Three weeks later
The landscape of the city below is bright and still moving with the hustle of Boston life, but everything seems to have lost color for me, and I’m really not seeing it at all. I’ve been sitting at the dining table for hours, looking out the windows that overlook the night sky of the city below. With my knees pressed to my chest, I wrap my arms around them to pretend I’m still gripping onto life and not falling apart. A sharp pain stabs into my clenched fist, and the pressure releases when I open my palm slowly to see I’m still holding onto Mom’s favorite silver necklace. When she was deep in thought, she used to fiddle with it, her brow wrinkled. It holds a single light blue crystal in the middle of a tiny silver feather, and she once told me this necklace reminds her that anything can be free if you only let go. Mom gave this necklace to me weeks before she passed away, but I haven’t had the courage to put it on, because the thought of ever losing it, losing the one last piece of her, will shatter me. It’s all I have left. My fingers idly play with it as I begin to wonder when my father will make an appearance from the office he’s locked himself in. When I went to check on him after the funeral, the one he didn’t show up to, the disaster of the room and the sight of him made me feel like I was staring at a stranger. With empty liquor bottles of scotch to keep him company, he bellowed for me to leave him alone, and a shattering of a glass hitting the door after I closed it had me racing to get away as if the pits of hell were chasing me. He didn’t show up to her burial either, leaving me to stand alone by my mother's grave as they lowered her down, and I’ll never forgive him for that. Mom came from old money, a rich family, but none of her lasting relatives showed. It was just me. I stood in the rain for what seemed like hours, wondering if life would ever start moving again.
A stench of strong alcohol hits my nose at the same time Father comes stumbling into the dining room and starts to rage behind me in a yelling fit. Jumping in surprise from my seat, I spin around and cringe at the sight of him. Gone is the father I thought I once knew, and in the place of him is a monster. He hasn’t handled her death very well, seeking answers at the bottom of the bottle and taking his rage out on me every time he sees me. His nostrils flare when he notices what I’m holding in my hand. He snatches Mom’s necklace out of my grip, leaving a burning sensation on my palm from the metal as it scrapes me, all the while sneering down at me with his face turning a purple shade. A slap echoes around the room, and all I can do is stare in stunned silence as I cup my throbbing cheek.
“You own nothing of your mother’s belongings, and you never will. It should have been mine… What are you staring at? I can’t stand the sight of you! I didn't want children, you know, but she did. I gave her that, and now she's gone, leaving you here with me. It should have been you, not her! Go to your room, you little bitch!” He spits as he shouts inches from my face, spittle flying everywhere as I retreat back a step and rush around him under his swinging arm before he can hit me again. My bedroom door slams behind me as I breathe heavily while clenching and unclenching my fist from the absence of her necklace. Everything was taken from me, and my mind locks away a little bit at a time, until I feel like I have nothing else to give. Sliding down to the floor with my back against the door, I sob my heart out from loss and despair. I’ve been alone since the day mom passed away, but nothing could have prepared me just how alone I truly am now.
1
Kat
Seven years later
The slamming of the arena doors behind me echoes around the quiet ice rink, making me jump like a skittish rabbit. I glance around warily before heading over to the rows of benches. The banner of the Boston University hockey team hangs like a beacon by the set of doors that leads onto the smooth ice. I’m really not supposed to be here. If anyone catches me skating on the university rink, I’ll be in deep trouble. It’s worth it though. I go to sit down on the bleachers, where hundreds of fans sit each home game, cheering for our university hockey jocks. My movements are fast as I tug off my winter boots, shaking the excess snow off before setting them next to my bookbag. The pain in my chest always goes away when I’m on the smooth, cold ice. Taking out my favorite long, fuzzy socks, I slip them over the black yoga pants that cling to my legs like a second coat of skin. At least my toes will stay warm. I hate having cold feet, even if I’m used to the feeling. I’m not even going to bother changing before skating, since I’m heading home after to change into something warmer before classes start at eight AM. I notice my reflection on the glass surrounding the rink, and a girl with pink hair and sad eyes glances back. Her skating outfit is
