Pieces of a Mending Heart

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
No part of this publication may be reproduced , stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 978-1478352938

ISBN-10: 1478352930

Copyright © 2012 by Kristina M. Rovison. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph
by Kourtney Selak
, contact website www.wix.com/kourtneyselak/photography

For my mother, Kelly. Your strength inspires me daily.

“I got off track, I made mistakes
.

Back slid my way into that place where souls get lost
,

Lines get crossed
,

and the pain won’t go away
.

I hit my knees, n
ow here I stand
!

There I was, now here I am
…

Here I am
,

Changed.”

             
-Changed, Rascal Flatts

Pieces of a Mending Heart

Kristina M. Rovison

Chapter 1

Loathing
clings to you like thousands of miniscule spider webs, invisible yet
entirely
encompassi
ng. No amount of time, nor wind
or rain can wash the webs from your soul. Buried deep within, they claw
their way deeper into your flesh
, until all you see, all you feel, is their spiny fingers gripping tighter w
ith your every move. Their vice-
like presence sends a fog over you, in which you comprehend nothing, feel nothing, see or hear
nothing. Nothing, but the hatred
that fills your heart with every step you take. Still breathing,
still walking, blinking, eating and
drinking; in every physical way, you are technically human.

What people can’t see is the screaming madness within, slowly seeping towards the surface of a visibly healthy looking person. What people can’t see is the red of your blood turning to gray nothingness a
s your heart beats out the contempt
that floods your inner being. The body is a shell, nothing more than a fleshy exterior that is not only temporary, but breakable. It can function on autopilot for days, weeks, years,
without ever having a connection to the
person possessing it.

This is the beginning of what I thought was the end, the time I would end my suffering here on Earth and join the loved ones from my past. Shivering, though
the water was burning hot, I si
t in the bathtub, holding the knife in my
right hand. “Goodbye,” I think to myself. There i
s no point
in saying the words out loud
when no one is
here to hear me say
them. As soon as the word echoes
through my brain,
the notebook that contains
my s
uicide letter drops off the counter to the floor with a thwack.

It was surprisingly easy to make my decision, the quickness of the cold blade against the vu
lnerable skin of my wrists. I si
t in
my parents’ bathtub as I slash
away my woes, each drop of bl
ood hitting the water
like a burden off my shoulders.
Nothing happens the way I thought it would
, though
.
No flashing bright lights, no trumpets
sounding
from Heaven, not even the cliché “flash-back” moments seen in countless movies. Just, nothing. Nothing but the pain in my wrists and the thumping of a long dormant heart…

It has been so long since I’ve felt anything; it’s been forever since my heart seemed to beat in tune with my mind. I heard once, somewhere, that the mind stays living a few seconds after the body dies. Whether or not this is true, I
can’t be certain
, especially now. It feels as if I have been lying here forever, sitting, waiting for the burdens to be
swept
away.

Then, I hear it. I didn’t know
that
light was something that co
uld be heard, but I know instantly what it is. I open my eyes and see
myself, lying fully clothed in my parents’ bathtub, face inches below the surface of the water. Looking down at myself, I barely recognized the skinny body that I had once called my own. The lig
ht, a ringing in my ears that is indescribable, urges
me to look up from the dead body below me.

I look
up to see a man standing there, not three feet away from me. If my heart was still beating, it woul
d have been sent into overdrive
.

“Katherine, what a fool you h
ave been my child,” the man says
.

I do
nothin
g, refusing to speak, but I feel
my mouth op
en. Instead of sound, words fall out. Literally,
words
fall
to the ground, rising through my throat, leaving their bitter taste on my tongue, and p
assing my lips as they clatter
to the ground in an organized array. Not forming any specific sen
tences, the various words shape
themselves into a square formation, their bold letters standing out from the pale tiles of the bathroom floor.

“Read
them,” commands
the man.

