It wasn't right.
It wasn't fair.
It should've been her.
She was lucky, it should have been her.
She was lucky, it wasn't fair, she was supposed to be dead.
A shudder went through her body as she retched into the toilet again.It should have been her.
A pause, heavy breathing in the dark. She retched, spittle pasted onto her lips and chin, and she futilely tried to wipe her damp hair from her face.
She wish she was-no fuck that fuck you. She was alive, and that was what hurt, but it hurt so bad she wanted to die, and that just made it hurt worse.
It should have been her.
Ingrid Lee should've died three years ago.
There was a knock at the door, a quiet one, and then two knocks with greater purpose, conviction. Ingrid, panting, wondered if her stomach was empty yet, if he would want to hold her while she was dripping puke and sweat, but obviously he would, he told her as much, so many times, that's why they were here, together, engaged even until they had the money-
Stop. "I'm okay." Her voice was weak, tremulous. "It's okay. You can come in."
He opened the door. Her poor Carter, didn't matter he was tall and built like a pillar, he looked like a paper cutout now. He was on one knee, hand on her back, gently massaging her while he held her close.
She wasn't okay. But it was okay.
Kimi No Kioku
Memories of You
Hangovers were hell.
As much as people joked about the Asian constitution or lack thereof, Ingrid was about as good at holding her alcohol as a sieve. Which was why she'd gotten as drunk as she had last night. The memory now was blurry and disorientating, but the pain was still there.
Carter called her in sick, turned off her alarm. She was almost indignant, but it was hard when he was doing what she could have hoped for and beyond. She was wrapped in all the sheets available, the Seattle summer not having picked up speed yet.
Her brain hurt. Her everything hurt. The one-bedroom apartment was cool and the blinds were drawn, but it still hurt. Comparing it to the other pain, she found it was pointless to compare the dehydration and poisoning of alcohol with the existential despair of her life right now.
Drifting in and out of sleep, sipping cold water from the bottle on the nightstand when she could, Ingrid was finally drawn from sleep when the ambient noise of Carter's voice persisted long enough for her to realize what it was.
Sitting up, Ingrid stretched her joints and neck, tentatively rising to her feet and moving towards the barely-open door. Carter was pacing between the living room and the kitchen, looking exasperated and anxious. He noticed her instantly, and quickly finished whatever he was saying. She only realized he was on the phone when he hung up.
"Who was-" Ingrid was interrupted by his lunging embrace, though it was not an unwelcome one. She clung to him, trying to reprimand herself to preempt any tears. It mostly worked.
"Your mom called." Carter looked her in the eyes, serious as he ever got. "She asked if you were okay, so I told her no, and she asked if she should come visit, and I said I'd let you decide. Is that okay?"
Oh, Mom. Ingrid smiled, half-grateful and half-embarrassed. "I'll call her later. She doesn't need to come all the way here. It...it'll be okay."
It was the day after it began. All things considered, it was going better than last time.
As much as people joked about the Asian constitution or lack thereof, Ingrid was about as good at holding her alcohol as a sieve. Which was why she'd gotten as drunk as she had last night. The memory now was blurry and disorientating, but the pain was still there.
Carter called her in sick, turned off her alarm. She was almost indignant, but it was hard when he was doing what she could have hoped for and beyond. She was wrapped in all the sheets available, the Seattle summer not having picked up speed yet.
Her brain hurt. Her everything hurt. The one-bedroom apartment was cool and the blinds were drawn, but it still hurt. Comparing it to the other pain, she found it was pointless to compare the dehydration and poisoning of alcohol with the existential despair of her life right now.
Drifting in and out of sleep, sipping cold water from the bottle on the nightstand when she could, Ingrid was finally drawn from sleep when the ambient noise of Carter's voice persisted long enough for her to realize what it was.
