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SIMON There are a lot of things you can remember after a traumatic event. But when you are raped, there are a lot of things you can remember too vividly, especially when it has been less then twenty-four hours ago. And I still can remember, I still can remember the unwanted hands, the humilliation of being bounded to a bed post, the pain of being penetrated by someone that I don't even know. Things I just ever wanted to share with Wilhelm taken away from me. Something that should be intimate, shared with someone I really love, pased to be something to share with unknown people that I know don't know me, don't love me. What was supposed to be sweet, was turned into something painful. Because penetrations are painful when done by people that doesn't care about you at all. And if feels wrong and it still hurts so much. It get worst to remember doctors trying to do a rape kit, because that's another level of violation altogether. They try to be gentle, specially the brunnette female doctor, but even their soft treatment, their soft words hurts, even when she tried to touch the less possible, it hurts. Her ghost touches hurts and burnt like a punishment. Is this punishment? Is this my punishment for liking boys? For experiencing sexuality with someone that I felt safe with? Is this reward for that fucking sex tape that I didn't even knew I was starring at? "Simon, mi amor," Mama's voice is calling me but I don't have the will to open my mouth anymore. Because it has been closed up with a ball of tears and sadness since I came back home from that horrible and the sterile hospital. "How are you feeling?" she pokes her head through my courtain. "Do you want something, mi amor?" I want for the pain to go away. I want Wilhelm. I can't even manage a shake when I feel the tears rolling down, entering my other eye and falling down until they reach my ear. I can feel the matress deeping and I feel the tears rolling faster. Mom reaches for my head and once her hands lands on my curls, I can't help but recoil away from her touch. A touch that always has brought me peace and a feeling of being loved, that same carress gets confused in my brain for greedy, hurtful hands that just want to yanks my head to then bit down my throat. To cause pain. I try to set my jaw to keep my sobs inaide, but it doesn't work. My body starts shaking and then, a sob is scaping my throat and the air is not enough, because I can't breathe. The muscles of my neck hurts, but that's all I can feel. Hands try to put me towards them, but I try to back away against the wall. Against everything, just away from the hands that are trying to cause pain, pain, pain. "I'm sorry, mi amor," the voice sounds odds and so far away. "Breathe with me, okay? Lets count sheeps, yes?" the voice is trying, but I can't focuse enough to understand. I try to make myself dissappear, because maybe the pain, the humilliation will dissappear too. But it doesn't. Arching hurts, my back hurts, my neck hurts, my soul is hurting too. Everything hurts. Even my voice, the only thing that has always make me proud and happy and unique... even that hurts today. "Respira conmigo, mi amor, sí?" the voice is asking me again, but I don´t understand what it wants. Because I just want to dissappear, to stop existing, because maybe the pain will stop existing then. If I'm gone then the pain will stop existing as well. "Breathe with me, Simon, please?" My mouth feels dry, my throat too. I recoil back into the darkness that kept me alive during those hurtful moments of my life. I recoil until there's no sound, no touches, no yelling, no begging. No pain.
Calloused hands are squeezing my neck painfully, while someone is biting down my shoulder. I feel cold and naked and wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
"You are going to love to choke on this big cock, porn-boy," the voice says. It is the voice of a man. Someone that want to hurt me. "Open your mouth, porn-boy." But I refuse, becaus the pain in my shoulder is killing me, I'm sure it is bleading. It feels like bleeding. "Make him open his mouth," he says to someone and then, there are hands prying my mouth open. Hurting my jaw and my lips. I taste blood when I bit down my cheek.
Something meety, heavy and undesired is in mouth and it push forward until I can't breathe. Until I am choking.
"A pretty whore, aren't you?"
I woke up, sweating and feeling gross and used and like a thing that can be discarded, used and then, throw to the side. Something that you can steal and use, and discard and damage... Damage forever. A sob, no... This aren't sobs, this are yells. Yells that pulls Sara and Mama from their sleep, or maybe their cooking. "Simon, mi amor," mama says, I can listen to her voice. "You need to stop scratching your arms, mi amor," she whispers. Soft and loving. But, I can't...I can't, because my flesh is dirty, hands are roaming all over it and I want them gone. I want to change my skin into something new, something that hasn't been tainted, spat over, licked into ruins. "Medication, mama, I'm gonna get his meds," Sara voice is so far away. But I want this skin gone, so I just ignore her words of medication. Medication is not going to change my skin, medication is not going to give my sacred status back. Medication is not going to stops the nightmares or the feeling of being useless. "Thank you, Sara," mama's voice is a whisper, while I sank my nails down my arms, until I can feel the sting of drawing blood. "I brought all of them," Sara says, and I go for round two: I press and drag nails over my skin until it stings and hurts and bleed. I need to change skin, now! Why is Sara not helping me to change skin? She has always helped me. Always. Because Sara is like that, my safe person is Sara and Mama and Wilhelm. Why aren't they helping me to change this tainted skin? "It's okay, Simon," she whispers. "Try to take his hands, Sara," she says and then, there are hands over me.Why? No! Let go. Let go, I'm going to change skin and then, I will be good again. New. New to receive hugs from the only three people that cares for me. I will be ready then. "Stop, kicking me, Simon," Sara says, throwing herself at me again. I feel like dying. I'm sufocating, just like they sufocated me. "Get away from me. I don't love you anymore!" I try to get her away from me. "You