Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I’ve always admired writers. People that can sit down with a blank piece of paper and create a masterpiece out of the English language. Someone who can transform an empty space into a fantasy world with just the scribbling of a pen. Someone who can create characters so relatable to our own lives. Someone who can create a home just within the pages of a book. Now, that’s just unbelievable to me.

I liked to write. Trust me, I was no Dickens or Hemmingway, but I still liked to get my thoughts down on paper. It soothed me when nothing else seemed to do the trick.

Alex was the one who originally got me into it. She used to bring these journals with her to class and write in them. She was so sly because everyone thought she was taking notes when she was really just entering her own mind. Her journals were incredibly elusive, and Alex being protective of them was simply an understatement. She cherished those damn journals, and I always wondered what she wrote about. Maybe she wrote about how much she couldn’t stand being surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about her. People who didn’t care about anyone but themselves. Maybe she wrote about her boyfriend, Noah, and how much she loved him. Maybe she wrote about me. Who knows?

All I know is that writing would be my safe place today. After breakfast, I went up to my room, I mean, the guest room, and sat down at the desk. I opened the top drawer and pulled out my clean, purple notebook, engraved with my name in silver lining at the bottom of the page. My grandmother had bought it for me on my fifteenth birthday. I thought it was some kind of a joke or something because she knew I hated school. I immediately shoved it away in my closet along with the rest of the pile of useless things I’d never use.

Alex suggested I write one day. I didn’t really take it to heart. But after beating myself up after she died, I figured I owed her this. It’s the least I could do. So, I sat down at my grandmother’s kitchen table with a piece of ripped notebook paper and a pencil, and wrote. I didn’t know exactly what to write. I thought for a long time and decided I’d write a letter to Alex, even though I knew she’d never be able to read it. I wrote until my hand felt numb and the tip of my pencil was dull. And then I stopped. I couldn’t bear reading through it again, so I immediately folded it up and placed it into an envelope. I shoved it in my purse, and didn’t look at it again. That is until I finally got the nerve to visit her last night.

Since that first letter, I found the notebook in my closet and used those pages to display my thoughts, feelings, everything. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if someone found it. There’s some pretty gruesome stuff inside. I don’t think I could manage to explain that to anyone. Most of the time, I didn’t have a purpose or idea. I just wrote whatever was in my head.

I never really had a problem thinking of something to write, but when my grandmother died, my mind went blank. I strongly considered burning the notebook. Not because I didn’t like it. I just didn’t want another reminder of her lying around. She was my everything, and seeing her go destroyed me. I didn’t even know I had anything more in me to be destroyed. This was the first time I’d held the notebook in my hands since her death. Too many emotions were circulating around my head. Why did she have to go so soon? All I really want is a chance to see her one last time and tell her how much I truly loved her.  I glanced over at the nightstand and saw the bottle of pills. Sometimes I really do wish this whole thing would just end. It wouldn’t even hurt, I thought.

Thankfully, a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. “Charlie, can I come in?” It was Caleb’s voice. Caleb? What did he want?

“Give me one second,” I stuttered, shoving the notebook back into the top drawer of the desk. I inhaled deeply and exhaled as I walked to the door. My fingers felt the round doorknob and I held my hand there for a moment before opening the door and finding Caleb standing before me. “Yes?” I asked curiously.

He stared into my eyes without saying a word. I stared back, confused. “I’m waiting,” I prompted again. Still, nothing. I crossed my arms. If he wasn’t even going to say something, there was no point in standing around, waiting for him. I turned, and took one step back, but he grabbed my arm and spun me around like I had done in the hallway six months ago. His lips smacked against mine in a wave of fury. His hand fitted around the back of my head, pushing me into him. I began to feel unsteady as though I was going to collapse to my knees, but he somehow seemed to catch me just in time. This kiss was nothing like my kiss with Noah a couple of days ago. This one was forceful yet passionate. We had kissed many times before, but nothing like this. Our lips released, and I stood back, utterly shocked.

Caleb was staring at the ground, looking slightly embarrassed. His cheeks reddened and I took note of it. We hadn’t said more than a few words to each other in a month. I needed an explanation. “Caleb, I"”

“I am still so in love with you, Charlie,” he stated firmly, looking into my eyes. My heart skipped a beat and my eyes widened. Nobody had ever told me those words before. It was an empowering feeling, yet I couldn’t help but question how. How could he love me? He had abandoned me. Left me stranded and with no explanation. He couldn’t possibly love me.

“Caleb, I"”

“Let me finish,” he stated, grabbing my right hand. His hand was warm against my cold fingertips. “I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. You walked into my church wearing that little, pink dress. You were only eleven and already the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I was standing beside my father, helping him pass out programs for mass. I remember you smiling politely at my father as he greeted you at the door. You said hello to both of us as you and your grandmother walked past. You had the sweetest little smile. And as you took your seat in the fourth row, I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

He paused for a moment. He had never told me that before. Was this all true? I couldn’t process the thoughts in my head. I wanted to speak, but I didn’t know what to even say.

