I Saved My Sister, So They Drowned Me Chapter 10
There wasn’t much to say about what happened afterward.
I moved to a city far away.
A coastal city in the south.
I rented a tiny apartment.
One bedroom and one living room.
It was twice the size of that little storage room behind the coffee shop.
I was satisfied.
The first thing I did was make an appointment with a Psychiatrist.
This time, no one stopped me and asked:
“What’s wrong with you?”
The Psychiatrist prescribed medication for me and told me to take it on schedule every day.
“Your recovery will take time.”
“Don’t rush yourself.”
“Take it slow.”
Take it slow.
I had heard those words countless times before.
But this was the first time I felt like maybe…
I really could slow down.
I found a simple job.
I helped out at a flower shop.
The owner was a woman in her forties.
She didn’t talk much.
Every morning, the first thing she did after opening the shop was water all the flowers.
She never asked where I came from.
Or why I was there.
The day I received my first month’s paycheck, I went to the grocery store and bought a bag of oranges.
The cheapest kind.
I placed them on the windowsill.
Every day, I took one out and smelled it.
At night, when I couldn’t sleep, I would hold it close and breathe in the scent.
Slowly, I started sleeping four hours.
Then five.
Then six.
One morning, when I woke up, I saw a strip of light coming through the gap between the curtains.
They weren’t blackout curtains.
They were ones I chose myself.
White.
Thin.
The sunlight fell onto my blanket.
Warm.
I froze for a moment.
Then I smiled.
It was the kind of smile where the corners of my lips moved slightly before I even noticed.
But I really was smiling.
I hadn’t smiled in a long time.
My phone was filled with unread messages.
From Mom.
From Dad.
From Lily.
From Uncle Robert.
From Aunt Claire.
I didn’t block them.
But I didn’t open them either.
Except for one.
I read Lily’s.
It wasn’t a long message.
There was only one photo.
She was standing on the balcony at home.
Holding a small flower seedling in her hands.
The caption only had four words:
“Learning how to grow flowers.”
I stared at the photo for a long time.
Then I closed it.
I didn’t reply.
It wasn’t because I didn’t want to.
I just wasn’t ready yet.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe next month.
Maybe a long, long time from now.
But not today.
On an evening in my third month of taking my prescribed medication, I was cleaning up broken stems at the flower shop.
The owner had gone out to pick up supplies.
I was the only one left in the shop.
I crouched on the floor, sweeping fallen leaves into the dustpan.
Then I suddenly heard the wind chime at the door ring.
I looked up.
A little girl stood at the entrance.
She looked about five or six years old.
Her hair was tied into two messy little braids.
She stood on her tiptoes, staring at a bouquet of baby’s breath on the counter.
Her eyes were shining.
“This flower is so pretty!”
I smiled.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah!”
“But I don’t have any money.”
She opened both hands and showed me.
There were two pieces of candy in her palms.
Both had melted.
The wrappers were sticky.
I took a small branch of baby’s breath from the counter.
Then I crouched down and handed it to her.
“It’s for you.”
She took it.
Her eyes curved into little crescents as she smiled.
“Thank you!”
Then she placed one of the melted candies on the counter.
Turned around.
And ran away.
I stared at that melted piece of candy.
And suddenly, I thought of Evelyn Harper.
I thought of all those oranges.
I thought of someone who never asked questions.
Someone who simply placed something sweet in front of me.
That night, I sat by the windowsill.
I took out the orange I had kept in my pocket but never eaten.
It was the one Evelyn Harper had given me on the day I was discharged.
The peel had already dried.
It had hardened and shrunk into a tiny little ball.
But when I brought it close and smelled it…
There was still a faint trace of sweetness.
I placed it on the windowsill.
Beside it were sunlight.
The glow coming through the white curtains.
A small broken leaf I had brought home from the flower shop.
And the melted piece of candy.
They were all worthless little things.
But they belonged to me.
They were mine alone.
Small, warm things I didn’t have to give up for anyone anymore.
I picked up my phone.
Opened the Notes app.
“Lily’s Care Instructions.”
I read through all twenty-four notes.
One by one.
Then I added a new line at the bottom.
It wasn’t the twenty-fifth note.
It was just a sentence.
“Please take good care of her.”
“I need to take good care of myself too.”
I saved it.
Turned off the screen.
Outside the window, the sea breeze drifted in.
It carried the scent of salt.
And a faint fragrance of flowers.
I closed my eyes.
The world beneath the ice had been unbearably cold.
But I had climbed back up.
This time…
I did it myself.