Washed Out Read online

  Washed Out

  Safa Shaqsy

  Published by Safa Shaqsy, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction; the names, characters, incidents, and places are the product of the author’s thoughts and imagination. Therefore, any resemblance or any similarity to actual people, either living or dead, environments, or events is coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Safa Shaqsy

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Washed Out

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

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  DEDICATION

  To my mother.

  I love you.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note...................................................................

  Prologue.............................................................................

  Chapter One......................................................................

  Chapter Two......................................................................

  Chapter Three..................................................................

  Chapter Four.....................................................................

  Chapter Five......................................................................

  Chapter Six........................................................................

  Chapter Seven..................................................................

  Chapter Eight...................................................................

  Chapter Nine.....................................................................

  Chapter Ten......................................................................

  Chapter Eleven.................................................................

  Chapter Twelve................................................................

  Chapter Thirteen.............................................................

  Chapter Fourteen............................................................

  Chapter Fifteen................................................................

  Chapter Sixteen...............................................................

  Chapter Seventeen..........................................................

  Chapter Eighteen............................................................

  Chapter Nineteen............................................................

  Chapter Twenty................................................................

  Chapter Twenty-One.......................................................

  Author’s Note

  I’VE BEEN KEEPING THIS story inside me for more than six years, because I thought it was a very hard subject to write about. But there was always a whisper in my ears telling me to go for it. I started writing books in 2015 and published several fiction books, but I never had the nerves to tell my story.

  This is it, my truth.

  This fiction novel is very dear to my heart, and there were times were I was aching while writing this, because it pulled me back to my dark past.

  Some of the plot lines are fiction, but there are true emotions about having a relative who is ill and taking care of them.

  I truly wished if I had exposed all of what I had to write, but this novel would have turned too dark and heavy. I had a few setbacks while writing this novel and a bit of writer’s block, but when I reached the end, I felt like it was the biggest gift to the universe.

  This is for my dear family who went through a lot in the past, and still fighting to survive every day.

  Celia is a very strong character, sometimes more than I am most days. She knows how to take care of herself despite the depressing conflicts that happened in her life.

  We can do this.

  Prologue

  I’VE ALWAYS FELT LIKE I had another me inside, hiding from the outside judges. With the world screaming, my outside shell is quiet and introverted, with a stiff facial expression to push unwanted situations, people and well, life, away. No one ever really understood me, or knew how to deal with me, because I used the shell to protect myself from everything and everyone.

  Avoiding getting hurt was the safest route, and it was the way I dealt with life’s setbacks. They might have said I was aloof or quiet, but I was much more on the inside. I wished that the inside me would win one day, and I’ve tried from time to time to test the inside me, but the results weren’t pleasant.

  A perfectionist is my other side, and I’ve learned that this happens with most girls my age. They feel insecure and turn to judge others to feel better, and life goes on.

  We have our own egos.

  One day, all of that changed.

  My mother was diagnosed with dementia, and all hell broke loose. That was the day she’d started losing her memory, and we started losing her for good, little by little, like the particles of sand in an hourglass.

  Every day, a new symptom appeared which confused us more. The doctors said it was rare, that it should have never happened to a woman in her forties. They sympathized, but couldn’t fully understand her condition. We’ve been from doctor to doctor, and we tried different medications on her. Nothing worked. The medications made her condition worse.

  All that’s left of my family is a younger sister, a younger brother, and my father. Mom left us behind, and slipped into the wonderland of her brain. We never knew what her mind consistently told her, but we were damn sure that her world was messed up. From that day, I was the mother at home, looking after everyone.

  That’s what I remember.

  Chapter One

  MORNING WAS ABNORMAL—NOT one of the mornings my mum used to start with fried eggs and bacon. Our morning consisted of hot coffee for my father and me, and the famous cereal and milk for my siblings.

  We were in a hurry, and my hair was tied up in a knot, with the PJ’s I wore last night after I was out for two hours with my boyfriend, Kent. My eyes were still half-shut. I even forgot to put sugar in my coffee.

  I groaned. “Dad, can you pass me the sugar?”

  “You’re always out late with your boyfriend, and then you complain about how tired you are,” he pointed out.

  I scratched my head and put sugar in my coffee, when I saw my bro, Adam, teasing Amelia with his tongue out, while I stirred my coffee with a spoon.

  Amelia punched his arm real hard. “Idiot!” she screamed. She was strong for a nine-year-old. Amelia always had two sides, the aggressive side and loving side. But we never knew which one would pop up at any moment. She was unpredictable to the max.