are bad, Sara!" She is hurting me. Why is she hurting me so much? Why doesn't she loves me anymore? Why isn't she helping me anymore? "I'm sorry, Simon," she is sobbing against my shoulder and hugging me and restraining my arms and my legs at the same time. "I'm sorry, baby brother. I'm sorry. I just need to and I promise it will go away soon. I promise, Simon. I promise." I can feel her body shaking against mine, her sobs intertwinning with mine. Her tears searing on my skin. "Forgive me, forgive me, Simon." She whispers and something stinging hits my forearm. "I'm sorry, mitt hjärt," Mama says and I feel liquid traveling through all my body, until my mind is fuzzy and my body is slack and my thoughts and my memories are fuzzy and away. "Do you hate me, Simon?" Sara. Sara asks me in a broken voice. Sara is my sister. I need to look out for Sara, because Sara is special, she doesn't understand the world. I love Sara with all my heart. I feel it deep down, I love Sara. Sara, that loves horses and grass and wind and cold. Sara that likes dresses and friends, even if she don't know how to chose dresses or make friends. I will be Sara's friend forever. I will and I will be her best friend forever. Sara is special and I love Sara. "I love Sara," I mumble, trying to put order to my thoughts. I can feel a soft touch, it isn't warm but is not cold either. It ghost over my hand. I open my eyes and I see Sara using smittens to touch me. "I love you, too, best-friend," she says in a whisper. Her eyes red and swollen."Keep me company," I ask, not wanting to be alone in the middle of the darkness. "I will," she promises. "I promise." When I woke up my mind is hazzy and full with shouts of people I don't know. People biting down my neck, touching in places no one should be touched by anyone that's not a chosen one. Someone you really love and care for. Hazel-brown eyes and floppy blond hair meets my waking up mind. My head hurts. "Hej," he extends his fingers towards me slowly. "Wille," I manage in a rasp. I extend my hand trying to reach his. The tips of our fingers touch barely, the lress of the lads of our fingers barely there. I close my eyes for a moment and I feel sleep calling me back. I am tired. Still, Wille collogne is filling all the room. And I let go. And maybe I fell asleep, because when I open my eyes, Wille is nowhere to be seen. Maybe, I am delusional and hallusinating with Wille?I blink and then, I look down. A Hillerska hoddie is pressed closer to my chest and nose. I bring it up to my nose and Wille's smell hits me head. Maybe I'm crazy and crazy people can smell. But this is different, because the people that hurts me in my dreams smell horrible, like cheap alcohol, cigarretts and marihuana. This smell like Wille and mamá. I hear steps and I recoil, taking the Hillerska hoodie with me, backing myself against the wall. "Hej," Mama soft voice meets me. "I made périco venezolano," it smells like home. Wille and Sara are hovering over the the not-door. The courtain-door. And they both look bad, dark rings under their eyes and Wille is paler than ever. Sara is fidgetting, like when she was a little girl in a classmate's birthday party. Sara. My little Sara. My older sister, my protector and my everything. "I love you, Sara," I say to her and she comes walking to me, her hand still in a mitten. "I love you too," she says, reaching with her clothed hand to caress my fingers. "I'm sorry for what I said, before," I appologize, even if I don't know if before was a few minutes ago or a few hours ago, or a few days ago. "It doesn't matter," she says, wipping a few tears from her eyes. "You love me with everything you have and I know you. And I love you too, so, so, so, so much," she says, wipping down snot with the sleeve of her sweater. I try to sit up and my back and my butt hurts. So, I lay down again, feeling tears pricking my eyes. I feel dirty and used and bad. Sara's cry starts again and I try to reach my hand to her face to console her. "Where are his meds?" Wille asks, socked feet shifting in place. "First chest up, in the kitchen, had a purple ribbon," mama direct him and then, Wille is out of the room, and mama is setting the tray in my bed. "You should eat, baby, it has been nearly nine hours since you drank a nutritional shake," she states, softly. I nod. "I don't remember a shake," I mumble softly, even breathing hurts today. "Which day is today?" I ask mama. "Monday 9th," she says. I should be in school. And maybe I said that out loud because Mama answers my thoughts the next second. "You are not going back to school until you are better. You can barely make it awake through the day. You need to focus on getting better, mi amor. Then, you can go back to school." "I need to keep good grades, for the schoolarship," I say, swallowing the pills. Wille hands me a glass of pear juice to washed it down. "Thanks, Wille." I try to sit up fully. Sara puts her mitten hand on my hand. "Wait until the medication kicks in," her eyes are red and still shinning with unshed tears. "Yeah. You will hurt yourself otherwise." I nod, feeling my muscles start to relax. I extend my hand towards Wille, and he press the tip of his fingers against mine. I try to smile, but end up frowning, trying to keep the sleep away. "My hand hurts," I say to no one specifically. Mama takes something from my desk and passes it to me. "They..." she swallow down her tears, clearing her throat softly. "You have a sprained wrist. The right one." The one that's extending on the matress. Wille press the tips of our fingers together. Carefully, shy. "I'm sorry," he says, his eyes sad, like if this is his fault. "Don't be," I say to him. "None of you should be. You didn't do this to me." "The police are searching for them," Sara says. "They have a video of them taking you away from the grocery store and another of them..." but Sara can't say what's the other evidence. She is trying to abate her sadness. "The place where the locals found you," Mama suplies. "They have a video of the moment that they..." but she can't finish the sentence either.The atmosphere is heavy with worry and unshed tears. "I brought pistachio ice-cream," Wille says after a moment of just people wipping their tears and clearing throats. "It was supposed to be for celebration, but... We can eat it while watching Netflix or Amazon Prime, or whatever thing you wanna watch." He says fastly, stumbling over his words in the process. I blink. "What were we supposed to celebrate?" I look at mama. "We celebrated New Year, right?" My mind feels fuzzy. "We did, mijo," she smiles. "You ate a big slice of fruty-cake," Sara beams at me. "Mira," is the first time I am listening to her speaking in Spanish in a long time. And then, she brought out her phone and I see myself there with Ayub and Rosh squeeshing me in the middle, mama have her arms over Ayub and Sara is doing duck faces by Rosh's side. And then, there's a drawing of Wille. And a caption: Wille and his boyfriend's family. "You…” I can’t even say it.