Dear Ana: A Novel
Dear Ana: Chapter 1

I pressed my hand on my chest in a failed attempt at calming down the thumps beating erratically against my ribcage. It knew. Her heart knew where I was, and it was desperately trying to claw through my chest cavity and escape back to its rightful owner.

Ana Williams

Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Friend

Your Heart Will Live Forever

1992-2010

I still couldn’t believe it had already been ten years. Ten fucking years since the worst day of my life. I always assumed Ana was my age, but according to her gravestone, she was three years older than me. Or would be, if she was still alive. At least she was frozen at the ripe age of eighteen. At least she never had to worry about getting old and wrinkly.

At least she was dead.

“Your heart will live forever,” I repeated under my breath, and a strangled laugh tumbled from my lips. Did her family put that there because they knew I would visit her one day? Did they mean it metaphorically? Religiously? Or were they just stating facts because they knew someone else had her heart? Either way, it felt like a slap in the face. A slap I unequivocally deserved.

None of that mattered, though. I wasn’t here to analyze her gravestone or pretend to weep over her oh, so tragic death. I was here because I needed my last moment on this earth to mean something. My lungs’ last breath needed to be significant enough that it would make up for the weak and pathetic act I was about to submit to. So far the only thing this place was doing for me, was ripping open the hole in my soul even wider than it was before.

It wasn’t guilt tearing me apart. It wasn’t grief, or sadness, or shame. Those feelings were consistent and steady and I barely noticed their presence anymore. This was something else. Something bigger and deeper that I recognized instantaneously, like an old friend––no, not a friend––an acquaintance that I knew since birth but kept my distance because I saw how they treated the people close to me. I saw how quickly they tainted your innocence with toxicity and turned you into a monster and I didn’t want to be a monster, but sometimes I couldn’t resist saying hello just to see how it felt. This was one of those sometimes as I stood here, glowering at a fancy stone inscribed with ironic metaphors and that new but old anger rising up into my lungs, chest, throat, and begging to come out in a wave of dreadful vengeance.

The scene played out behind my eyes and suddenly a shovel appeared and I was vigorously digging away at the snow and wet dirt standing between me and the forever eighteen-year-old girl resting peacefully beneath my feet. The shovel wasn’t enough so I dropped onto my hands and knees and desperately started scooping out the oozy mud with my nails. Her coffin flung open and I was finally face to face with the person who stole my eternity of solitude in this silent field of wilderness and dead people. I grabbed her rotting corpse and shook her out of her relaxing slumber to show her what she caused, and what had become of me over the last ten miserable years––

I blinked. Her coffin disappeared, the dirt was back in its place and my nonexistent shovel vanished into thin air. As satisfying as my vivid imagination made it seem, I didn’t do messy and loud. I was going to take back the future she snatched away from me quietly. Softly. And no one could fucking stop me.

Ana couldn’t stop me.

I took a deep and shuddering breath to steady her frantic heart. Death . . . the word was sugar marinating on my tongue and tainting my saliva with all of its sweetness. It filled my mind with a delightful explosion of liberation and freedom. I was scared––of course I was. My skeleton was quivering with anticipation and fear, but no afterlife could be more agonizing than having to live another day on this damned earth. Getting myself to do it was the hard part, but I knew the pleasurable thrill of relief would follow soon after. I couldn’t wait to feel her heart thump its last cursed beat in my chest. I couldn’t wait to feel nothing forever.

Don’t worry, I reassured her frazzled organ, you’ll be reunited with your suitable owner soon.

As would I.

I reached my trembling hand into my pocket and slowly pulled out my gracious savior––

“Excuse me.”

My head whipped up at the sound of his voice, the contents of my pocket slipping through my fingertips and disappearing in the wet snow. The mix of rain and flurries were falling too heavily for me to see anything except for a silhouette looming over me, but his voice hit me clear and precise, almost like his lips spoke the words directly into my ear. They didn’t stop there. I felt his velvet speech flow smoothly into every part of my body without consent. I stood up quickly, my foot discreetly moving to further conceal the tiny pills, and pushed back my hood to get a better view.

Piercing green and blue eyes were glaring at me. I blinked a few times to adjust my vision, but the mismatched gaze only belonged to one person . . . like his eye color gene couldn’t decide which parent to give him so instead he got one of each. I met his glare with curiosity but quickly looked away once I noticed the red rims.