Sitting up, Ingrid stretched her joints and neck, tentatively rising to her feet and moving towards the barely-open door. Carter was pacing between the living room and the kitchen, looking exasperated and anxious. He noticed her instantly, and quickly finished whatever he was saying. She only realized he was on the phone when he hung up.
"Who was-" Ingrid was interrupted by his lunging embrace, though it was not an unwelcome one. She clung to him, trying to reprimand herself to preempt any tears. It mostly worked.
"Your mom called." Carter looked her in the eyes, serious as he ever got. "She asked if you were okay, so I told her no, and she asked if she should come visit, and I said I'd let you decide. Is that okay?"
Oh, Mom. Ingrid smiled, half-grateful and half-embarrassed. "I'll call her later. She doesn't need to come all the way here. It...it'll be okay."
It was the day after it began. All things considered, it was going better than last time.
It was hard to find things to do when she was still sick as a dog and dedicated to avoiding any form of electronic media that might make her crack.
It sounded like the obvious solution, but reading was impossible, too. The book on her nightstand was some trashy crime drama Tracey gave her for a laugh. It was funny before, but the chapter she tried to return to opened with another victim of the dread serial killer 'The Yellowjacket'. It was a horrible piece of writing, objectively, but still too close to home.
She wished Carter was available just to be with, but that was probably pushing it. Her mother, bless her, had made the situation apparent on Facebook, and now her fiance was fielding a constant stream of concerned phone calls and at least one heckler. He was a godsend for keeping her going, as usual, but he couldn't be doing both things at once.
They just needed an automatic answer machine, really; 'Hi, Ingrid isn't available right now on account that she's suffering from flashbacks to the abduction and killing-'
Tears, whimpering, and the sensation of choking reminded her not to go down that path yet. She could deal with the logistics when she could deal with the suckiness of it all.
It sounded like the obvious solution, but reading was impossible, too. The book on her nightstand was some trashy crime drama Tracey gave her for a laugh. It was funny before, but the chapter she tried to return to opened with another victim of the dread serial killer 'The Yellowjacket'. It was a horrible piece of writing, objectively, but still too close to home.
She wished Carter was available just to be with, but that was probably pushing it. Her mother, bless her, had made the situation apparent on Facebook, and now her fiance was fielding a constant stream of concerned phone calls and at least one heckler. He was a godsend for keeping her going, as usual, but he couldn't be doing both things at once.
They just needed an automatic answer machine, really; 'Hi, Ingrid isn't available right now on account that she's suffering from flashbacks to the abduction and killing-'
Tears, whimpering, and the sensation of choking reminded her not to go down that path yet. She could deal with the logistics when she could deal with the suckiness of it all.
Three days passed. She left bed about five times during that period, and once was so Carter could wash the sheets and urge her to 'take care of herself' which was nice-talk for 'take a shower and brush your teeth'. It helped, a little.
On the sixth day since the news hit, Tracey showed up unexpectedly. Carter was hesitant, but Ingrid insisted it would be okay. Tracey was maybe a little chipper to be around right now, but Ingrid could really use some variety between sleeping and being awake or Carter at work or home.
"You look good." Tracey and Ingrid were always compared in their friend circle; both were short, curvy and fair-skinned. Tracey's hair was long and blonde and glamorous, while Ingrid's was near-black and was never past her shoulders. Also, Tracey was not Japanese, which had memorably crushed her suggestion to dye her hair and pretend to be Ingrid on Halloween a year ago.
"Good, huh? I was expecting 'awful', and frankly I'd have believed that more." Ingrid managed a wry smile, sitting up against the pillows.
"Hey, relatively speaking." Tracey sat down at the foot of the bed. Through the door, Ingrid glimpsed Carter already dozing on the couch. He'd been doing so much to take care of everything around her, it was a well-deserved rest.
"So, how's it going in the land of the sun?" Ingrid was flippant in tone, but anxious in truth. Tracey was probably bursting with questions, and Ingrid would love to get something to smile about beforehand.