“I admitted it was me in the video,” he says looking down and pressing the tips of our fingers carefully. “And I reminded the Swedish people that sharing underage pornography is a crime that can be penalized with jail time and that my family will send law suits to all media outlets that keep transmitting the news. Not the Royal Family, but the Bernadotte family.” He amends softly. “Papa has our backs and so Aunt Louise. She is the one who will reign if I ever abdicate. I tell the media you are special, thought I didn’t dare to put a label on us, even if I wanted to do so, so badly,” he presses his pointer fingertip against mine. “We can be boyfriends, if you want. whenever you are ready.”I feel my body sagging against the wall of my bedroom. I feel tears welling again in my eyes. What is wrong with me that I can’t stop crying?“It’s okay, Simme,” Mama says, putting a mitten in her hand to touch my elbow. “Just let it out.”Porn-boy, they called me. A whore, they said. But, Wille just said that we can be boyfriends. Not fuck-buddies, not his side-piece, not his secret. But boyfriends.“I’m not a whore!” my outburst makes every person in the room gasp. “I’m not a whore,” and I sob the word, until I can’t say it anymore. I curl on myself again, needing to put myself together desperately. Gasping for air that is not coming to my lungs. My mind is getting fuzzy around the edges again, and I can feel my blood rushing in my veins.Mama and Sara’s clothed fingers are keeping contact with my arms. And it feels good, like if they are cleaning the filthiness inside me. And then, I can hear my own voice. It is coming from somewhere. A song I love for a long time: “Lay Me Down" by Sam Smith but it is my voice. A piano in the background.Sara’s voice making a brief apparition.I look up, because I love that song. Because lots of our friends love that song. Felice and I has sung a duet to that song and it was the first time I felt comfortable with Felice. Wilhelm and Sara have it on their playlist on Spotify. That song was Ayub, Rosh and I ringtone when things were going bad for Rosh. And I love that song.And someone has a record of me singing it. Why?I try to sing to my own voice, and it keep breaking at points, so I clutch Mama’s and Sara’s hand, Wille’s fingers making contact with my socked ankle. I breathe and I try to keep singing, because I love this song and the people that loves me loves it. Because I need to try for myself.And it has been a long time since Mama has sing, but her voice and Sara’s are singing with mine and I don’t hear the cracks or the tears in voice when theirs are accompanying mine.
Can I lay by your side?
Next to you
And make sure you’re alright
And then, Wille’s own voice is joining my family’s and I feel like breaking all over again. Because I have this beautiful people by my side and I know they will do anything for me.
I’ll take care of you
And I don’t want to be here
If I can’t be with you tonight.
When I wake up again, Wille is laying down on the floor on an air mattress and Sara is sleeping on my desk chair. I’m hungry and my stomach roars angrily at me.I look around and everything is immersed in blue light. This is Wille’s charger. He hates darkness, so his chargers always glow up when connected to the current outlet. It yell to my plagued brain that I am safe. I’m home. This is my bedroom, my fish are here, close to Sara dosing body, Mama is somewhere here and Wille is in the floor, snoring softly.I shake Sara first and when she blinks at me, I signal my bed.“Go sleep, Sara,” she nods, but doesn’t make any effort to get up, she just huffs and accommodates her head on her hands again. "Fine." I huff as well. Then, I peer down to Wille, trying to accommodate his head until his snoring stops.I pad out of my bedroom and the entire house is in semi-darkness. The street lights are illuminating enough just to help me not to trip on my way to the kitchen. I press my fingers against the switch and the kitchen is illuminated by the yellow light.“¿Qué pasa, mi amor?” Mamá says, making me jump and back down against the wall. “Perdón, mijo.”I nod, scrubbing my eyes with my hands. I'm sweaty and probably I smell. “Hungry,” is the only thing I can manage right now. “What time is it?”Mama smiles down at me. “I made Venezuelan Perico for you,” she slides the dish in the microwave to re-heat it while I seat down in the table. “It’s eleven in the afternoon.”Why am I sleeping so much? And why I feel so tired? I just woke up for a long nap, following another short nap, and another long nap. And then, it slams on me. I managed to sing with my family and Wille, until I feel like being reconstructed in a way.I blink the sleep away.“You need to eat first and then the medication,” Mama whispers, passing me cutlery. “Eat as much as you can. It’s okay if you can’t eat all of it.”“'kay,” I mumble, lifting my fork full of eggs and tomatoes, green pepper, potatoes and onion. It tastes good, like grandma’s cooking and Mom’s hometown. We were there once and it warmed my heart when my abuelita kissed my cheeks and let me play with her dog. And when abuelito let me swim in the river and let me help him gather corn in their farm.Mama puts the meds in front of me, when I’m done with half my dish and I start to slide it towards her.“Can’t eat anymore,” I say to her.She just nods and a glass of pear juice appear in front of me again.“Wille brought home like a gallon of this, because it is your favorite. Along with a tube of pistachio ice-cream,” she says, blowing a kiss to me.“Gracias, mamá,” I mumble, taking in my hands the handful of meds I need to swallow down. The pear juice helps my throat and the swallowing. I take the half sausage that’s still on my plate and try to eat it.I tense, feeling like all my dinner is going to make its way back to the table. I am fast spitting out the sausage, feeling a memory resurfacing, making me hate my sausage. My stomach is cramping and I feel sick.