Yesterday someone cut me off in traffic and I went to Goodwill and bought four dresses and a leather skirt out of spite. I parked all wrong, too: my car took up two parking spots, and when I noticed this, I continued to walk into Goodwill, raising my hand up to press the 'lock' button on my keys, almost like a dance, or a trance, into shopping oblivion.

When I'm stressed I 'thrift.' I go into Goodwill, or whatever boutique sells reused clothes, and I buy clothes. I love fashion, but it's not even that: it's the thrill of the find. Yesterday one of the dresses I bought was a scarlet red, floor-length dress with creases in the bottom half, making it look like crepe. The whole front has buttons up it, not the kind you can actually button, just decorative pieces of joy (also red). There's a Peter Pan collar and cuffs that have the same red buttons that adorn the front, but they snap shut, closing off my wrists like delicate jailers. I am absolutely in love. I pull it off the rack and I have. to. have it.

Then there's the leather skirt I mentioned. I was actually, when I found it, looking for a black slip, to place under one of the four dresses I was also going to buy. Unfortunately, that dresses is see-through. But I love the pattern so much (blue and black stripes haphazardly splayed like bold streaks of paint all over the dress), that I was now searching for a slip. A slip? I know. My mom once told me to buy a slip and I said, "What, like it's 1988?" But this time it was relevant.

I searched the skirts section. Usually this is risky: I usually search for floor-length, work-appropriate skirts. Usually, they only have either 1) entirely too dowdy skirts even for me or 2) see-through (again!) skirts or 3) too short skirts. I was looking for that slip (and asking a Goodwill employee would be too much effort), so I was frantically whipping through the available selection, and finding nothing. Then, I see it - right smack dab in the middle of the skirts section. A leather skirt.

Leather is tricky because it can (perhaps obviously) be too tight. This leather skirt was a size medium. I assessed the waist: very stretchy, even forgiving. I put it over my arm. It was a "must-have" clothing purchase. (It turned out to be too big later, around the waist, no less. But such is The Risk Of The Thrift.)

One of the four dresses is a pink, skin-tight dress with almost a translucent appearance, with a seventies collar. When I say seventies collar, I mean it looks like it's straight out of a space comedy from that decade: the collar is raised, and goes around my neck about two inches away from my actual neck. Like a space helmet should be placed on top of it. When I was considering placing it on my arm at Goodwill (the ultimate 'this is a Final Find') I was worried it would be too tight. It turned out to be yes, tight, but not too tight.

You're probably wondering why I don't just try these on at the actual Goodwill, before buying them and taking them home. During Covid, the fitting rooms were outright closed off - and even now, some are still closed. There are, however, a couple fitting rooms still available - but for me, it's the thrill of the not knowing. Not knowing if they'll end up fitting, a surprise for later. (They almost always fit once I get home - I'm good at 'eyeballing' the fit of clothes.) Will the see-through dress be all wrong? We'll see. Is the scarlet red dress going to flow the way I want it to? Maybe. It's all up to chance, to fate, to the gods that be.

Maybe I'm a Goodwill addict. And after writing all this, I'm realizing it just makes me so incredibly happy to shop there. But there's a limit. Here's me, airing my personal grievance to myself: I thrift too much, and I need to stop, possibly with the leather skirt, possibly with my next (and final! ) purchase.

I was at a bar recently (it all comes back to sitting on rickety stools, the ones that hum with the sorrows of hundreds of others who previously sat on them), and saw a sign that said: no one born before 2001 can have a drink. I took out my notebook and crossed out an item on my to-do list: live to see this.

I am a millennial in my blood, like that show The Last of Us, where the fungus gets into you and makes you those clicker things that shriek at anyone not like them. I shrieked into my notebook - while I was watching the Twin Towers collapse, these young ones were being born. It doesn't seem fair, these newly minted drinkers being able to order a beer when they can't yet process what they missed, the sadness and irrelevance of being older creeping up on me. I ordered another Old Fashioned and caressed it like a secret, no one except me has surely ever felt this - the selfishness of being older and yet not any wiser.