“For years, you were the only girl I saw,” he continued. “The only girl that was ever on my mind. I watched you every day, Charlie. I drove past you every morning as you walked to school. So many times I had wanted to stop and pick you up, but I didn’t have the courage to do so.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t know any of this. He had never told me. Why hadn’t he?

“I watched you walk through the halls to meet up with Noah. That killed me inside. The way he looked at you with such desire.” His eyes shifted to the ground, and a slight chuckle escaped his lips. “Come on, Charlie, I know you spent nights at his house.”

Noah looked at me with desire? Had I been so blinded that I hadn’t seen this? Noah was a temporary solution to an ongoing problem. Nothing more. And Caleb knew that Noah never meant anything to me. He was my friend, but that’s it. Why would Caleb be saying all of these things about him? I was confused.

“He didn’t deserve you Charlie,” he stated, looking up at me again.

“What are you talking about? He never had me.” I stated. What did he mean Noah didn’t deserve me? Noah and I were never anything. And either way, why didn’t he deserve me? He was nothing but good to me. He became my vice when nothing else could. Anger started fixating in my brain. How could he be saying all of these awful things about someone he knew I cared about?

Caleb’s cheeks reddened again. He fidgeted and shifted from one foot to the other. He seemed anxious or nervous or something. “What is it?” I prompted again.

“Noah and I got into a fight,” he said quietly. I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I laughed. Yes, Noah was the type to get in a fight. I’ve seen him do it before. But not with Caleb? Not a scrawny little thing like him. If he went up against Noah, he would’ve faced death head on, and Noah knew better than to hurt someone I cared about.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Caleb. Why do you think I would ever believe a word you say? There’s no way in hell you got into a fight with Noah,” I responded, chuckling to myself at how ridiculous he was being. He frowned, letting go of my hand. I could tell by the vein popping out in his forehead that he was getting angry. But I knew better. Noah wouldn’t have done such a thing.

 “Believe me,” he insisted. I looked up finding his eyes absorbed in mine. I missed those eyes.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I said. “I need some time to think.” He sighed and nodded, respecting my wishes. He left the room, carefully closing the door behind him. Just breathe, I told myself. In and out, in and out. What was happening to me? How was I supposed to trust Caleb when he had abandoned me without an explanation? And now he was trying to convince me that he and Noah got into a fight? But then again, if he didn’t care about me I wouldn’t be under his roof right now. And what about Noah? Why had he been so distant this past month?

Around the time Caleb and I started talking, things started to change. Noah didn’t call as often or care to see me. We sort of just drifted apart. The last time I had spoken to him was the weekend he took me to his parents’ cabin. I guess it was sort of a goodbye trip for him. I didn’t know where he had gone or who he was with. I know I should’ve questioned it more, but as long as I had someone’s attention, I figured I’d be alright. I guess I never thought about how my actions would affect anyone else. Was this my fault? Did I push Noah away by falling for Caleb? I couldn’t stand all of the thoughts torturing my mind.

I sat down at the desk, and scribbled down my scattered thoughts until my hand was trembling. I was pressing down so hard that the thin lined paper of my notebook began ripping. But even the writing wasn’t sufficing in dulling out my thoughts like it usually did. I tore out the perfect page from my notebook and ripped it to shreds. And that’s when I thought of Alex. How disappointed she would be if she saw me ridicule the only thing that ever got her through another day. I couldn’t stop thinking about how many times I had let her down, and even though this was just a small example, it held the weight of so much more. I glanced around the dull, white room searching for something to stop the memories of Alex, but there was nothing. Even this empty space reminded me of her sorrow and I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed to the door and ran to the bathroom across the hall.

The walls were painted burgundy and everything from the soap dispenser to the wall decorations appeared to be matching the reddish tint. Locking the door behind me, I placed my hands on the edge of the sink and looked into the mirror. Who had I even become? Where did the wild, little girl running around in her braid go? I had become a failure. Disappointing people seemed to be the only thing I was actually good at. My body felt numb. I wanted to cry, but no tears were coming. I was the sole reason that Alex was dead, I had pushed Noah out of my life, and I couldn’t even trust the boy I thought I loved. What the hell happened to me?