"Uh, hmm." Tracey put her hand on her chin. Well, Stefan and I are still wanting to adopt a puppy, right? Well, I want a cute little puppy, but he's like, really wanting an older dog since he says they don't get adopted and get put down. And that's really sad, right, but I-"
Tracey froze. Ingrid didn't get it until her friend started again, "Oh, no, that's okay right, like, I didn't mean to, about the class and-"
Ingrid held up her hand, not looking at Tracey. "It's okay. That's different. I didn't notice until you mentioned it."
"Oh no, I did it anyway, then, I'm so sorry, I just-"
Ingrid lowered her hand and looked up at Tracey, who now looked totally mortified. "Listen, it's nice that you're worried, Trace. It's been three years since the last time, this one isn't even as bad. I just need to" she "suck it up. Right?"
Tracey nodded, very slowly. "Okay, right. So you're getting over it."
Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?" She asked slowly.
Tracey returned the look, almost comically. "Well, like you said, it's been three years since the Seattle one, right? You're kinda...wallowing." Tracey looked hesitant, which was so out of character that Ingrid nearly did a double-take.
"I'm wallowing? Tracey, I-" She swallowed "The Aurora High abductions, that was my grade, like, four years after I went to Japan. I knew those kids. They were my friends, and then they all died, and-" No. Stop. No more. Don't say it, don't say, it-
"My best friend, all of middle school, he murdered four people."
Tears, again.
On the sixth day since the news hit, Tracey showed up unexpectedly. Carter was hesitant, but Ingrid insisted it would be okay. Tracey was maybe a little chipper to be around right now, but Ingrid could really use some variety between sleeping and being awake or Carter at work or home.
"You look good." Tracey and Ingrid were always compared in their friend circle; both were short, curvy and fair-skinned. Tracey's hair was long and blonde and glamorous, while Ingrid's was near-black and was never past her shoulders. Also, Tracey was not Japanese, which had memorably crushed her suggestion to dye her hair and pretend to be Ingrid on Halloween a year ago.
"Good, huh? I was expecting 'awful', and frankly I'd have believed that more." Ingrid managed a wry smile, sitting up against the pillows.
"Hey, relatively speaking." Tracey sat down at the foot of the bed. Through the door, Ingrid glimpsed Carter already dozing on the couch. He'd been doing so much to take care of everything around her, it was a well-deserved rest.
"So, how's it going in the land of the sun?" Ingrid was flippant in tone, but anxious in truth. Tracey was probably bursting with questions, and Ingrid would love to get something to smile about beforehand.
"Uh, hmm." Tracey put her hand on her chin. Well, Stefan and I are still wanting to adopt a puppy, right? Well, I want a cute little puppy, but he's like, really wanting an older dog since he says they don't get adopted and get put down. And that's really sad, right, but I-"
Tracey froze. Ingrid didn't get it until her friend started again, "Oh, no, that's okay right, like, I didn't mean to, about the class and-"
Ingrid held up her hand, not looking at Tracey. "It's okay. That's different. I didn't notice until you mentioned it."
"Oh no, I did it anyway, then, I'm so sorry, I just-"
Ingrid lowered her hand and looked up at Tracey, who now looked totally mortified. "Listen, it's nice that you're worried, Trace. It's been three years since the last time, this one isn't even as bad. I just need to" she "suck it up. Right?"
Tracey nodded, very slowly. "Okay, right. So you're getting over it."
Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?" She asked slowly.
Tracey returned the look, almost comically. "Well, like you said, it's been three years since the Seattle one, right? You're kinda...wallowing." Tracey looked hesitant, which was so out of character that Ingrid nearly did a double-take.
"I'm wallowing? Tracey, I-" She swallowed "The Aurora High abductions, that was my grade, like, four years after I went to Japan. I knew those kids. They were my friends, and then they all died, and-" No. Stop. No more. Don't say it, don't say, it-
"My best friend, all of middle school, he murdered four people."
