‘Fuck you, sun. Even you can’t brighten my day. The dark is my friend now.’
And a day before.
‘I am consumed with pain and loneliness. Please don’t call me or tell me things will get better. I died in that car too.’
Yes. Her pain matches mine so perfectly, born together like twins.
And then there is a smattering of pre-tragedy posts.
‘Omfg this cookie is amazing #fatass #yum’
‘Can’t wait for Nick to get home!’
‘WTF why can’t I get pregnant??’
‘Woohoo shopping spree with my bestie!’
‘Where the hell do my socks go? Is there a fucking portal in the washing machine?’
‘Watching Revenge! #TeamAiden’
A foreign smile spreads across my face as I scroll through her silly and mostly random posts. There are a lot of pictures of her, and him, and them together. All smiles. The perfect, good-looking young couple. I click on another album and it’s filled with pictures of butterflies, birds, squirrels, and flowers, and a few of her out in the woods wearing a vintage dress, lying in the leaves, and a few other girls, presumably her friends, in the same setting. It appears to be some kind of themed shoot. Photography and modeling must be some of her hobbies. She has an odd beauty about her that is a mix of cute and sexy with a side of shy innocence. She’s tiny, maybe five feet, judging from the photos. She possesses the look and aura that my dark side craves to have under me but I refuse to let myself give in to. Instead, I stick to the loud, outgoing, trashy girls because they make me feel absolutely nothing.
I check my own social media page and there is the usual stuff from fans, mostly chicks, a bunch of them wearing the T-shirts that went on sale a few months ago that say “Get Vandalized” on them, the black fabric spread tight across their huge, probably fake, tits. There is nothing about the accident. Sooner or later, someone will start talking about it, or it will be leaked, and I don’t even want to know what I will have to deal with then.
I click back over to Tabitha’s page, and a strange noise interrupts my continued status stalkfest. I put the laptop down and follow the noise, right to the kitchen where the kitten is sitting exactly where I left him—what, an hour ago? Shit. I’m gonna fuckin’ kill Evie.
I kneel down and pet the tiny cat on the head and he leans into my hand. His silvery gray fur feels plush and soft, like a rabbit.
“Okay, little dude, let’s get your shit together.” I pick him up and hold him as I put his food dishes in the kitchen and his litter-box in the mudroom. I set him down in front of each of his things and let him sniff it all, hoping he’ll remember where it all is. The last thing I need is a blind kitten destroying my house. I watch him in strange fascination as he navigates around the kitchen, head slightly tilted, as if he’s memorizing every step, every smell. He makes his way back to me and rubs on my legs triumphantly. Hmm. Sterling seems to overcome his obstacles. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here.
I go back to my laptop and spend the rest of the night going through all of Tabitha’s posts and photos from the most recent to when she opened her social media account four years ago. My newfound obsession with learning about her is a welcome distraction from my usual nightly rituals of self-desecration. A little digging tells me that she quit her job a few weeks ago, and I can tell by her posts since the accident that she’s pulling away from her friends and family. A few people have posted on her page, asking where she has been, saying they miss her at work, telling her she should call. She doesn’t reply to any of these messages. This girl went from being obviously happy, goofy, and very much in love with life and her husband, to a hater of anything remotely happy. She thinks life betrayed her, but it’s actually just the work of some asshole who made a bad decision that in turn destroyed her life.
The ties that bind us each to one another may not always be visible, but they’re there like thin, transparent veins. I don’t know why, but this is one vein I don’t want to slit.
Vandal