“It’s okay, mi amor,” mama says, pulling me up slowly and guiding me to the bathroom, seating me down in the cold, tailed floor. “Mama is here. Mama is gonna help you, mi amor. I promise.”I believe her, because she is my mama. Mama loves me. I believe her when her hands cards through my curls, I believe her when she rubs my back and I believe her when my stomach cramps with the uneasiness that my mind is creating. The memories, the feeling of… I let my head hangs on the toilet bowl but I manage to keep my food down at the end.And my stomach keeps it inside, even when I am burritoed on the couch watching a re-run of The Princess Diary. I keep quite while watching the screen that seems to go black ever other minute because of me... because I don't want to be awake but I don't want to fall asleep and dream about the bad guys. Deep down me, I know Mama can’t erase those memories, can’t erase the ghost touches that still travels down my body. And it saddens me, because I feel broken beyond repair.Week and a half. I have been home week and a half. Wille and Sara helps me with my homework on weekends, but I miss the choir and Felice. Felice is nice, once you get to know her. I miss Maddie and her make up. Maddie is nice with all her rituals. I need one of those.And they were here, Felice and Maddie, Wille and Sara. Mama said to keep it to people that I feel more relaxed with, I heard her out. They were here a few hours ago and it helps me to understand how broken I am. Mama says she will be gone for a moment. A moment to the grocery store.A moment where I can see her bags and her face, and it is pale. Just like Sara’s and Wille’s. And even Malin looks wear out too. And it is my fault. I haven’t be able to pull myself back together fast enough.
A waste of space, a waste of everything, a whore…
Bad Simon. Bad. I walk into the bathroom where I can see the blades for shaving. They are to change the old ones, but they seem sharps enough. Internet says that you can feel better if you cut. You will feel all better, because medication makes me sleepy, and my mind gets fuzzy and I don't feel good at all. Just tired, always tired, too tired. So, I cut and nothing happens. Maybe, I need to go bigger?So, I go for bigger and then, I go for deeper. And deeper feels good. Deeper makes me feel better, lightheaded, just like when Wille kisses me; good like when Mama hugs me to her chest; amazing, just like when Sara and Rosh, and Ayubs smiles up at me. And red keeps gushing out of the stinging wounds, but they are nothing in comparison to how good I feel. This feels good, so I go for deeper, red, blood, again. I’m a bit wet, but I don’t care. Bathrooms, are supposed to be wet.I look down, and I am wet in red. Such a nice color. Red and blue. I have red blood, Wille has blue blood, and together we make purple. I giggle and I cut again. Cutting feels good. Cutting shuts up the memories and the thoughts and guilt. Cutting is good.Until cutting makes everything go away and I am plunging in darkness.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I look up from my spot on the bed. I feel so freaking tired and I wish I could go back to sleep. But Wille is here and I really like to look at him, because he really is handsome… More than that, he is so beautiful it hurts somedays.“So?” he asks, presenting two t-shirts to me.I just shake my head. I hate my clothes right now. They feel like the Simon I feel was lost the night I was brutally used. I feel as if that Simon is somewhere, silently singing. Singing... something I haven’t been able to do since mama, Wille and Sara helped to cover the cracks on my own voice.“You don’t like them?” Wille asks me. His lips are forming a pout. “I promise they are as soft as they look.”I just look at nothing, everything is so difficult right now. Even choosing a stupid t-shirt for a fucking counseling session. Counseling is a nice name. Psychological evaluation is what it is.Wille just put the t-shirts back in my small wardrobe and goes to his suitcase.I need to make space in my wardrobe for him, even if mine is small, I really want to. So, I stand up and I start to throw all of my clothes on my bed. Wille looks at me with a little smile.“Want help?” he asks and I nod. “How can I help you, Älskling?”I look down at my bandaged wrist. The white dressings are going from my left wrist to my elbow. Those were deep, deep cuts. Red rivulets were born from them. And so was guilt, the same I can see ridding inside Wille's and Sara’s and mama’s eyes. “Help me choose,” I say to Wilhelm.“Softer ones?” he starts to put my shirts and t-shirts out of theit hangings.I shake my head.“The ones you had never seen on me,” I plead.Wille looks up at me, his face is void of judgement. Then, his lips are descending on my temple and I feel better. The old Simon poking his braveness for a second, while I hold Wilhelm closer to me. My arms circling his mid and landing on his back muscles. I breathe in, feeling better when Wille encircles my waist with his strong arms.“I will help you,” he whispers against my curls. “I will always help you.”Wilhelm picks three t-shirts and five shirts that he has never seen me use and passes them to me, while I put them on hangers.“Now, we put on your clothes,” I say to him. This feels useful.“Okay,” he agrees readily, offering the first piece to me, and I start hanging it on my wardrobe. Until I can see five of Wilhelm’s expensive sweaters, two jackets and two jeans.“Is that all?” I ask him and when I look back, I see him shaking his head.“This one is for you,” he says. Passing me a soft looking orange sweeter. “I read somewhere that people might feel better somedays if they wear clothes from people they love. From people that loves them,” he mumbles, blushing hard. “I thought this would fit you better and the color is one of your favorites, so I thought… That maybe,” he is stumbling over his words. “You will feel better wearing it.”I smile at him. I put the orange garment over my white, non-descript t-shirt. It is soft and it smells strongly of Wille. I hug myself feeling better instantly. I look at my sweater paws and I feel loved.Wille smiles up at me.