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The Story: To gain and to lose something you hold so precious to your heart can drive you insane… A daughter in pain and depression wants to lose her small grip on life. A boy of incompetence crushes her soul into a million pieces. A mother in depression picks up the broken pieces and suffers ever more when watching her daughter devour herself physically and mentally. In her dream lies a kingdom of eternal peace and happiness. A man who has the eyes of an angel holds the story hidden behind the mother’s heart. A woman of psychosis carries a passion for vengeance against the mother. Who will survive and who will be annihilated? Only the story of a mother can reveal the answers to these questions… “If love were powerful enough, could it save the ones you hold close to your broken heart? If it is… then please, just let me love.”
Please, Just Let Me Love
Part I
Chapter I: Blood and Tears
Crying. Why do I hear crying? Who’s crying? The water’s running upstairs. I paced upstairs, two steps at a time. Slowly walking down the narrow dimmed hall to the last room on the left, I was about to put my hand on the doorknob and just swing the door open when I felt cold water slide under my bare feet, chilling my toes. Oh, no.
I quickly grasped the doorknob, swung the door wide open, and what had filled my vision was an incomprehensible, terrifying sight, like out of a Hollywood horror film; it made me want to gag.
There I saw the bathtub running constantly, the water overflowing the edges. The vanity mirror had a huge broken glass stain in the center, like something hard and heavy had been thrown at it violently.
The sink also had its water turned on and overflowing – but the water was not as clear as the tub’s – there was a pink tinge to the liquid trapped in the sink. There were small bath towels strewn everywhere, all covered in a deep crimson color.
The cries got louder and even more twisting and gripping to my heart.
I looked right beside the bottom of the sink. I saw her, bared skin and cuddled up with her arms wrapped around her bent knees. Blood, there’s so much blood. I felt sick and now I had really wanted to gag.
I swallowed down my sudden trepidation and looked on at her with sorrowful eyes. Her clouded, dimmed blue eyes just couldn’t stop its tears from running. They just kept gliding down her heart-shaped face like little waterfalls. She looked so fragile, so delicate.
I knew this would happen again.
Through her moans and cries, she incoherently mumbled, “Mom, I-I’m, I’m sorry. I’m so, so… so sorry.”
My numb legs could barely keep me standing. I walked towards my timid, crying daughter and fell down to the floor on my knees next to her, wrapping my arms around her trembling body securely.
“Shh, it’s okay, Jules, it’s okay. I’m here.”
I comforted her as much as I could… I felt all the pain she felt, even without the slits on my bare forearms and wrists. I rested my head softly on top of hers.
“Shh, don’t worry, I’m here for you. Stop crying...”
I didn’t know what else to do or say.
What could you say to a daughter who just tried to kill herself just moments before? I felt the hot tears trickling down my own eyes, mingling with her tears and blood on the cold tiled floor.
Pain. That was what we both felt right at that moment. That damn, bloody sensation.
A moment ago I had just been making toast and coffee down in the kitchen and now, I’m up here sitting in a pool of water and blood, shushing and cooing my broken daughter. She doesn’t deserve this. She never did.
It seemed like a whole hour or two had passed before her cries had silenced and the only sound left was her small hiccups and sniffling.
I just held her in my arms, rocking her back and forth, whispering comforting words that a mother is supposed to say to a daughter who’s upset and crying.
This moment of silent pain gave me those chills again. Those kind of chills that just all of a sudden creep up on your spine until it seeps through into all of your blood, making your body stiffen and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. God, I hate this.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?” My daughter finally looked up to my face, her tired blue orbs locking with my grayish blue ones.
With a shaky voice, she quietly muttered out, “I want to go to bed now.” She sounded like a girl at the age of seven, when really she was nine years above that time.
Slowly and quietly as I got up I pulled her up holding her elbows, steadying her weight on her trembling legs. With slow and steady steps, we walked out of the bathroom with me behind her lest gravity happened to pull her down. We walked down to the opposite end of the hall, into another hallway on the right and entered her black bedroom.