The glassy veil of previously shed tears.

The flowers fisted in his grip, withering under the weather.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered without thinking, desperately racking my brain for something to say. But what could I possibly say? He was here, which meant he knew Ana, and would most likely know that I didn’t. God, how could I be so stupid?! Why did I think coming here was a good idea? I should’ve just done it in my bathroom and called it a fucking day.

“Who are you?” he asked warily, taking a step closer. I immediately took two steps back, my fight or flight reflexes on high alert at his sudden proximity. He lifted his large hand––probably to push the wet hair out of his face, or to adjust his hood that had fallen too far down his forehead––but it didn’t matter because I was already gone.

“Wait!” I heard him call out to me, but I didn’t look back. I sprinted through the rows of gravestones, disrupting the dead as I sloshed noisily in the rain and silently prayed he wasn’t following behind me.

After what felt like hours, I finally saw my car in the distance. I grabbed my keys and quickly unlocked the door, jumping into the driver’s seat without bothering to put my seat belt on before starting the ignition and roughly speeding away.

But where was I supposed to go? What was I supposed to do? I had no plan B. I spent five years idealizing my symbolic goodbye to the world––twenty-five-year-old nobody kills herself at the foot of her heart donor’s grave––yet I never spared a moment to prepare for the possibility of someone intervening.

It wasn’t over. I was driving in a storm. If I sped up, crashing would be inevitable . . .

Twenty-five-year-old car crash survivor dies in a car crash on the tenth anniversary of the previously mentioned car crash.

A giggle slipped through my lips at the thought. It wasn’t just symbolic––it was poetic.

I fixed my determined, unrelenting, unwavering gaze on the busy intersection flashing red, tightened my gloved fingers around the wheel, and pressed my foot deeper into the gas pedal . . .

. . . and then drove straight into an abandoned parking lot.

I turned my car off and threw the keys in the passenger seat with a frustrated shriek.

Look at me.

“No,” I snapped.

Only a second passed before I reluctantly glanced at my rearview mirror.

Coward.

I had specifically booked time off from both my jobs so I could get the deed done at her grave. What a waste, I thought bitterly. I knew deep down nothing good would come out of visiting her, but I was desperate. Desperate for a solution. Desperate for an escape. Desperate for a way out of the shackles of misery my life had me confined in. That’s why, despite all logic, I broke multiple rules at work and illegally used my login information to search up my medical records to figure out her full name. It wasn’t my fault. I’d asked a million questions over the years––How old was she? How did she die? Did you see her family? Did her family see me?

No one ever gave me any answers.

Ana Williams. Such a plain and ordinary name for the plain and ordinary girl who just happened to be the center of my universe. I was always imagining a faceless girl in my mind when I pictured her, but now I had all the pieces to complete the puzzle. Except it wasn’t the beautiful, smiling girl I saw online. No, my sick and twisted brain automatically altered her face to what I assumed it would look like today.

Expired. Lifeless. Deceased.

Not only did this trip fail to provide me with even a hint of closure, it somehow managed to make me feel worse, which I didn’t think was possible. To make matters even more lovely, my bottle of opioids prescribed ten years ago was now deteriorating in the precious dirt that hugged Ana’s grave. That bitch took what should’ve been my coffin, and because that obviously wasn’t enough for her, she also took the only thing I had in my possession that would successfully stop her heart. I mean sure, shoving a kitchen knife through my chest would also do the job just fine, but could I not leave this earth with even a shred of dignity?

Overdosing was clean. Simple. No one would even know at first. They would only replace out the truth days later, and I knew my parents wouldn’t expose me. Not because they cared about me or my reputation, but because it would make them look bad. How shameful . . . to have a daughter who killed herself. What a disgraceful fucking sin.

I continued to stare through the windshield, my brown eyes reflecting back at me. Except the longer I stared, the more those eyes started to change color as my thoughts drifted to the man at her grave. I knew I wouldn’t be the only person visiting Ana on the anniversary of her death, but I thought I was clear after I spent hours watching her family and friends come and go from afar like the creepy stalker I was. I watched them mourn over her, cry over her, completely break down over her. I even waited an hour after everyone was gone just to be certain, but of course her line of loved ones wasn’t over. It made sense that her boyfriend would want to visit her alone––why didn’t I expect that? If I had just waited a little longer . . .

