Delilah: An Under Your Scars Novella

by Ariel N. Anderson

Sometimes when I think about my father’s suicide, I wonder if he knew he’d kill a part of me, too.

Losing my parents shattered me, but I’m still here.

Seventeen years later, it still doesn’t feel real some days. Sometimes I still wake up hoping it isn’t.

Looking back on that day feels like an out-of-body experience, but everything about it is burned into my memory so deeply I could probably project it from my eyeballs.

I don’t know why I cared so much about those stupid pancakes, but Dad told me he’d get them for me if I counted to one hundred, and I tried so hard to be good and do it. I

And if I see a pancake? Well, who knew something so innocent and sweet could be the source of a full-blown panic attack? Grandma was in the kitchen because of me, because Mom promised me pancakes for breakfast. They were all in the kitchen because of me. They’re all dead because of me.

I was left with nothing but a disgraced last name and two gravestones.

For all the terrible things he did as the Silencer, Christian Reeves was a hero. My hero.

And the worst part about that thought is that if heaven exists, I know my father can’t exist there with her, which means that in killing himself after losing her, he probably still ended up having to live an eternity without her.

as soon as I see my father’s handwriting, my chest feels like it’s being ripped open.

I want you to remember that your mother is the best thing I never deserved.

Be better than me. Do good in this world. Be selfless and passionate and never let go of the way you choose to see the best in everyone. The way you chose to see the good in me, even when I knew I didn’t have any. I love you, Caroline. Forever. Tell your mother that I’ll be waiting for her on the other side, yeah? Love, Dad.

Was I not enough?

He called her angel because she saved his life the night they met.

He didn’t kill himself because he gave up on me, but because he lost the only thing that was holding him together. His love for me would have never filled that hole in his chest.

the child who died here with her parents.

I saw my father, alive, kneeling next to my mother’s dead body. I spoke to him. He looked over his shoulder at me. I should have gone to him. I should have given him a hug or done anything except fucking stand there and count. Of all the times I could have been stubborn, that was it.

should have cried; I should have screamed. I should have saved him, just like my mother did. But I didn’t, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for it.

Sometimes I wonder if his spirit is still out there, lingering, angry at me for not trying harder.

I chose pancakes over my family. So in that regard, I deserve his anger. I deserve the guilt. Most importantly, I deserve ...

Your mother is the best thing I never deserved.

closure.

He’s always understood that a part of me will never move on from losing my parents as traumatically as I did.

He’s only ever seen me.

“You loved her first, but I love her now, and it’s the honor of my life to have her by my side.”

But he’s still holding on. And so am I.