needed to

get out.

I had no idea where I

was going—just that I

needed to go. I had to

leave. It was

suffocating. I just want

to forget every f-----g

thing in the world.

Letting go was always

harder than holding on

because most times,

people are afraid to fall.

I can’t seem to let go

of all these things

dragging me behind.

I just want to lock

everything up and store

all these memories

away, never to think or

talk about them again.

Before I knew it, I was

at the local park,

walking aimlessly in the

dim orange glow of the

streetlights. There

were a few dog-

walkers around and

some couples probably

making out in the dark.

Few cars were parked

and fewer people

seemed to care. I’d just

began regretting not

bringing a jacket when a

voice made me stop.

“Kyla?”