I wondered what he would think if he knew he’d just come face to face with the girl who got her heart. Who stole it from the hundreds of people waiting. Maybe he would’ve thought twice before barging in. Maybe he would’ve fed me the pills himself.

My phone beeped in my pocket.

where are you? -Mama

I flickered my gaze back up to the window and scowled at those stupid eyes.

The metal cuff around my ankle started to tug roughly.

It was time to go home.

After driving under the speed limit and stopping double the time required at every stop sign, I eventually turned the corner onto my street. The weather was making my vision worse than usual, and I almost didn’t notice the car parked in my spot.

A black sedan––Dodge Dart Limited––with red seats and an indent in the bumper.

My blood immediately started pounding roughly in my ears at the sight. I carefully parked in front of my house and cut off the engine before they could see my headlights through the blinds.

I clutched the steering wheel hard, my hands wrapped so tightly around the rubber my nails were digging into my gloved palms. All the air in my car was slipping through the cracks and I suddenly couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t go inside––

But I had to. The sooner I got inside, the faster I could escape into the confines of my room unscathed.

There were exactly 52 steps between the curb and the front porch. I knew this because counting the steps toward my demise was a comforting and distracting act, but it couldn’t distract me forever.

I hesitated slightly. I could hear his voice, followed by my parent’s laughter. I held back the bile in my throat before pushing open the door.

“Salam Mama, Baba,” I said without looking in their direction. I quickly leaned down to remove my sneakers and shoved them into the closet.

“I put your dinner in the microwave, do you want me to heat it––?”

“Not hungry, goodnight,” I interrupted, heading for the stairs to make my escape.

“Hi Maya, how are you?”

His voice cut through me like glass, threatening to trigger all the horrific memories floating behind my eyes. I took the stairs two at a time without giving any indication that I heard him, but my mother’s words drifted up behind me and jerked my metal cuff, stopping my legs from going any further.

“Don’t worry about her, Mikhail,” she said soothingly. “You know how Maya is . . .”

But she never finished her sentence. How am I, Mama? Nobody knew, least of all her.

I stepped into my room and closed the door, but I could still hear them talking and laughing, making my ears bleed acid. I stripped out of my damp clothes robotically before grabbing my headphones and sitting inside my cramped closet.

My body knew me so well that it immediately started to fold in on itself, making me smaller and letting me hide. It bent at the waist, and then again at the knees as I clutched my abdomen and tried not to let my insides come tumbling out. I knew I was in my room, but I wasn’t. Not really. I was trapped in my mind, frantically swimming around and searching through the murky depths of my brain for something, but never fucking replaceing it. I kept searching until eventually I just got lost in the excruciating feeling of hopelessness that was constantly washing over me, and lingering stagnantly in the air I was submerged in.

Just breathe, I reminded myself. You’re safe, Maya. He can’t hurt you anymore.

The tight space in my closet slowly started to cocoon me into a bubble of darkness, and my thoughts once again strayed to the man at Ana’s grave. The man who interrupted me. I was finally going to do it. I was finally going to jump out of the cycle of detrimental survival I’d been imprisoned in day after day. I was finally ready to sculpt my own future . . . God, who was I kidding? It was so much easier to blame some stranger than admit to myself that I was never going to go through with it.

And in the end, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that my plans got ruined. It didn’t matter that I threw in the towel at the last second and surrendered to my fear instead of giving in to my pain. Whether I was buried under the ground or living in this house, they would always be a complete family without me.

Besides, I already died thirteen years ago but nobody noticed because the person that killed me was my brother. He killed me over and over again, but nobody noticed because the blood oozing from my wounds was invisible. It ran clear, camouflaging into my surroundings to remain eternally concealed. Only I could see the bright red puddle of agony I was endlessly immersed in. It was my only constant in this bleak world . . . he was my only constant.

I dug my fingers deep into the buds in my ears to forcefully block out all the horrible noise coming from my brain until it was quiet and all I could hear was my shuttered breath. My nerves were still anxiously tingling, but after a few minutes, the silence initiated my body into a state of numbness, protecting me from feeling the full weight of my parent’s betrayal and shielding me from the crushing realization that I was completely and unconditionally alone.