  As for Adam, he liked to tease her and see her cry. It was his number one mission in life.

  “I came back at seven,” I replied to Dad’s earlier words, and rolled my eyes as I sipped my coffee.

  The next minute, Amelia screamed and ran away from the dining table. Adam laughed out loud.

  My f
ather shook his head and ordered, “You better stop it, Adam, or I’ll take your iPad.”

  Adam threw the spoon on the table’s surface and walked to the front door. Amelia was sitting down in the staircase, covering her face and crying.

  Now, my father went to Amelia and sat down beside her. “Mimi, you can calm down now, Adam will not tease you again, okay?”

  He used her nickname—Mimi—which always managed to set her right. When Amelia hugged him tight, he hugged her back before he got up and handed them both their backpacks and their lunch boxes.

  I opened the door, saw them get onto the school bus, and waved at them. “Bye, Mimi!” I shouted.

  She waved back and made a fly kiss.

  After the school bus left, I went back inside and climbed the stairs to my parents’ bedroom to check on my mother. She was awake, and I needed to bathe her and give her the pills she needed to take after her meals. She sat on the bed, and looked down on the floor, not talking. Her condition had gotten worse with every passing month. I went to the dresser, took the pills, and walked over to her.

  I bent down to look at her face. She was beautiful, with dark Arabian eyes. I’d inherited my eyes from her, but the other parts I got from my father. He has African genes, which made me a mixed-race girl. That always provoked the question of where I was from, from everyone I knew.

  “Celia, is that you?” my mother asked, and looked at me. She reached out to stroke my hair. It was one of the rare moments when she remembered my name.

  “Yes, it’s me, Mom,” I replied. “It’s time for your medication.”

  I filled an empty glass with water, and gave her the pills to swallow. She took the pills and drank the water, spilling some on her clothes. I took the glass away and placed it on the bedside table, and then took her hand and escorted her to the bathroom.

  There, I brushed her teeth and helped her to shower. All I had to do was act as if I was strong, and act like I wasn’t hurting, because everyone needed me to be there for them. There was no time to cry.

  MY BOYFRIEND, KENT drove onto the driveway of our house in Virginia. Our sweet, humble home that showed people we were a happy and fulfilled family, that we had the perfect parents and the perfect siblings. No one knew the struggles inside our house, or any other house in the neighborhood. It was a shame that our houses were close to each other, but we rarely chatted with our neighbors.

  I fixed my curly hair as flirtatiously as possible, and hopped in his car.

  Kent leaned closer and kissed me, which gave me uncontrolled butterflies fluttering in my stomach. He was the perfect guy for me. Hot, charming, and nice. He had dark hair that reached to his ears, and he liked to dress elegantly. We always talked about our future together, though we had no idea where to start, because we’d only started dating three months ago. I was in no rush, but being away from him felt like some kind of punishment. I needed him around me every second of the day. I needed to smell his shirt, and to feel his warm hugs.

  I needed his soft kisses that tasted like a summer watermelon.

  “Hey, sexy,” he said to me, while holding the steering wheel.

  I giggled, and stared at him with lust.

  He stared back.

  “Be careful, you might hypnotize me and make me do something outrageous,” he warned.

  “Hmm, is that a new pick-up line?” I asked with a laugh.

  “Just the truth.” He then peeled out of the driveway, and after a few moments sped up and yelled, “Woohoo!”

  I held the seat tightly out of shock. “Are you crazy?” I shouted.

  He half-drifted on the street, which made a few drivers honk.

  “Like I said, you make me do crazy things!” he shouted.

  “Kent!”

  He finally slowed down and parked the car in the university’s parking lot. My body shuddered out of shock, and I immediately got out of the car.

  “Come on, boo, I was messing with you,” he called back, while I walked to the main entrance.

  I turned to him, flipping him the middle finger as I went.

  MRS. JENSEN KEPT LECTURING about the types of art in the art industry, and for a moment I almost drifted away. While I tried to stay focused on the subject, I turned my head around to look at my surroundings and noticed a guy staring at me. Then I looked away in shame. Regardless of the geeky Gemland video game T-shirt, he did look good in his own way.

  “Celia, just focus for God’s sake,” I told myself.

  I kept my focus on the lecturer, but I still felt the goosebumps of someone’s stare. I started playing with my pencil, and did some sketches of Kent’s face. The feeling of holding a pencil and drawing was soothing for me. The way the pencil’s tip softly slid on the paper’s surface, creating lines and shapes, comforted me somehow.