I wrote a bad poem about this moment, and said in my caption: "I'm old as s***." Someone commented, then get off the toilet. I wasn't sure if this was a comment meant to diminish me, and the only solution seemed to respond with an ironic emoji. Am I the problem? Or is the younger generation entitled? There's no way to know, because we're all biased, steeped in our own sorrows, relentlessly trying to promote our own generation.

I went back to right after college, when I was still getting carded. The thrill of ordering a drink. The equivalent of doing something illicit, secret. Finally, old enough. Now I sit on the edge of my bar stool and see the reflection of the last decade in my bourbon, the sadness of having to let go of my twenties approaching, just a sip away from finishing off the now warm back wash and ordering another one.

This is all to say: I am older. And not wiser. These young bucks know more than me. And that's what hurts the most - that I have aged, with almost nothing to show for it.

My lemon wedge seeps into the alcohol, a reminder that the arrogance of our age merely mingles with the main player: the younger generation.

Lost in a maelstrom,

floundering in a sea of rage,

heaven’s black as hell is red,

no road to find,

no escape awaiting you,

no hope in sight

and caring is useless.

remember one thing—your life.

Your life is your hope.

Fight against the raging sea,

swim, kick your way to shore,

look to the shoreline,

the road is there,

keep fighting to get there,

never give in to the voices,

never give up you will find hope,

for heaven will break into a glimmer of light,

and hell cannot touch the soul

that still believes hope is alive … somewhere.

nothing soothes a broken heart

for a short, short while

like truly good food

and a caring smile

but both leave soon enough

leaves me in the sadness

i mourn your loss, my friend

i drown in the sadness

hope is gone, it left

the poem, the song

are you happy - you were right

you knew the truth all along

you took my beautiful trophy

the art that explained so well

just to prove your point

another emotional hell

do you hate me - you must

why do you hate as much as love

i know you long for it

but i'm not ready for the below or above

i think of you every time my phone buzzes

i quickly, shamefully hope for an apology

some kind of reason i'm worth your time

proof you still think about me all the time

i decided it isn't fair to hold any of this over you

i'm hurt, maybe i did something wrong

i feel tragic and worthless and melodramatic

all the things i promised myself i would never feel

when i promised myself i would never be in love

i've fogged up my window with all this blame

and through the haze i can't see it in myself to hate you

i'll go on hating myself and find comfort in familiarity

You get more bees with honey

that’s what they say

but bees will also sting you

and I like vinegar

i can’t remember the last time I even had honey

You know who else likes honey?

bears

thats what they say anyway

so to keep the bees and bears away

I’ll be happy to share vinegar today

Part 2

And suddenly, I find myself drawn to that feeling of uncorrupted, soothing energy that cleanses away all the pain - to the moment in the basement when I barely made it out alive - and the closeness, the warmth of his body and his lips on mine that seemed to fill me with energy, that knew of no torture, no demons, no ache. Purification. It was the only time in my life I ever felt whole, countless invisible pieces shifting and fitting themselves into place as if my body had been filled to the brim with liquid diamonds exploding with light that illuminated me in silver. And unexpectedly, I had become the moon on the clearest night of the year, devouring the darkness so deeply that it no longer had access to me. Something cracks, shifts, and twists inside of me, and without warning, I no longer exist as I was - all that I am, and all I have become is a need, a hunger. The only thought living in my vacant walls is to make the anguish go away, nothing else; sense and reason becoming a foreign concept to the feverish mind.

Find your release, take it.

You deserve it.

No one will stop you.

I look at Charlie without seeing him, only craving, needing, wanting - not fully recognizing the person before me but itching to get to the energy I knew hid under the warm touch, under the skin that was so inviting. I lean forward and grab onto his shoulders, nails unhurriedly clawing down his arms, enjoying the sound of the woolen fabric under my fingers, slightly defying my actions. Everything in me is desperate, loud, and consuming, yet what grows in me takes its time - like a lazy beast slowly surrounding its prey, relishing in the agony of hunger just before it gets satisfied. I feel tension and resistance in his body that only stirs me with more eagerness. I grab onto him tighter, my hands shifting to his lower back and under the material of his sweater, longing for bare skin and heated muscles to dive into. My structure wants to experience all of him, atoms shifting and dancing, humming for the light that would reassemble my skin, molding itself once again into liquified silver until my hands would become a cluster of crescent moons and dying stars. He was the sun I needed to consume to stay alive, to function.