“I got and idea,” he says, and then he is up and out of my room. His footsteps loud against the floor.I sit on my desk chair, waiting for him to come back.And once Wilhelm is back, he is carrying a pair of black socks that I know are mama’s and a bracelet that screams Sara.“Give me your hand,” he asks and I extend the limb towards him. He wraps Sara’s leather bracelet around it. It is black and have a few wooden beads in the center. “Now, give me your feet,” he crouches down in front of me, covering my feet with mama’s socks. “There you go.”Literally wrapped in my family’s love.“Thank you,” I say to him and he takes my hand in his.“I love you,” he whispers with reverence.I nod my head, leaning forward to rest our foreheads against each other.“Come now, then,” he says, standing up and helping me a few seconds later. “I’m pretty sure we are running late.”I nod and once we are in the living room I can see mama there, Sara is ready too.I am a bit concerned.“The appointment doesn’t include us,” Sara says. “But remember we will be at the other side of the door if you need us.”I nod, feeling better, knowing that I am not alone in this. Feeling again as if I can breathe a little bit more. "Okay, kids," mamma says. "Shoes and coats on. We are gonna be late." And before I can register everything that's happening, I am inside my mom's red car again. Sara is co-pilot today and Wilhelm is sitting down in the back with me. "It's going to be okay, you know?" he says softly. "Erik made me go to therapy once, without mamma's knowledge. But I promise you, you will feel better soon. We will get through this." He intertwin our hands and I lean my head against his shoulder. Wille's body is developing, he is growing up into a fine looking man. He looks delicious in a suit, his shoulders broadenning everyday. Rowing is good for Wille. I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. "Okay," mamma hugs me once I am out of Miss Gardner's office. "Anyone up for ice-cream?"Wille and Sara nods immediately. It was a tearful our. Sixty minutes in which I had to supress my own tears to avoid flooding the specialist's office. She is nice and soft spoken. I feel like I can trust her with my own fears... With what happened that night. She doesn't judges me. She doesn't think it was my fault. She is nice like that. She passed me a couple of tissues during the session to wip my own tears and snot. She let me cry, she let me talk, she even offered to hold my hands while I went through the re-telling of that nights, or the parts I cam remember now. I told her how much I hate people touching me now. She just let me talk. She let me unfold in front of her, all that while keeping her compossure and managing to dose me in that calm-vibes she emits. I left her office with a page that contains three questions that I need to answer before coming back next week. She said it was okay if I didn't, though. She said that the only important thing was for me to process and understand. Process that it happenrd and understand that the vile act itself wasn't okay. Process that not everyone is like that and understand that I have people that cares about me oh-very-so-much. "The same people that are waiting outside that door for you," she said, while I clutched her hand. I feel Wille's hand on my, leading my to the place we are getting ice-cream. "What's going on on that beautiful mind?" he asks me, pulling me out of my mussings. "I'm just thinking," I mumble softly, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back. "Wanna share?" he asks, drawing invisible patterns on the back of my hand. "She said it was okay if I couldn't answer all the questions in the page she gave me before I left for the week," I say. "I'm glad I have her as my therapist. She is nice and kind and soft-spoken." Wille nods, side-hugging me. I cuddle against his side, smelling Wille. It was something I know Miss Gardner noticed. How much I pulled the neck of the sweater I'm wearing against my nose whenever the lung in my throat tried to block my own words, my need to say what is slowly killing my soul. Because the sweater I'm using right now smells like Wille and warm and soft kisses and treasured love. Because I'm wrapped in my family’s love. "She is right, you know?" Wille says eventually. "You don't have to do anything, Simme." I nod. But the truth is... I am tired of feeling like a broken doll. A shell of who I was. I miss the brave Simon that trash-talked the Crown Prince in front of the entire class. I miss the Simon that was free enough to sing out loud and defied all those rich kids. The Simon that was free, shameless of feeling love. Brave enough to kiss Wille first. Brave enough to mock well-spoken Wille. Ice-cream sounds like a good start to search for the Simon that's hidding inside me. That Simon that I dearly love and that I deeply miss. The place is barely full, a bunch of young adults are here sharing with their loved ones, even an elderly couple, sharing a banana-split. The place is calm and there's this soft song playing on the speakers. The lights are a soft gold and the walls are painted a non-descript white on my left and front and a mulral in black and white to my left. A big crystal-wall is at my back. A nice place to start. So, I order a monstrosity of vanilla and cherry ice-cream, with chocolate syrup and sprinkles all over the top. Wille follows suit ordering a strawberry cone, just like Sara's, included chocolate chips on top. Mamma orders a sunday and we are all set. For once, Sara sits down next to Wilhelm. I sit in front of my boyfriend and Mama is by my side. She holds my hand over the table, while I scope my first bite of vanilla, cherry and chocolate dessert. Sara and Wilhelm are looking at something on Sara's phone, both snorting at something or the other while kicking their ice-cream. I smile softly, looking at them. Wille is fast asleep on my bed when I decide to give my homework sheet a try. I take the folded paper out of my jeans pocket. I'm still wrapped in Wilhelm's sweater and I am set into sleeping with it on. Even if spring is knocking in our door. Even if Wilhelm himself is sleeping in my bed. I really want to feel enveloped by his love everysecond of this night. Every second of this night. I settle down on my desk, switching on my desk lamp. The golden light reflecting in my fish's water tank. I smile at them.
What would you tell to your past self?