Ha
ving no choice but to obey, I sink to my knees as I read the
words spraw
led on the floor. Aloud, I begin
to read: “greed, jealousy, hatred, lust, bitterness, grief, fear, shame, blame, regret, remorse, apathy, refusal…”

Th
e voice that says the words sounds like my own, but I am
not in control of my vocal cords at the moment.
My entire being feels like it i
s being electrocuted, hair standing on end and skin whirring with energy. I look down at my hands, flexing and bunching my muscles, feeling the smooth skin of my long fingers gliding along each other.

“Who are you?” I ask the man, feeling the need to avert my eyes from his gaze.

“Dear Katherine, you have made a rather unwise decision, ha
ve you not?” he says with a grim look on his face
as he gestures to my lifeless body in the water.

Again, I feel the need to look away when speaking to him, as if his skin is emitting a bright invisible light. The ringing in my ears ceases when he speaks, as if the world around us is drowned out simply by his presence.

“Who are you?” I repeat, growing slightly panicked. Where is Heaven? If
I don’t deserve
Heaven, where is Hell? Something, anything, would be better than having to stare at the body I have willingly chose to leave. There’s something eerie about having to watch myself bobbing up and down in the steamy red water, and I’m not feeling much at peace.

“Katherine,” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. The moment he touches me, my woes disappear. Like the steam from the water that helped end my life, they float to the ceiling of the bathroom and cloud the mirror with their dreariness. “Katherine, why have you chosen to end the life I have given you? These words,” he gestures towards the pile of words on the floor, “hold an opportunity. I cannot allow you to enter my Kingdom
when it is not your time. My daughter, so much i
s in store for you. Tel
l me, what made you think life wa
s so worthless? What made you think
your problems weren’t something we could
work through together? I have
plans for you, Katherine,” he finishes, shaking his handsome head.

I feel
the desire to drop to my knees and beg for forg
iveness. What have I done? God i
s standing before me,
telling me how disappointed he is in my decisions
and I have no chance to undo my wrongs. I killed myself to leave my demons behind, but if I paid attention to the years of church sermons I had attended, I would have known my sins could not be washed away with death.

What now? There are no words for what I am feeling; there is
nothing but despair and longing…
longing for a second chance. There is nothing, no erratic heartbeat, no heaving for air or salty tears to stain my cheeks. For the better part of
my life, this is what I wanted. I ached
to be devoid of any emotions at all
and be spared from a broken heart
. There is too
much pain, too little happiness and
too much sorrow, so it w
ould be best not to feel at all in this world I feel so disconnected from.

I was dead wrong. There is not a thing I would
n’t
do to change the fact that I am unfeeling at this moment. The despa
ir that filled me moments ago i
s gone, replaced by a terrifying nothingness that seems to sink into my core. This scares me more than anything ever
has before, because I can
feel
myself slipping away i
nto a
black pit of bleak emptiness.

I feel
the weight of a hand on my head
and look up, forcing the fingers to slip away. I immediately crave their warmth, the happiness they bring with their touch, but God speaks t
o me and his words fill my
heart
with hope
.

“Katherine, you
know you made a mistake. You
know it is too late t
o reverse the unchangeable. But
Katherine, w
hat you don’t know
is of my willingness to give you a second chance. You possess a truly
magnificent
soul, my child. A soul fashioned in my image; a soul that needs nothing more than love and kindne
ss to bring it out of the depths
you continually fall into.

“Stand up,” God continues, grasping my cold hands in his warm ones. “These words are so much more than
they appear
. T
hese words are the key to your eternal happiness. If you wish to be granted a second chance, this is your only opportunity.
There is so much in you.
You need to fight the darkness and not give into it!” he says passionately, making my eyes widen.

“
Heaven is not ready for you, my child. And, quite frankly, you are n
ot ready for Heaven
. If you wish to be granted a second chance, say the words and your heart will start beating again.
You’ve made this choice before, so listen to your soul.
”

My mouth opens, words threatening to explode into the quiet room around us. A second chance? Am I really willing to go back to the world I intentionally left? There is no time for drawn ou
t decisions, it is now or never. L
iterally.