Katagma Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Present

Olivia

Denial is the second stage. Anyone observing me recognizes my mental state as the natural process of grief. They shoot me sympathetic looks perhaps shaking their heads in a twisted sense of pity. They whisper shallow words to each other stealing glances at the car wreck locked in a padded prison cell. But it’s OK, because denial is a stage and all stages pass in due time.

To me it is not a stage. In fact, it is not denial. It is a test. None of this is real. It can not be. It is all a sinister lie, and I will not be fooled. They can test me and probe me and torture me, but I will not break. I will not swallow the toxin that they relentlessly shove down my throat and call truth. I spit out their deceit with all the disgust that I can muster. I know the truth, and it is not the fabrications that they are imprinting on me.

I rise off of my knees and hobble to one of the white walls. I stare at it commanding it to transform into anything but what it is - white, flat, endless, an infuriating obstacle to my sanity. Lies. It is all lies. It has to be.

I think about him. When is he going to tell me the truth? Why does he masquerade as one of them? Why does he lie to me?

I place my forehead against the wall. I expect it to be hard and cool, but it is warm and soft. It adds to my madness. My breathing quickens to frustration, fear, and rage. I raise my arms above my head clenching my hands into fists. I do not want their pity. I pound on the wall with all the force that I can muster. I scream until my chest hurts and I can not breathe.

I don’t want their pity. I don’t want their lies. I want their regret. I want their repentance, and I want revenge.