Tears, again.
Tracey, for her part, waited for Ingrid to regain her composure before speaking.
"Yeah, I remember. All those kids killed each other, even him. It's horrible, but you hadn't seen them in four years, and they died three years ago! You need to let it go."
Ingrid very, very nearly snapped at her. She didn't, but it was close. "I could've been there, Tracey! I could be dead right now, and it's just random chance that my grandma got sick. I'd have been in that class, and it's not right." She didn't even know what wasn't right. But it wasn't right.
Tracey stood up and moved around the bed, wrapping Ingrid in an unexpected and firm hug. "It's called survivor's guilt, Lee-Lee. You survived when other people didn't. It's normal. You just-"
Ingrid squirmed. "I thought I was Inny-Minny?" The response was such a surprise to Ingrid that she laughed, harshly, but loudly.
Tracey giggled. "You hated it. You and your dumb name, I can't give you a cute pet name that's not silly." For a moment, things were normal. Then the dark mood returned.
"You aren't the only one. How many people were out sick that day, or skipped the trip, let alone moved away four years ago. You're wallowing-"
"No, I'm not!"
Tracey gave her a look. "You're letting the guilt overwhelm you. It's sad and horrible but it's over and gone and you have your own life now. You're getting married for God's sake!"
Ingrid looked down as the two finally separated and Tracey stood in front of her. "Yeah. Carter's been so helpful, though."
"He's enabling you."
Ingrid snapped her head back up. "What?!"
Tracey shrugged. "I mean, not in a bad way. He loves you, duh, you know that, but he wants to protect you, except he can't protect you from yourself, right? So he's doing stuff for you like a crutch. You have to face it yourself. People died, you didn't. End of story."
Ingrid was quiet for some time, like a minute or more. She wanted to argue, to reject, to deny everything Tracey said. Feeling bad was fine! It was okay to be upset, or cry. She had a right to grieve, right?
But she wasn't grieving, was she? Was she really? She was moping, maybe even wallowing. Right now, over a hundred teens from Kingman, Arizona were gone. Were their families grieving? Absolutely. Were they laying in bed for three days? Very possibly.
Was she nearly at that level? Was it her sister, her boyfriend, her child?
Ingrid clenched and unclenched her fists. "Okay, I surrender. You have a point, I guess."
Tracey put her hands on her hips. "I guess? I think you know I have more than that."
With a sigh, Ingrid nodded and stood from the bed. "Yeah. I guess."
The two smiled. Ingrid moved into the living area, sat down on the arm of the couch, and looked down at Carter's sleeping form. She was so lucky. To be here, with him, alive. It was about as cliche as it got, but...she was alive. Other people died. She kind of needed to move on, right? Or she might as well be dead, and then it really should have been her.
Carter woke with a start, eyes looking at the empty bed through the door and then wildly around the room. As he sat up, Ingrid slid down next to him and wrapped herself around his frame. "Oh, you're up." He said, sounding confused but smiling.
"Yeah. I'm going to go to work tomorrow, so you need to tell me where you hid my purse this time."
Carter almost responded immediately, but stopped. After a moment, he smiled again, and said, "If you're sure. I never hide your purse though. I just..." He gestured vaguely.
"You hide it."
"Nuh-uh!"
"Oh my god, you do." Ingrid looked up at Tracey. "Are you hearing this? He hides it."
Tracey held her neutral expression for maybe half a second before she burst into helpless giggles. "You two are actually toddlers. Holy crap."
Ingrid opted not to dignify that with a direct response. Instead, she stuck out her tongue at Tracey and leaned against Carter, who was glad to pull her closer in a hug.
God, was it really so easy? It was like black and white. As soon as the negative memories came back, she felt a little more weighed down again, but it wasn't so bad. She was always taking things too hard, like when she cried for weeks after moving.
Ingrid had been told to lighten up many, many times. There was no guarantee this one pep talk would do anything, but it might help.
