Part One: The Storm
1:"Those Innocent Eyes"
Journal Entry 1:
August 18th 6:03 am
Before I scribe any further, I would like to note that these journal logs are doctor recommended. DOCTOR RECOMMENDED. Annotating this fact at the beginning of my personal synopsis will help me to justify the seemingly endless waves of dramatic dialogue probably best described as my own closeted emotions. I think that's an appropriate word, right? Closeted? Closeted. Closet. Close. As a matter of fact, I can't remember the last time I kept my door open (emotionally and sexually speaking). But I get it. I am the watermark of apathy and loathsome behavior, brought to you by critical circumstances.
I feel rage. I feel terrified. I understand loneliness. And then I'm back in that locker room. Once again I feel those spiking cold trickles of water fall on my warm petite body before I feel his firm, gelid hands constrict the back of my neck, pulling me to the floor like prey and it begins once again. That sharp sensation, piercing me at a dominating angle. The pain faintly being suppressed by my rushing adrenaline. Did I enjoy it? Should I have enjoyed it? Am I wrong for even thinking this? Will I enjoy being penetrated again?
For now I'm subjected to this repetitive cycle of anxiety and humility sponsored by my sexual frustration; feeling so unrevenged with a yearning hunger for solace, wanting to gain back what was lost. That youth driven initiative; the clear conscience; those innocent eyes. I can't forgive, but can I touch? Can I even feel? Should I try to receive? Will I even precipitate? Probably not. I'm sixteen years old, again, standing at the edge of the pool ready to dive in but I can't do it. I won't get in. There's a shark in the water.
-M.P.C
As the rapid succession of typing and clicking drew to a close, Mia gently took off her earphones still feeling zoned out from her bottled water and Xanax cocktail. She was partially sober, yet attentive, which was rare for her. She sat at her desk, blanketed by the abysmal darkness of her room that left her face illuminated by the bright screen of her overheated laptop. Muffled chatter was heard outside, followed by footsteps on the hardwood floor that moved closer to her bedroom door.
Knock! Knock!
Her father stood outside the door with a concerned yet fatigued demeanor, as he slowly removed the cuff links from his shirt and loosened his tie. "Sweet heart, can you hear me!" Knock! Knock! Knock! "Mia?" She regained her composure and jumped to the door.
With only her shirt and blue panties on, Mia cracked the door, looked up at her father and replied "Yeah, what's up?" wiping her weary face. Towering over her, Walter looked down while leaning against the wall and sighed in relief. He was an average heighted man with olive skin, a slightly bridged nose, curly hair and an athletic build. Strikingly handsome. "I was knocking for five minutes, you didn't hear me? The conference got pushed back until tomorrow so I'm gonna drive you over there after all" he said in a semi enthusiastic tone, smiling vaguely.
Mia scanned the hallway, grilling the political advisors and secretaries scattered about. Flat screen televisions on the wall broadcasted election statistics as news of Walters slight drop in the polls caught the attention of the campaign workers. Walter cleared his throat to catch Mia's attention.
Mia was a petite twenty-one year old with the same olive skin, pronounced cheekbones, dark eyes, curvy hips, long dark hair and medium sized breast who didn't dare to believe in the myth of make-up or traditional beautification as a whole. A low-key beauty.
"Ehm! Hello?" Mia snapped out of her gaze and quickly looked up. "Yeah, ok dad..."
Her disheveled demeanor bothered him. Walter calmly asked "You ok, kiddo?" Mia hesitated for a brief second, then responded."...Yeah dad, sorry. I'm fine. I'm just still waking up, I'll go get ready. Give your highness a few moments, yeah?" Walter fixed his mouth to respond but came up short, unable to find the words to convey concern. Able to comprehend the awkward energy that still resided between them, Mia just smiled faintly and closed the door before Walter could generate an obligated response.
With her back pressed against the door she took a deep breath and exhaled before walking through the lingering piles of clothes tossed about around the room; bras and inside out shirts laid scattered on top of blue jeans and leggings, complemented by the empty cans of energy drinks and water bottles that rested on her desk. Grabbing the first article(s) of clothing she could carry, she stuffed them into a dark blue luggage bag until a small bronze picture book fell out of the smaller pocket. She had been looking for this book for weeks and now it had appeared. Interesting. Mia looked down at the book and chuckled, placing the hair in her face behind her ear before squatting down to pick it up.
She opened the book and scanned the pictures thoroughly, immediately being overwhelmed with mental images of the past. She continued to turn the pages, frolicking internally until her smile suddenly curved into a look of disgust; a picture of the victim with the suspected victimizer. David Keifer. She's spent countless anxiety riddled hours trying to burn the fat from her conscience but she will continue to serve as the emotional evidence of the sexual attack--and she knew this.