  When the lecturer wrapped things up, I got out of the class. As usual, Kent was waiting in his car. He arched one eyebrow and asked, “Looking for a ride?”

  I smiled when I saw him. Simply seeing him was enough for me.

  AMELIA SCREAMED AGAIN. This time, it was something about Adam taking her stuff away, and not returning them. I rolled my eyes, “Adam, please!”

  “But she ruined my headphones!” he yelled back.

  “Who cares, just give them to her!” I ordered.

  He twisted his face in anger and grumbled, “Fine.”

  The same moment, Amelia hugged my belly and sucked her thumb, with tears running down her cheeks.

  Adam shrugged, surrendering to her demands. “They’re upstairs. Come on,” he said, and held Amelia’s hand as he escorted her to the second floor.

  My parents were in the living room, watching television together. I entered and my mother asked, “Did you eat, honey?”

  “Yes, Mom, we just ate,” I stated, “We all did.”

  “Oh, right,” she replied, and turned her attention to the television. I had no idea if she was really watching, or lost in her thoughts again. I had to live with the fact that she was not going to recover anytime soon. The process was getting darker. We had to deal with it—every—single—day.

  My cellphone buzzed in my back pocket, so I pulled it out and saw a few texts from my best friends, Jane and Max on Bubblechat.

  Max: GURL, we need to talk!

  Jane: Hahaha

  Max: Jane, chill, it’s not a joke.

  Max: Are you drunk again?

  Me: Sup? TTYL, K?

  Max: SOS?

  Me: SOS :/

  My girls and I had our own language on Bubblechat. Apps like this allowed it, and Bubblechat was fun to use. With our language, our code, it meant that I had an emergency or something important to do, and I would chat with them later. They completely understood my situation.

  My father then interrupted my thoughts with, “Celia, can you help me take your mother upstairs?”

  I held one of her arms, and he held the other, and we both went upstairs to their bedroom. I gave her her medicine, and before I went off, I said, “Goodnight, Mom.”

  She didn’t reply, and kept looking at the open window that blew cool air inside the room. I pretended that it didn’t hurt me. My father looked at me with grief in his eyes, “I’ll take it from here,” he said.

  I walked out of their bedroom, and went to my bedroom. I took out my phone and started texting.

  Me: It hurts :)

  Max: I know, baby.

  Max: We’re here for you.

  Max: Right, Jane?

  Max: JAAAANE!

  Me: She must have passed out...

  Max: Typical Jane.

  Me: LOL

  Me: I love you guys.

  Max: We love you too :)

  Chapter Two

  MY DAD AND SIBLINGS went to school that morning, and I was home with my mom, to take care of her. We were sitting in the living room watching TV, as I watched her eyes drift away from reality to another world. A world inside her brain. It was like her personality was locked inside a cage in her brain, and would never come out.<
br />
  I knew she was suffering and that’s what made me feel upset sometimes. I turned to the television where they aired The Early Show. The hosts talked about makeup, celebrity gossip in general, and I wondered what kinds of private lives they had behind their bright smiles. What did they suffer from and how well did they hide their personal problems from the audiences?

  My phone beeped. It was a text from Kent.

  Kent: Hey, sexy. :P

  Me: Hey!

  Kent: Wanna go somewhere?

  Me: A date? ;)

  Kent: We haven’t gone on a date in a while, so, yeah.

  Me: Sorry, but I have to stay with Mom through the day. :(

  Kent: Too bad.

  Me: ...

  Kent: Maybe next time?

  Me: Sure.

  I closed my phone and looked at my mother, who slept on the sofa with an open mouth. Those medicines left her like a sloth. She was asleep most of the time, and her appetite was getting worse. Her legs and arms were swollen, and when we asked the doctor about it, he said it was the side effect of the medicine. Sometimes I wished that her suffering would end, but I erased that thought. I didn’t want her to die, but I didn’t want her to suffer, either.

  AT NIGHT, EVERYONE had come home, and father cooked dinner. We sat around the table in the big dining room. My mother almost snoozed, but tried to keep her eyes open. My father kept looking at my mom, and eating his steak. Amelia couldn’t cut the steak with a knife, so I cut it in to pieces for her.

  On the other hand, Adam was listening to music with his headphones, and bobbing his head while eating. I couldn’t blame him. He was distracting himself from what was going on. Music was his escape from the real world.

  “How was school, kids?” my father asked.

  “Huh?” Adam wanted to know. He hadn’t taken off his headphones.

  “He’s asking about school, you idiot!” Amelia started.

  This remark got through. “Stop calling me an idiot!” Adam shot back.