Things could be okay.
"Yeah, I remember. All those kids killed each other, even him. It's horrible, but you hadn't seen them in four years, and they died three years ago! You need to let it go."
Ingrid very, very nearly snapped at her. She didn't, but it was close. "I could've been there, Tracey! I could be dead right now, and it's just random chance that my grandma got sick. I'd have been in that class, and it's not right." She didn't even know what wasn't right. But it wasn't right.
Tracey stood up and moved around the bed, wrapping Ingrid in an unexpected and firm hug. "It's called survivor's guilt, Lee-Lee. You survived when other people didn't. It's normal. You just-"
Ingrid squirmed. "I thought I was Inny-Minny?" The response was such a surprise to Ingrid that she laughed, harshly, but loudly.
Tracey giggled. "You hated it. You and your dumb name, I can't give you a cute pet name that's not silly." For a moment, things were normal. Then the dark mood returned.
"You aren't the only one. How many people were out sick that day, or skipped the trip, let alone moved away four years ago. You're wallowing-"
"No, I'm not!"
Tracey gave her a look. "You're letting the guilt overwhelm you. It's sad and horrible but it's over and gone and you have your own life now. You're getting married for God's sake!"
Ingrid looked down as the two finally separated and Tracey stood in front of her. "Yeah. Carter's been so helpful, though."
"He's enabling you."
Ingrid snapped her head back up. "What?!"
Tracey shrugged. "I mean, not in a bad way. He loves you, duh, you know that, but he wants to protect you, except he can't protect you from yourself, right? So he's doing stuff for you like a crutch. You have to face it yourself. People died, you didn't. End of story."
Ingrid was quiet for some time, like a minute or more. She wanted to argue, to reject, to deny everything Tracey said. Feeling bad was fine! It was okay to be upset, or cry. She had a right to grieve, right?
But she wasn't grieving, was she? Was she really? She was moping, maybe even wallowing. Right now, over a hundred teens from Kingman, Arizona were gone. Were their families grieving? Absolutely. Were they laying in bed for three days? Very possibly.
Was she nearly at that level? Was it her sister, her boyfriend, her child?
Ingrid clenched and unclenched her fists. "Okay, I surrender. You have a point, I guess."
Tracey put her hands on her hips. "I guess? I think you know I have more than that."
With a sigh, Ingrid nodded and stood from the bed. "Yeah. I guess."
The two smiled. Ingrid moved into the living area, sat down on the arm of the couch, and looked down at Carter's sleeping form. She was so lucky. To be here, with him, alive. It was about as cliche as it got, but...she was alive. Other people died. She kind of needed to move on, right? Or she might as well be dead, and then it really should have been her.
Carter woke with a start, eyes looking at the empty bed through the door and then wildly around the room. As he sat up, Ingrid slid down next to him and wrapped herself around his frame. "Oh, you're up." He said, sounding confused but smiling.
"Yeah. I'm going to go to work tomorrow, so you need to tell me where you hid my purse this time."
Carter almost responded immediately, but stopped. After a moment, he smiled again, and said, "If you're sure. I never hide your purse though. I just..." He gestured vaguely.
"You hide it."
"Nuh-uh!"
"Oh my god, you do." Ingrid looked up at Tracey. "Are you hearing this? He hides it."
Tracey held her neutral expression for maybe half a second before she burst into helpless giggles. "You two are actually toddlers. Holy crap."
Ingrid opted not to dignify that with a direct response. Instead, she stuck out her tongue at Tracey and leaned against Carter, who was glad to pull her closer in a hug.
God, was it really so easy? It was like black and white. As soon as the negative memories came back, she felt a little more weighed down again, but it wasn't so bad. She was always taking things too hard, like when she cried for weeks after moving.
Ingrid had been told to lighten up many, many times. There was no guarantee this one pep talk would do anything, but it might help.
Things could be okay.