My past self. The one in hidding. I chew on my pen, looking at Felle, Oke and Oske. They are swimming without a care in the world, passing fake water plants and a plastic rock cave. Oske blows a bubble air in my direction. I smile at him. I really hope it is a he.
Dear Simon,
I know there were things in the past that scared you a lot, and you pulled through those with a smile in your lips. I'm sorry you felt like you had to smile through it. Even though it hurted you a lot, especially because it hurt you a lot.
I know there where times when people made you feel like less, like a mess, like a freak... I'm sorry you feel like you had to endure it in silence, faking bravery even in front of your own family.
I know there were times when you felt like lying and keeping silence was the best for everyone. I'm sorry I showed you, I forced you, to feel like if bottling up all your feelings were your only option. I want to tell you we had other options, but we did what we could with the knowledge we had. And we did so out of love.
Still, I'm sorry.
I know we endure together that violation of our body, soul and mind. And I am sorry because I let you go into hidding there. Because I had made you feel like if there are not other option but disappear. I'm sorry because you and I are the same, but at the time I thought I was doing what was better for us both. Now I know it really wasn't.
I'm sorry I pushed you to always hide what was hurting you so much, until you feel it was necessary to bleed. I'm sorry I silenced your voice with fake smiles, with nights crying in silence, with faces and attitudes of brevery when both of us could have use our own hands to write about our fears, our voice to communicate what was going on with us... within us.
But mostly, I am sorry I made you feel like a burden, because you are not. We are not. Not to mamma. Not to Sara. Not to Wille.
We are a lot of things, but never a burden. Not to them. Let me tell you what we really are, Simon.
We are kind and warmth. We are good friends and good brothers and good sons. We can be better if we give each other a chance to tell ourselves what is hurting us so much, if we tell others what is hurting us so much. Maybe, is not too late to make peace between us and walk together for the rest of our lives. I think we both deserve so much things...
Things that are beautiful and painted with just pure love.
I love you, so much. I love us so much. The way we put katsup in our spaghetti is amazing. No cheff have ever cook such delicacy. I love the way we dance in the solitude of our bedroom and the way we speak Spanish. I love the way we love life, the way we are always searching for good things. But I love our tears too, we need a little bit more of those. I love our scars, because they are the proof that we survived. The way we are still living, the way we can keep living a beautiful, blessed life. I love our voice and the way our body trums happily while we sing together. Lets do that again, let's sing together again, whenever you feel ready :) let's be friends again, Simon.
With so much love,
Simon.
"Good night Felle, Oke, Oske," I bid my fish goodnight, turning the lights off. I take off my jeans and lay down next to Wille. He blinks sleepily at me. "You okay?" he asks, lifting his hand to touch my cheek. "Hold me?" I plead back. Wille reacomodates himself in bed, pulling me softly towards him, until my head is laying on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around me. "I will always hold you," he mumbles. "Always." I smile against him. I feel like humming. So, I humm an old song against Wille's chest. His t-shirt feels soft against my cheek, his heart beating in time with my humming. Slowly, I fall asleep on top of him, feeling secure and a little bit closer to the Simon that I was before all this. The Simon that I am no more, the one I want to hold until we are whole again.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Today is Friday. Usually, Friday are amazing days, people associates it with freedom, out of school and a lot of other cool things. For me Fridays are special because on Fridays I have choir rehearsal. Miss B hands out a new piece to learn every Friday and that makes me utterly happy. Felice put a request to sing a choral version of Tri Martolod and I fell in love with the idea immediately. I even encouraged her to ask Miss B to be the lead soloist. Feliced blushed but asked anyway if she can be the main soloist.Miss B said a happy yes. Happy maybe to see someone take the spotlight. Or happy to see how serious we are taking the choir. After everything that went down, after the video and all the mental therapy I’m doing, I feel safe amidst my choir mates. I feel loved and appreciated, like if my past doesn’t matter at all. Because for this people all that matters is the talent.Or, more of them try to keep it that professional. That artistry. It’s refreshing, so far away from August’s little crew of assholes. My Stupid PrinceOn lineHow’s your day going so far?12:00Hope you are having a good day14:45I miss you14:50 I recheck the time but no new messages from Wille.I feel the itch to text him again, and I forcibly stop myself. I chide myself silently for my irrational behavior. I take a deep breath and go to the music room, feeling grateful when I am the first to arrive.Felice is the second, coming in with Markus (the bass lead) and they both take their seats. I take out my phone out again. Still no message from Wille.I sigh and look out of the window. The snow is falling softly on the ground, covering everything in white. Everything is silent and peaceful, everything except my mind. That mind that is, usually, a torrent of creative ideas and love, is now a hurricane of scenarios where I’m too much, when I’m a burden. When I stop being a valuable person to turn into something, someone, that’s a burden. When Miss B enters, I stop my staring at the snow. I manage to grasp my new music pages without inconvenient. I listen to the lead tenor singing the tenor part and commit it to my memory. My mind eases my mind into a calm state.And once all the choir is singing, I let go of all my feelings, all my thoughts, feeling loved when I manage to blend with the voices of my choir mates. Felice’s melodious voice being the center of our musical rendezvous.I feel loved.Important.Cherished.Choir practice ends and I feel lighter.When the music room is empty, I sit down at the piano bench. My fingers playing idly with the white keys. I play little chords from a new song that has been inside my head for a while now. Feeling I have when I watch Wille and my family together. How brave he is and how beautiful he looks when his eyes light up when mamá hugs him, when Sara sits down to watch Netflix with him, when Maddie paints his pinky with a subtle color.I start hum the lyrics that I can’t bring myself to sing, because I’m afraid my voice will break in seconds.