I hear his voice, a rushed, worried whisper between my growing chaos, a plead trapped in only one word. I think he says my name, but then I forget what a name is, what it implies. All I want is him and nothing else.

Let me. Please. It hurts, it hurts so much.

That must be my voice, yet I don't recognize it. But a part of me that is still aware understands that it's my last courtesy for him on the sane ground. I feel hesitation from him blending with a hunger that is not just my own, and then sense searching hands move to my thighs, and it's all the permission I need. My body lifts higher, lips finding his instinctively, teeth grazing against them and tasting the familiar curve and warmth. His fingers sink in deeper into my legs, tugging me closer. And despite the fever, sorrow, and all the pain that's eating me alive, shifting me into something unpredictable, the corners of my lips lift into a slow grin, a feeling of unexpected joy flaring through my chest before I even feel his breath in mine. I tear off my sweater with urgency, annoyed by the fabric that seems to sting my skin as if it just got burned in a fire, the sofa's cushions scraping against me and causing me to growl, agitation hitting me until my focus returns to him; burning a different kind of flames in my insides - I kiss him harder with passion both limitless and constantly expanding, something echoing in the pit of my stomach, snarling expectantly with feelings so turbulent that I could never fully express.

No part of her wants to be away from him.

Everything in the room spills out in crimson and orange hues, the matter around them losing its shape and meaning, energy vibrating and crackling, heightened into something new, thrilling - causing time to slow down and become almost touchable, defined as if a painting of flames, frozen yet blazing. Her fingertips seem to itch even more, making the nails dig in harder as if she couldn't get deep enough under his skin, the soul, his deepest essence - needing to be connected to him as strong and as close as possible, constantly feeling like she's not close enough. It's a strange sensation but exhilarating, consuming, overpowering to the point when everything else fades away, something possibly dangerous, the darkness lurking under the edges of all that bright, warm light. The energy that creates itself between them is pure and of the healing kind, but the shadows she had been infected with overtime leave consequences behind, turning her into something that she had always feared, something that could no longer crawl out back from hell.

The ache subsides gradually, burning itself out the longer they stay connected, the pain and sorrow molding into a strange kind of meteor that burns in this new atmosphere created between them. Her ragged soul smoothens its structure, but the beast is too much of a human to stop; it still wants more. She pushes herself on him, pinning him down until she lays on top of him, pulling at his clothes and lifting it, moving her fingernails against his chest as if they were covered in paint, imagining streaks of blue and red coloring his skin, wanting as little fabric as possible between them. He was her fabric, her canvas made only for her to touch. The thought blooms unexpectedly between her unsteady breaths - and it's the same moment when reality, unwelcomed, starts to sip through, matter growing into shape, as more layers of calm, coat her bones and skin, softness holding her in a warm embrace. It does not stop the fires in her but changes their form into something more aware - bringing all of her senses into motion, specifically the sense of touch. Pressure on the skin. The feeling of being held in place.

Restrain, strength, urgency.

A click, a snap. The sound of glass breaking around the haze.

My eyes flutter open, instantly pained by the brightness coming from the TV, the only thing bringing light into the room at this time of day, mind having difficulty understanding its surroundings. The physical part of me is the first to react as the feeling of pressure on my arms hits me again, making me focus. I look down and notice hands on my wrists holding me in place; my stare lifts, and I see him lying under me, securing me in place with force, depriving me even of the slightest chance of movement. He's actions are rough, but his stare remains gentle under the flames circulating around the dilated pupils, leaving little blue to see. Two massive black holes surrounded by fires and water. A wave of heat hits my face as I stare at him in shock, slowly understanding what had just happened. My heart pounds like a madman in my chest, embarrassment covering me like something ugly and dirty. Something I don't want. I move back to the furthest part of the sofa as if someone had just tasered me and gape at him with scared, wide eyes.