My breathing quickened as I stared into my own reflection. It felt as though I wasn’t even looking at an image of myself, but of someone I didn’t even recognize. Bloodshot eyes and a vanished smile. My body became stiff as I rubbed my eyes, attempting to change the image I saw in the mirror. But nothing could hide the fact that I had disappointed everyone who’s ever given me a reason to live. Frantically, I opened the top drawer of the vanity and found the spare razor blades. Carefully, I picked one out and closed my eyes to get the image of that face out of my head. If cutting had helped my mother and Alex, maybe it could solve my problems too. I traced the edge of the blade against my wrist. It rolled over my veins with ease. My eyes shut tighter as I gripped the razor harder, leaving my knuckles pure white. I couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would really be. I inhaled deeply one last time as I sliced the razor against my skin with one sharp movement. Once, twice, then three times, then four. I could feel the sharp pain of the blade cutting deep into my wrist as I finally released. My right hand was shaking uncontrollably. What the f**k did I just do?

I relaxed my shoulders, and slowly placed the razor on the counter. My eyes were still closed tight. I could feel the pain of the wound and the blood running down my hand but it was nothing compared to the deep aching inside of my body. The blood dripped down, lingering around the wound but I was too terrified to open my eyes. Afraid of the sight I would see. Tears started to circulate in the back of my eyelids, and I was grateful that I could at least feel something again. I inhaled slowly, trying to control my breaths and found the edge of the sink to steady myself.  Finally, I was in control. I control who gets hurt, and it needed to be me. After counting to three, I opened my eyes, staring once again into my own reflection.

Only this time, I saw my familiar blue eyes, and sighed with relief. It was actually me. I peeked a little lower through the mirror and examined my wrist. Four lines were carved near the top part of my wrist. Little bubbles of blood were scattered throughout the lines. Some of the bubbles started dripping down onto my hand leaving behind a trail of red ink. I never thought blood was pretty until I was it dripping down my own skin. I never knew I could’ve painted a picture in silver and watch it turn to red. Exhilarating was the only way I could describe it. I just couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful shade sitting on its canvas. It was truly breathtaking.

Slowly, I picked out a maroon washcloth, soaked it under the water, and cautiously placed it onto my wrist. I clenched my teeth together as the wound stung like a fresh sunburn under a hot shower. I held the washcloth there for several minutes as I tried to recuperate. Thank God the anxiety had disappeared, and I could finally focus on something other than being worthless.

After a few minutes, I removed the washcloth from my wrist, only to realize that the bleeding still hadn’t stopped. Searching through the medicine cabinet, I found a few Band-Aids and sensibly positioned them over the gashes. I headed back to the guest room finding it the same as I had left it. Walking over to the desk, I closed the purple notebook, tracing my name on the front cover. Charlotte Rose Walker. Who even was I anymore? I shoved the notebook in my desk drawer, refusing to look at that name again.

                                 …

The next time I had seen my full name was only two days later, unfortunately. The mail came around two o’clock and there were two letters. One for me and one for Caleb. His parents insisted that we open our letters together. I think they were hoping to boast about some accomplishment of Caleb’s.

To their disappointment, Caleb’s was a recruitment letter from the army. “Have you given serious thought to your future?” Those words were printed in bold at the top of the letter above a muscular man in camouflage. I think I could’ve used it more than him. He tossed it on the counter, shrugging it off. His parents laughed. “Those people are crazy if they think our son would ever join the army.” However, when they weren’t looking, I saw him slip the envelope in his back pocket.

“Let’s see yours, Charlotte,” prompted Mr. Kepner. Everyone’s eyes were on me. It still made me nervous. Slowly, I peeled open the letter, accidently tearing the envelope to shreds. Caleb’s parents’ eyes were beating on me, and the anticipation was killing them. I know they were hoping it to be from some college, but to their ignorance, I hadn’t even applied anywhere. Caleb knew. Sluggishly, I unfolded the letter and began to read to myself.

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Kepner expectantly. “Is it from that community college we took you to?” she enquired optimistically.

Despite my refusal, the Kepners insisted on taking me on a trip to a local community college. They called it a family visit, but I knew better. I know their hearts were in the right place, but I wouldn’t even get in if I tried.

“No,” I whispered. Was I reading this right? How could this be? I read the entire thing once and then a second time to make sure that I was seeing this correctly.

“Then who is it from?” questioned Caleb’s father, attempting to peer over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of the letter. My jaw dropped as I saw the signature at the bottom of the page.

“My mother,” I claimed.

Reviews

[Lorry]