“When I'm watching you feeling love,” Is the phrase that I manage to sing out loud. Going back to hum, while thinking about Wille and the love I feel inside me. The same love that is tarnished somedays by my anxiety. “My darling I just need you,” the last sentence is a hum again.I feel a knot closing my throat and I just keep my soft humming. Playing the mindless chords I remember from hearing.Until, Sara’s voice pulls me out of my magical music world.“Simme,” she says again, her bag hanging from her shoulder. “Let’s go. Mamma is waiting for us at the entrance.”I nod, grabbing my own back from the floor and taking my phone out. It nearly 1800 and I check on Wille’s messages again.Nothing.I add a new message.I love you17:55I close the app and follow Sara out of Hillerska.And once I’m in the warm car my mind wanders away again. The itch to cut comes back full force. I play with it for a few moments, entertaining the idea. Until, I remember that is not healthy and I am better than that. I need to stay focused on other things that aren't the itching to cut, to bleed and feel better. It will be just temporary. “¿Cómo estuvo tu día?” mamá asks when we are inside. How was my day? Strange, but I don't say it out loud. Instead, I hum a response and Sara throws herself in a retail of her day. Trying to go back to the musical world I left behind in the music room, I stay silent and let my mind wander. And I manage to slip in it again, but it burst once more when mama parks in front of our house.I feel the itch when I start doing my math homework again. There’s my last exam and Mr. Englund’s words in red ink stating how I can do better if I control my nerves. But, overall, a good work.I chew the tip of my pen, feeling the itch came back full force and I force myself to put my exam away.I know I can do better, and I’m doing better.I’m doing better.I take out the first letter I wrote to myself during my first appointment with my counselor. I re-read it again. The page has dog-ears and stains of tears, from all the times I had cried over this paper. The page is a bit crumpled at the middle, from all the nights I had hugged it to my chest, willing my mind, myself, to believe we are worthy of something.I take deep breathes and I hug the piece of paper against my chest again. The tightness in my throat doesn’t go away immediately, but I am able to feel my chest raising and falling, the blood rushing through my veins, my heart beating against my ribcage... I count them softly.Thump. Thump. Thump. Alive. I'm alive. Once I feel calmer, I take out my phone.No message from Wille.I delete the last three messages I sent to him. I can’t be too much, I can’t be too clingy, too needy. It will ruin things, so I take away the last messages, even if my heart brakes with every single deleted message.I take a deep breathe.Wille loves me, I know that much. Even if somedays it’s hard to remember. Even if somedays my brain tricks me into believing he doesn’t.Maybe he doesn’t.Nope. No going down there.I turn off my phone. If I can’t see it, then it doesn’t exist. Poor coping mechanism and all. But, right now I need to take control of my anxiety. So, I do whatever I think is best now.I watch my own room and I set down to clean. But, first, music. So I go hunting for mama and her phone and her speaker. There’s a play list all Latinas mama's have. A special playlist to clean the house. I need that playlist right now, to be efficient.“Mamá!” I yell, when I can’t find her in the kitchen.“Bedroom, mi amor,” she yells back and I go there, pushing the door open. “¿Necesitas algo, mi niño?”I nod my head, curls falling against my eyes.“May I borrow your phone to put the latina’s day to clean house playlist?” I ask her and she nods. Passing me her phone. "Or Fabuloso Lavanda playlist..." I trail off. She giggles. I giggle. We both laugh fully when the statement hits us. “The speaker is in the living room,” she says, going back to her paperwork. I nod my agreement. “Te amo.” She says, playfully.“Y yo a ti,” I say back. “Un chingo.”I see her smiling and my heart warms all over again.That’s the thing when someone fucks with your mind. You start forgetting that people loves you, especially the ones that are family. I walk back to my bedroom, setting my head into cleaning. Into helping mama. In being useful to shut up my stupid thoughts.I connect my mamá’s phone to the speaker and the first song that blast through the speaker is Pimpinela with their iconic Pega La Vuelta.I laugh hard, because if that’s not in the playlist, then your mama is a rich Latina. This song was designed to be performed with the pole of the broom as a mic and to be sing from the top of your lungs. Or at least, that’s how my mama sing it and my abuela too. When I’m in the middle of my cleaning, and Amanda Miguel is singing through the speakers her “El Me Mintió” Sara pushes the door opens. I look at her, expectantly.She smiles up.“Maddie gave this to me today,” she says. “She assured me it will help you lift the energies or whatever,” Sara states, passing me a purple candle. "I forgot." She blushes.She looks healthy again. It makes me smile softly at her. I nod, signaling a clean spot in my desk, away from my fish. Far, far away from my fish. Because… what happens if they are afraid of fire? They will have a silent panic attack, and I will not be able to help them because I obviously don’t talk fish. Spanish, Swedish and English is alright. But, Hillerska doesn’t taught fish or Spanish.Whatever. Away from Felle, Oske and Oke.