Charlie...

I stutter and then trail off, not certain if there were any words for the mayhem that took over her, over everything. I blink several times and lift my hands absentmindedly to my hair, fingers slipping through it and holding the sides of my head while I look around the room, confused. The surroundings seem alien to me at first, as if I wasn't fully aware of where I was, my eyes tripping over every object in sight as if hoping I could find some answers there. I can feel something in me break and crack, the sound of metal hitting the ground with a cacophony of sounds only for me to hear. It's a sensation that could damage even the strongest soul, but I just let it breathe inside of me and fill my structure for a while - the feeling is too familiar by now to destroy me even further. I want to explain myself to him, even though part of me knows he will understand. If only there weren't so many things at stake here.

If this was just an ordinary moment between two people, a burst of passion that would lead to even more fires then it would have been alright. More than alright. Overwhelming in the most delicious way, something they both would have sank without hesitation. Just another scene in life, a simple boy meets girl kind of thing. Sparks flying everywhere without causing their worlds to burn in flames. But unfortunately, this wasn't the case. Not just another down-to-earth story where the characters had to battle their way through, only to end up together when everything had been said and done. She was running on borrowed time, and she knew it. The final chapter would look different for her.

Nora?

She gazes at her hands holding onto the blanket tightly, knuckles whiter than snow. Gradually her stare lifts, and she catches his stare.

I'm sorry.

My voice seems barely audible.

I wish I was stronger than I am. I wish that I could fight through the pain and not endanger what we have between us because it's too valuable for it to get lost.

His eyes follow mine, but he doesn't say anything, his eyes penetrating my soul as if seeing the barest parts of me that had nothing to do with my body. His hand lifts towards me, but I shake my head, somehow fearful of his touch after everything that had occurred between us. I get up surprisingly steadily and walk over to the window, watching drops of cold rain hit the glass, the sky above my head colored in the sharpest shade of steel. I cross my arms and stare at the life outside my apartment, running its course - it feels like a life I am permanently separated from. I inhale deeper as if wanting to consume the grayness of the day inside my tattered lungs.

And if it got lost, I feel I might disappear completely.

My voice is so low I'm not sure he even heard me. I make myself continue before my sudden courage evaporates.

I think that if things were different, in an alternate reality where I wasn't a threat to

everyone I get too close to...

I feel him shift on the sofa, and my eyes shut tighter as I take a deeper breath.

I feel there would be room for more between us, maybe more than I care to admit. But right now, I can't risk losing what we have. I can't risk something I can't live without.

I can't risk losing someone that returned life to me as much as possible, with its subtle reflections and colors, slightly faded out by the darkness around me but real, meaningful. You're my last autumn light flickering through the bare branches, the last touch of something warm. I think to myself but choose to leave it to myself. I feel the words would be too awkward, too flat if I gave them a voice, losing their depth to something far too shallow. My fists tighten against the windowsill.

I should have been stronger. Instead, I'm this weak, pathetic thing. I don't know how you put up with me.

I feel anger move through my muscles and concentrate on it, focusing on it for support. After a moment, I turn around slightly, gazing at him - and I think that he understands, not the last words but everything else I said. And even though I don't want to think about it, I know that he feels things for me too. Perhaps, I always knew. It's a strange thing to admit to, even if it's just to myself. He gets up as well, and I stare back at the view of the street and the people leading their normal, mundane lives. I close my eyes and feel the warmth of his body against my back as his arms slip around my waist, his chin resting gently on my left shoulder. I don't stiffen or feel uneasy for all the signs of affection that he gives me - the side of me that fights any kind of attachment suddenly dormant and still, the bruised parts that I hold close to me just to survive, quiet somehow. I let myself lean against him, sinking into his welcoming form. I feel emotions overtaking me like a warm summer wave, ready to escape at any moment, but I keep it at bay.

I can't risk those things either. If there is a chance for us one day then we will take it. For now, I'm just happy you exist in the same world as I do.