I flicked on the light switch; the medium-sized room illuminated with a bright yellow light from the small chandelier hanging down from the ceiling’s center.
I watched my daughter sluggishly pad to her bed. It was covered in pink and white flower designs and was a bit too high for her to just plop herself down on it.
I left her there and walked across the room to her dresser and picked out a fresh pair of thick woolen socks, a plain long sleeved shirt and a pair of slacks. I walked back to the bed and handed the clothing over to my daughter. As soon as she had picked them up off from my offering hands I walked briskly to the door, placed my hand on the cold doorknob.
“If there’s anything you need, Jules, just ask me, okay?”
I turned the knob after I heard Jules whisper an ‘okay’ and strode out back down the halls to the main staircase (actually it’s the only staircase in this house) leading back to the kitchen.
With my mind numb and feeling a bit lightheaded, all I could think of was that the toasts must be burned by now.
I ran my fingertips gently across the cool marbled counter all the way to the toaster. Yeah, I was right. The toasts were burned. I grabbed them quickly out of the toaster and threw them into the nearest trash bin.
The coffee was still hot in its small pot. I opened the cabinet above the sink and took my favorite mug out. It was ceramic with a painted design, consisting of Japanese calligraphy all around the sides of the mug.
In its language that was alien to me, it had three words, or properly known as characters, making up one phrase (which I had assumed and was correct) that was repeated all around the sides of the mug.
There was a translation in the most subtle place where you’d never think it would be – at the bottom of the mug.
It translated the three foreign characters as “I love you.”
I sighed and thought, How ironic.
I pour myself half a cup of the black steamy liquid, placed the coffee pot back on its holder and sauntered off to the living room. Plopping myself down onto one of the mahogany velvet couches I grabbed a small gray remote and pressed the power button to ‘ON’.
The radio that was resting next to the plasma television automatically went on and played my favorite song, Enrique Iglesias’ ‘Hero’. I gave one last glance to the radio, seeing that the time was 8:32 p.m. and then willed myself to close my eyes.
I tried to relax and calm myself on the soft, fluffy furniture and sipped a bit of the hot coffee; however, this tactic of mine wasn’t working very well. I guess this time our song wasn’t working its magic on my distressed nerves.
I couldn’t stop the recurring flashes in my mind of the terrifying moment that had just occurred.
The cries, tears, blood, and terror – they all just came to me, overwhelmed me to the farthest extent of my tolerance for pain; and it all just happened in a split of a second.
My nightmares came rushing back out of nowhere.
Oh, fuck! My head…
The pounding wouldn’t stop. Sitting up, I quickly placed my mug still filled with the warm coffee down on the low table in front of me and pressed the palm of my hands against my temples. I ran small circles over and over them but the sharp pain just kept coming, ever stronger during each passing minute.
I need aspirin. Damn it! I wanted to curse and scream aloud. I wanted to break something badly. But then, of course, I thought twice about it.
She’ll hear me.
I didn’t want her to hear my pain. I also didn’t want her to hear either my profanity or me breaking things in the house. I wanted to keep her safe and I wouldn’t be able to do that if I caused her pain too, now would I?
The pain subsided after three minutes – although, it felt more like thirty minutes of pure suffering. I sighed loudly; I suddenly felt exasperated and tired. I grabbed the nearest pillow, one of a satin burgundy color, and sank back down on the couch and closed my tired eyelids.
I rubbed my face into the pillow, inhaling its homely fragrance. I smelled a faint scent of jasmine on it, too. It was probably from the air freshener.
I remembered Julia told me it was her favorite scent – that was eleven years ago.
Jasmine, the smell of Chinese flowers.
She had instantly fallen in love with it when we were on our vacation at Shanghai. She was five years old. Such a long time ago… how did time pass by me so fast? I sighed again and fell asleep instantly, faintly knowing that I would soon fall into my dead visions of blood and tears again.
