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But his actions are saying much more than his lips ever could.I see you, they say. It feels like he’s asking for forgiveness for something he had no control over. Had no way of knowing. I’m on the edge of panic when he finally lets go of my wrist and smiles up at me. I swallow loudly. He raises his hand to my face, my chin settling into his palm while his thumb traces the now familiar path of my bottom lip. I chase the feeling before it’s gone and look back at him. He holds my gaze for a little while longer and finally steps away.
“Sweet dreams, my little sun,” he says into the night before climbing back into the car, the sound of the door slamming shut making me flinch.
Eventually, I shake myself out of this day long fever dream and turn towards my building door knowing he won’t leave until I’m actually inside the building. I give him a small wave and turn the key into the lock, open the front door, the sound of his car driving up my street the last thing I hear before climbing up the stairs and into my apartment.
The next morning I wake up with the familiar black void hovering above my bed threatening to swallow me whole. Byzantine’s repeated interest in my scar must have triggered it. I’ve been able to dodge it for a few months but it’s never far away or gone too long. The last time this happened I stayed in bed for over a week. Lenix, bless her, managed to cover my ass at work.
I turn onto my side in a meek version of the fetal position, dragging the sheets over my shoulders even if it’s sweltering hot inside my room.
Not again. I squeeze my eyes shut hoping it’s just a lingering effect of a night spent tossing and turning but the anxiety like wet sand in my stomach informs me otherwise.
The unease is here to stay.
All I want to do now is drift back to sleep and pretend for just a little while longer.
That word again. Pretend.
Pretend I’m normal and don’t wish I could die when I wake up like this. Pretend I’m anyone else but me, anywhere but here. Make up a life where I had a happy childhood. A life where River didn’t leave me here alone. Pretend this choking feeling will ever disappear and that I know anything else butthis. The familiar sinking feeling of emptiness deep in my bones, constantly rewriting my DNA with feelings of unworthiness and nothingness. It’s exhausting.
I curl even tighter into myself and let out a sob, somehow knowing I have no other choice but to cry if I ever want to escape this fucking feeling. If I ever stand the chance of surviving this all over again. Surviving the sudden need for a life so much fuller than this. A life spent happy, whatever happy means to that unbroken version of myself. It’s such a waste of time to feel, so much easier to just…not.
But I can still feel Byzantine’s kisses searing the length of my scar and I can’t look away. Can’t look away from the reason this scar even exists in the first place. The reason I left as soon as I had the strength and money to escape the memories. But the cruel joke is I can never escape. To escape would mean taking a scalpel to my soul and cutting out all of the ugly pieces of myself. Cut out all the parts of me I’ve tried to leave behind. It’s never worked. Why was I so shocked when it still didn’t work this time?
I wipe my tears off my face with an angry swipe of my hand, and text Lenix to come over before our shift tonight. The void might be back but I refuse for it to take over my life like all the other times. I have bills to pay, it can wait. I drag my tired body into the shower and let the water wash away some of the melancholy. It only lasts long enough for me to dry my skin and put some clothes on. I sit in a catatonic state on the edge of my bed until the intercom buzzes for me to let Lenix in.
My head rests on Lenix’s lap, her back against the wall, legs sprawled on the bed as she absentmindedly plays with my hair while some tv-reality show plays on my laptop.
Lenix has seen me in worse states than this, the scariest are the ones I slip into while blackout drunk. It’s not a pretty sight according to her. I wouldn’t know, I never remember those moments. There’s a reason she calls me her gloomy baby. The nickname makes me cringe every single time she says it, but how can I deny it when she’s had to console me more than once while crying on a dirty sidewalk at three in the morning while stuffing cold pizza in my mouth.
In the morning, when she graciously hands me back the missing pieces, I can’t help but to feel the shame crawl under my skin like cockroaches. I don’t understand how she puts up with me. I’m exhausting to be around and she basically spends most of her time making sure I don’t fall off a cliff somewhere. Figuratively…most of the time.
“We have about an hour before we need to start getting ready,” she says, her voice rumbling against my ear. “Do you want to talk about it? I mean,isthere something to talk about? You know I’m cool either way,” she reassures, continuing to play with my hair.
I can’t help but to smile and sit up to look at her.
“I love you, you know that right?” I tell her.
Her eyes soften, “I love you too babes, and of course I know that.” She squeezes my hand and pauses still looking at me. “So…that’s a no on the talking then?” she teases, a sly grin on her face as if she already knows the answer.
I laugh and give her an eye roll that saysyeah we’re avoiding the subject for now.
“I have a joint in my purse if that’ll help,” she offers.
“No thanks, I always get paranoid when I smoke before a shift, thanks though.”
She shrugs and jumps off of the bed. “Suit yourself,” she replies, fishing out the joint from her purse. She opens the window, sitting on the ledge, legs up to her chest and lights up, the soothing smell of weed slowly wafting into the room.
I sheepishly realize then that I haven’t told her about what happened between Byzantine and I yesterday.
But the thought of even formulating the words to explain what the fuck happened between us leaves me mentally drained so I watch her smoke her joint instead in easy silence. I’ll tell her later. Or tomorrow. Or never.
A tiny shameful part of me wants to keep it a secret. Or just pretend it never happened.
It’s hard to feel anything with the void currently taking up so much space anyway. I sit up in bed and let out a long dramatic sigh. I can’t believe I have to work tonight when I feel like this.
I slide out of bed and start rifling through my closet for the sluttiest outfit I can work in, determined to fill the void with a distracting outfit and Lenix’s company.
Chapter 25