She tore the page out of the book, frantically balling it to the best of her ability before stuffing it in the small waste bin adjacent to her desk. She walked over to her desk, reached over the clutter and grabbed a small key, unlocking a drawer that revealed a collection of non-prescribed pills housed in different colored bottles. Each selection of pills were organized in a fashion that suited her level of convenience given her state of mind. The SSRIs neighbor the SNRIs but the TCAs worked as a contingency for the two, but of course could worsened the depression and lead to suicidal thoughts; a small hole in a much larger safety net.
The muscle relaxers lead the formation of colorful narcotics and were used to combat insomnia, which was a priority. She had two bottles of 40 milligram Valium, one ember red bottle of 20 milligram Flexeril for variety-and last but not least- 6 Oxycodone housed in a violet bottle for emergency purposes only. Shit! she said in a low tone. She noticed that she was running low on medicine, rattling the shallow purple bottle which was impregnated with only a single pill; one less than the recommended dosage.
She snatched the charger off of her phone and began to text Will, her close friend and drug dealer. What he lacked in formal masculinity he makes up for in kind-heartedness and discounted narcotics. The peaking glimpse of intimacy that began to rise between them long ago diminished along with her innocence but his tragedy lied in his awareness of this.
(Text Message)
Mia: You around? I need to re-up.
Will: No hello?
Mia: Wilhelm, please? I'm wilting, seriously.
Will: Tragedy. Yea, what did you want?
Mia: Just 20 Lorazepam, I'm gonna switch it up a bit.
Will: I'll be at the dorms later? Are you moving in today?
Mia: Yeah...my dad is taking me.
Will: I'll go covert for a little while what with the press and what not. You're killing me you know that?
Mia: Yea but I spare you slight mercy, I'm killing you with love :)
Will: Doesn't take away from how much of a pain in the ass you can be, Mia.
Mia: My mom's calling. I'll call you when the coast is clear. Later.x
(End of text messages)
Mia closed her laptop, snatched her pills off the desk and closed the desk drawer with quick haste, leaving a trail of scattered clothes and trash lying on the floor of her room like debris from a category five storm before dressing in black leggings, black Vans shoes, and a red flannel shirt. As she exited her room, locking her door, she turned to face the small militia of campaign employees and volunteers. This motivated her to walk faster, holding her backpack for dear life, maneuvering through the staff like a game of tag.
She walked downstairs and saw her mother and father standing in the kitchen talking in low voices to maintain a veil of privacy. She softly walked closer to the kitchen passing the living area and saw her little sister, Marcy, laying on the couch quietly playing with her phone, numb to the drama.
"I told you already it was only a few emails, a little TABOO FUCKING CONVERSATION, Melissa!" Walter said, confessing his brush with infidelity. Melissa stared at Walter with her arms crossed, infuriated with the recent hack of private information from Walter's personal emails, some of which indicated adultery with a young journalist. Carrie Anderson. Melissa angrily replied "You know what, if it weren't for that leak, right now you'd be sending her pictures of your fucking dick!"
As Mia approached the kitchen she cleared her throat and knocked on the wall to catch her parent's attention. Knock! Knock! Knock! "Mother, father; I have to be checked in the dorms in like forty minutes so with all due respect, is there anything we can do to perpetuate this? I mean it's a little too early in the morning for us to be practicing our family of the year routines" Mia said in a sluggish tone.
Her mother chuckled passive aggressively while Walter replied "We could barely get you to answer the door now you're rushing us –" Walter stopped himself to suppress his agitation, took a deep breath and replied "You're right sweetheart. You have to move in, we have to drop your sister off, and I have yet to figure out how to salvage what I have left of my political career" Walter said, dramatically.
There is a small moment of silence until Melissa broke the tension "Well--I'm sure your family is hidden somewhere in between those words, Walter" Melissa put her cigarette out in a cup of coffee and snatched her purse off the counter. Smoke lingered in the air almost as thick as the tension, until Walters political advisor and confidant, Phil Davies, hastily entered the kitchen.
"Walter, we have to be at that press conference in about an hour after all, we underestimated the capacity of the charity event with Omnicare, we need to clench those votes" Phil said. "I'm taking my daughters to school and I swear to god Phil, nothing is stopping me. Not today" "Can't miss that photo op" Melissa inserted. Phil took a deep breath, growing more impatient "Well then, we have to leave Walt, like yesterday" He said, jousting his index finger towards his silver rolex.
Melissa looked over at Mia as she stared in space, allowing her post traumatic stress get the best of her; her blank expression a canvas for internal trauma and misery clearly on display. Melissa turned her attention back to Walter and added, "Well, we shan't keep the press waiting" as she made her way to the front door, her high heels echoed off of the wooden floor. Mia, Phil, and Marcy trailed behind her leaving Walter in the kitchen by himself as he stared up at the ceiling in disbelief of his current predicament.
He walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door and stuck his head in the oversized freezer, which roared from the overpriced cooling mechanisms and yelled, "FUCK!!" His hair blowing in the breeze. He closed the door and walked out of the kitchen as a huge trail of vapor from the freezer evaporated into the atmosphere of stress and cigarette smoke.