“Do you want me to lit it?” she asks and I nod, going back to my house cleaning singing.I don’t notice when Sara lit up the candle, until the smell is surrounding my bedroom. I make a mental note to thank Maddie for the gift. The atmosphere is different and I switch playlist to "Viejitas Pero Bonitas." Old ballades from Latin America that are so beautiful, they can hurt you if you think about them for too long. Franco De Vita and his “Tu De Que Vas,” is washing over me while I change my sheets. The last thing to do when you clean the house. I remember being in love with Franco and his singing, and his voice and his body in general.Plus, he is Venezuelan.I look at my room for a last time. It’s clean and it’s time for me to clean myself. I disconnect mama’s phone from the speaker and set both items on the dinner table. Mamá can take it that way whenever she needs it.I put a post-it on the speaker. My messy handwriting stating a Thank you with a big heart at the end.Once I’m clean and done changing into PJ’s I lay down in bed. Ignoring the phone on my night stand. The hurt is too much right now. Is stupid and irrational and I don’t want to make it worse. So, I content myself with going back to music. Back to the backtrack I wish to put in the lyrics I’m writing right now.It doesn't work. Wille loves me. He is busy and he is his own person. He has his own problems and a really strict family. His lack of reply is not out of hate or disinterest. And I need to assimilate that and work on my emotions and feelings. Stupid decaying mental health.I hug my pillow close to my chest, trying to name the emotions that are running through my head and heart, just like my therapist taught me. I’m not angry, just wounded. Wounded why? Because I still hear the ‘worthless’ words from the bad people. Is not sadness, is me believing them. I stay with that feeling for a few moments, trying to understand what’s behind it.Dad called me worthless a lot when he was high. The kids at Marieberg did it a few times, until Rosh punched them in the face for those words.I stay with the emotion, still. Am I worthless?The answer is slow to come.I’m worthy. I help mama, I help Sara and Maddie and Felice. I have the bestest mates in the world, they come in the form of a gamer and a competitive footballer. I’m worth their love. I love them deeply and I know they love me back. Sara’s bracelet is still around my wrist, mamá’s constantly telling me how much she loves me. My room smells of Maddie’s witchcraft and Felice is the first to smile at me when Miss B hands me a new solo. I eye the video game Ayub and Rosh saved to gifted me for Christmas this year.I name five things I’m grateful for. It takes me a while, but the smell of lavender is relaxing easily.I’m grateful for my friends. Rosh and Ayub are brother and sister to me at this point of my life. I’m grateful for my family, small as it is.I’m grateful for my voice. I will be completely lost without it.I’m grateful for Wille and his blazing, calm love.I’m grateful for my life.I’m thankful for being so brave.I hug my pillow closer to me and I close my eyes. My body and mind are exhausted and I let go of everything to go to dreamland for a while. It’s peaceful inside my mind and I might have drift for a long time, because when I come back to reality there are arms tugging me towards a warm body by my side.I tense up a bit.“It’s okay, love,” Wille’s voice feels my room and my mind. All the tension left my body instantly. “You can go back to sleep. Linda will call us when dinner is ready,” he says, and I snuggle closer to his chest. “I love you.”I burry my face in his chest. It smells like Wille and safety and home.“Love you too, cariño,” I mumble, going back to dream land.A soft kiss lands against my temple. I feel warm, because when I’m feeling down, cuddles are the only thing that reassures me the people around me loves me. Because of the scent of their bodies. Mamá smells like roses, just like Sara. Wille smells of woods and fire. Ayub of Old Spice and strawberry gum. And so on. They smell so differently, different stages of safety.I sigh happily, tired from today’s emotions. Deep inside my idle brain, I know everything will be okay.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dear Simme,
I have wronged you so much throughout my life and I haven’t had the chance to apologize to you. I want you to know that I am so sorry. I’m deeply sorry.
I am sorry for criticizing you, telling you I hated you, that you are worthless, and that you are not good enough. I am sorry for every name I’ve called you and every mean word I’ve said to you.
I am sorry for believing what others said to you in anger: that you won’t, that you can’t, that you shouldn’t just because of the color of your skin, or because of your curls or because you love someone of the same sex. I'm sorry for beliving that you will be prettier with straight hair, or that your eyes would be gorgeous if they were blue instead of that beautiful deep brown or that you would be prettier being straight.
I am sorry for each and every single time I compared you to someone else, because I hurt you and pushed you to do things that were beyond your limits and by doing so, I made you cry and beated your heart until I made it bleed.
I am sorry for all the time I said to you "You can brake down tomorrow. You can cry tomorrow," while pushing you to be there for others, dry their tears away while making you put under lock all your metions and feelings... until I turned you into someone that didn't know how to express his needs anymore.
I'm sorry for all the times I made you stay silent to not burden others, instead I let you to deal with all on your own. I'm sorry for making you believe that not even I could love you wholly, even when I'm you. And I'm sorry for all the times I blamed you for being human and all the times I blamed you for our heartaches.
I’m sorry for pressuring you to complete The Life Choices List, that you don't needed to know about. I’m sorry I called you a failure and for measuring your worth against those of others
, driving you to endless anxiety, depletion, and depression. I'm sorry for all the time I compared you to the other people out there.
I'm sorry for all the time I looked at you in the mirror and tell you just how ugly you were. I'm sorry for all the times I whispered to you, in the solitude of your room, how disgraceful you were and how unlovable you seemed. I'm sorry for all the time I made you cry and for all the times I couldn't offer a word of comfort to you, when you, in fact, offered it to all the sad souls you have encountered in your path.
I am sorry for not allowing you to rest when you were tired, heal when you were hurt, and relax when you most needed it. I’m sorry for making you feel guilty when you actually made an effort to take care of yourself, laugh, and be free and be your amazing self. That beautiful person that loves with all his heart.
I am sorry for setting up-in-the-heavens standards and ridiculous expectations of you, and feeling like you were a disappointment. I’m sorry for judging you so harshly.
I am sorry for not treating you with love. I am sorry for not saying more encouraging, empowering words, and for not loving you the way I love others.
Please forgive me!
With deep love, admiration, and gratitude,
Simon.