As you begin this chapter, you mention being an admirer of those who can take a blank sheet and turn it into a unique adventure, I think that is the essence of what we all share and feel here on writerscafe. To have that spark within us, begins at an early age for most, stories at bedtime, nursery rhymes, all pull us towards the magic of the written form, some of us are more magnetised to it than others, but we all feel the pull of the blank page needing filled. It is the main reason we always return to it. It is my safe place too :)
Time travelling through a journal is such a lovely experience, to think of the younger you, being looked upon by your now you and remembering all those thoughts and feelings.....ahhh.
And then on to the confusing and crazy, whacky world of love. I honestly don't think there is a playbook of rules when it comes to love, sometimes it is instant and reciprocal, other times confusing, like here. Leaving her, then admitting being in love...sounds like it can only happen when young, but I can assure you otherwise. Sometimes we act our stupidest when in love and sometimes we can ruin it with our own confusion. I really am amazed this whole love thing caught on in the way it did to be honest. :)
As we move onto the confusion of what Charlotte is hearing from Caleb, we begin to see paths opening in the story, that the reader may have guessed at some of them, but now have been included as a possible expansion of the rest of the tale. I think this is what is called as a main sub plot, but maybe not. It definitely opens the story to lots of new possibilities and is well placed, and well written enough to change the perspective away from a story, and more of a book, if you know what I mean. Like you can actually feel all the possible chapters being thought of as you read, giving it new leads and threads that we didn't see before. Great job on that.
And then bam....never saw that coming, although in reality, who ever does, right? Just as I am warbling on about changes of direction, the opening of the razor spins us on our axis and into a whole new depth of understanding.
And I need to be careful when describing the end to this chapter, as I have been known to use a swearie or two in my life, so I shall have to fall into my default mode, which is to impersonate my favourite character from my favourite tv show, Moz from the IT crowd. "double flippin' awesome wow" :)
Yeah, I think that about covers it. :)
Brilliant climax to a chapter. To be honest, what with the despair and cutting, I did not see anything remotely in the vicinity of what happened, happening. Absolutely brilliant. You left the reader hanging by their nails to a cliff edge, waiting to rush through the next chapter.......Just as soon as someone helps me up from this cliff :)
Brilliant chapter.

[Sarah]

Thank you so much! I didn't know that that scene would have that much effect on the reader, and I'm really starting to enjoy your take my novel! Much appreciated!

[Lorry]

I just noticed how long that comment was when I saw your reply....sorry 'bout that. Must be like you reading a book about reviews :) Sometimes I just don't know when to shut up :)

[Sarah]

No, it's great actually. I'd prefer a longer review. Makes me fully understand what's going on in the reader's head at all of the different parts of my story!

[Lorry]

Good, because trying to shut me up is a pretty difficult task. :)

[Rebecca]

The cutting scene was well written. I liked the idea of being charge of who hurt her (hurting herself, instead of other people hurting her). I'm really rooting for Caleb to help her become christian. Your first two chapters had a much stronger voice. I'm guessing you editted them already? Great potential of a novel.

[Sarah]

I've edited the majority of this novel already, several time. I appreciate you taking the time of reading it!

[Splatman73]

It's ben a while since I've read a chapter of this, but I am still loving it. I found the part about cutting fascinating and a little sickening. Can't wait to get to more of it!

[Christopher Miller]

I can only say the story has got its legs under it now, and is now going at a sprint. Everything's being revealed and complicated at a very enjoyable pace. I had been wondering how Alex did influence her in the past. I didn't mention it because I was sure that would be expanded on. For someone to be turned on to writing is one of the biggest life changes I could think of. I'd have to say a new avenue (or a first, as the case may be) of self-exploration carries even more weight than a death, if such a thing could be tallied. Creation of something from nothing is well-said, an ability I believe is unique to our species.
My wife used to cut (she doesn't mind me saying so), so I always appreciate an account from a cutter's perspective. Well, when it's well executed, as it is here. I like to think it's not as true now as it once was, but there used to be a general perception that cutting was either an attempt to be edgy, or a pathetic cry for attention. If that has in fact changed, it's because of first-hand accounts such as this. At the very least, you must be well read on the subject, but I'm led to the assumption you've had first or close second-hand experience with the matter.
It's becoming more and more of a pleasure to read. Do you have plans to publish, or self-publish?

[Sarah]

Thank you for your kind words and to answer your question, I have cut many times before in the past. I used to write about them a lot, so I expressed my emotions while doing so and put them on paper. I know what it's like and I know the stigma surrounding it, and I want to sway people away from those stigmas and get them into the mind of someone who's experienced it. And yes, I just finished the final chapter last night, and I do plan on publishing it. I don't really know too much about the whole process, but I would love to share my work with the world.

[Mifa]

Great! Great!! Great!!! Like I said, you're beginning to get into your element with since the previous chapter. Again, a very engaging ending, make me want to skip giving a review and just go to the next chapter. Loads of questions running though my mind at the moment. But the most pressing has to be "her mother?" damn!

I am glad to see that with every chapter, the story is becoming more coherent. I really enjoyed this. Good one Sarah. Good one.

[Sarah]

My goal was always to leave the reader questioning. About her choices, her mother, how all of the pieces fit together. I wanted to make this novel like a puzzle. I've left clues throughout the entire piece, so information that seemed irrelevant in the first few chapters connects with the plot in the later chapters. I bet if you went back and read the earlier chapters, you would catch things that you had initially missed. Thank you for your review, too.

[Mifa]

Thank you for writing.