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I know the different kinds of pain
The kind that stings, the kind that breaks, the kind that scars and leaves a mark. The mental kind that's hard to move on from, the kind that's physically and makes you wish you were dead. All pain shares one thing.
it lingers
A lingering pain is the worst of all. It might not even hurt but it stays and leaves you stuck in the same spot. Its the pain I started with, and its the pain I'm in now.
My memories are foggy at best, but I know they too hold a different kind of pain. As it stands, not knowing is its own world of hurt. An unknowning pain if you will. The mysteries of my life before the pain will forever be unanswered.
The oldest memory I can conjure is one of a cold kind of pain. It's from when he found me in the woods. I don't remember how I got there, just that I was alone and cold, beaten and battered from something I can't name.
If I try to think back farther my body begins to tremble and my head starts to throb. My mind must've blocked it out. But my soul still remembers what has long been lost.
I can remember my newest pain, the shaking anxious kind. I'd first felt it when I saw her lying there. A gory and mangled sight she'd become from when I saw her before. The meeting was brief, hardly even an introduction, I guess she can be added to the unknown pain. I know what happened was wrong and I hardly knew her. It unnerved how brutal her death was but at the same time, she wasn't some I was scared to lose.
Unfortunately, the crime had only been the beginning of my new, anxious pain. It came once more when he started asking questions. A staple to a detective's job of course, get a statement from the witnesses, interrogate her acquaintances and friends, see if anyone knows just a little too much, or in my case, a little too less. I answered his questions, every single one, all my answers held the truth. a first time. a second time. He seemed so adamant I was lying, but I wasn't. It just wasn't what he expected.
The next pain he made me feel was a throbbing kind. The type that makes your palms sweat and your head spin with unanswered questions. He'd come to the estate, though he wasn't allowed. I'd known before actually. He was constantly watching and following me, stalking and creeping around the halls. It was early morning after the interrogation when I first felt his eyes on me. I'd gone to fetch a shovel and he came from behind, told me he was doing more research and said it was just a check in.
I believed him for a day. But then another new pain arose, the pain of his unwanted, watchful, wary gaze. Every action felt judged and cautious. It came first outside though truly I hadn't fully noticed it then. But in the cramped manor halls there's no room to stare. When I had gone to get a cot, I felt a pair of eyes on me. It could have been anyone really, but not just anyone would follow me up the stairs to the storage and the creep around back the way I came. The paranoia paid off when he "caught" me going into the art room. It shocked me, seeing him there and knowing it wasn't my mind playing tricks. His questions came back, he asked if I'd been curious about secret passages. The way he threw me off guard, it made my head buzz and ears ring, his unwanted presence was only becoming more apparent.
The anxious pain came fully during his second integration. He came to gather the maids for another round of questions. In my mind, he'd become desperate for more clues and started going back to old beginnings. He must've thought; Why didn't this new maid seem to care that a person died? How could she be so nonchalant about this whole ordeal? Why does she seem to have a perfect lie for everything? None of it was a lie though. Every question he asked felt like a complex riddle. Every answer and step on a thin sheet of ice. It was a constant wave of his puzzles. My voice began to shake as it all went on. He noticed and only started asking more, thinking he drove me into a corner. His voice was loud, nonstop, and hostile. Until at one point it seemed he stopped pretending and just flat out said what was on his mind," You killed that girl, didn't you." No.
I didn't kill her, I'm innocent. That fact didn't change what he did next. I didn't expect it, who would, really? I thought he only wanted to ask more questions. But this time there was a feeling in my gut. Something was so, so wrong. The way he told me to get in his car made it clear I had no choice. I had asked where we were going when he drove past the police station, he told me to keep quiet. I did. He went on driving against a cobble road that slowly became an unpaved path of gravel. He told me how it was a beautiful day and that I should make it a good one. I don't know what he meant, in truth I felt dazed the whole time. When at last I stepped out of the car I saw that it was a sort of clearing in the woods beside a small stream with some flowers growing beside it. The sun was high in the sky, a start to the early afternoon. As I took in the surrounds I saw from the corner of my eye, he was putting on rubber gloves. How odd I thought. That should I have been my first signal to run.
His voice came calm and slow at first, before slowly building into a raging crescendo. He began to yell at me, asking how and why I killed her. "I didn't," I replied. He kept going and starting demanding I give confession, a false confession at that. I was stuttering trying to tell him no. "It wasn't me," I wanted to scream but my voice couldn't hold the words. He inched closer, I stepped back. And then in one sudden motion he made me feel every type of pain and more. First in my head, then my torso, then I fell and blacked out.
The sky was grey when I woke up. I was shaking, scared, painted with my own blood, and so completely lost. Why did he do it? what did I do wrong? How do I get back? What even happened? Is it my fault? Is it my fault? I could have run, maybe even defended myself but I didn't. Is this my fault?
-
It took every bit of strength left to get back. I don't even remember it. Just the repetitive motion of my feet carrying me and the occasional drip of blood down my head and stomach. There wasn't a part of my body free from pain. My head pounded, my ears hummed, my eyes stung bloodshot, my neck bruised, my chest swelling, my legs ready to collapse. As the door closed behind, all I wanted was to lie down, to fall and rest forever. A voice called out, so close yet so distant it faded before the words reached me. I blinked and found myself in a cold bath. The pain was steady and stung my body all throughout, tears in my eyes came, slowly they fell and gathered. How it all hurt so terribly, it was humiliating for me.
I blinked again and this time I was in bed and a doctor stood above me. I don't remember exactly what he said and he left before I could ask. Someone came with flowers a little after, it was meant to be a kind gesture, but they only made me think of where this began.
Now, I lay staring at the ceiling. there are bandages on my head and around my stomach, put there by the doctor and meant to help heal. It's certainly less but the pain is lingering. It lingers every moment, its a reminder. A reminder that's it my fault, a reminder that there's still someone out there who's guilty, a reminder that he won't stop, a reminder that I'm not truly safe here, a reminder that this pain will stay. It will follow me and hunt me down and destroy the comforts I have. The forest is gone, the piano is out of reach, and my friends don't understand it. I know the different kinds of pain, for he showed me. The kind that bleeds, the kind that bruises, the kind that buzzes in your mind, the kind that drains the light from your eyes. They all linger.