He shifts and kisses the top of my head, and I inhale his scent in my lungs. Don't stay in it too long; it will be that much harder when it's being ripped away from you. The logical side murmurs and I listen, shifting gently away from his embrace. I smile at him, bring up the last resources of strength I have left, and close the window of opportunity between us, shifting all possible feelings to the back of my being. I shove it with as much ruthlessness as I can master while my skin becomes as hard as the shade of sky outside the window.

Then you must enjoy the company of strange individuals more than you should.

I cross my arms over my chest and try to sound light, but it comes out rather miserable; then my stomach rumbles, and I jump, startled, shocked that such prosaic things are still a part of my world. I think the sound sends us both into our normal routine, and I am grateful for it. He shakes his head and walks over to the cabinets.

I think it's feeding time. I have this sinking suspicion you don't even remember the last time you ate. Now sit down patiently while I make you something.

He looks around for a moment and furrows his eyebrows.

Alright, change of plans. After your morning de-cluttering session, I think some shopping is in order.

Hey, as long as your providing the supplies then knock yourself out.

He nods but sends me a look.

What?

Do you think you will be alright while I'm gone?

I sigh, scrunching my face.

All is well, Charlie, I promise. Currently, I am the best version of my mean-streaked, odd-sense-of-humor self. Take your time; I got some work to do anyway.

He looks doubtful.

Believe it or not, my beautiful freeloader traits have their limits. The bills still need to get paid. So let me fire up my laptop, download new photographs and find amateurs for my tremendous art. And Charlie?

He gazes at me while he puts on his jacket.

I'm not too good at showing signs of affection but uhm... I'm glad you're here too. Happy that you... exist.

The sides of his lips lift.

I know. But it's good to hear it sometimes. I will be back soon.

The door shuts behind him, and I hear the sound of the key turning as he locks it. I listen to the faint noise of his steps as he runs down the stairs and shake my head at how familiar and homey that seems. I'm not sure how I feel about it and chose not to dwell on it. Tricky territory. I sit down by the computer and plug in the cable for my camera, finally seeing the results of my work on a bigger screen. I smile at all the images caught in the park and marvel at how strange it was that those quiet moments happened only a few days ago. My eyes scan each photograph and select the ones that will be most alluring to the potential buyer, depending on the light, composition, and what was going on in the background. You had to be very picky about the material you wanted to choose - as picky as all the people examining them before any purchase.

I get lost in the process, relaxing as the routine of the task, soothes my thoughts, silencing all unnecessary chaos in my head. It works well for a while, but the random visions still flash under my eyelids when my guard drops too low. Images of my nails digging into his skin, as if electrical plugs looking for a source of energy, mixing with memories of the tapestry of his back muscles flexing and bending under my touch - catching my breath sharply, as I realize there was no way of telling where he began and where I started in those stolen moments that I might never get again. Still feeling his flavor on my tongue, his smell that reminded me of sandalwood, spices, and a heated air at the end of another hot summer day, those hands so greedily roaming my body, wanting to learn me as if I was a landscape, a mountain chain that he needed to draw, his personal sunset exploding into colors with every touch. Remembering how he stole my last breath over and over, only to bring me back to life. The sweetest death, the most brilliant rebirth. It was worth it. Something in me murmurs, and I know it's true. I give myself a few more slow moments with the memories and then snap out of it, focusing all my attention on the problems I could still solve and improve, finances being the best rational excuse society had to offer.

I gaze back at the screen and feel an invisible soft whisper tickle my skin like a pesky fly. You haven't put a lock on that window. Why? It was right there next to the handle; it was so easy. Why didn't you? A sort of burning sensation fills my chest, both hot and cold. It's the same sensation as when returning from the chilling air of winter, as your lungs pain you from inhaling too much ice. The sensation is both aching and magnificent. Like swallowing up the universe and inhaling too many stars, meant for souls but not the physical bodies. Collateral beauty - I think and stop breathing for a moment - scared to answer the question asked without any words. Because if I answered it, there might not be enough strength in me to stop me from opening the window again.

And the irony was that no matter the fear I felt right now, I also knew that I would probably never put that lock into place, I would never shut it permanently. It felt wrong to do so, unnatural almost. As if fighting against something bigger than I could understand. It's not your place to defy gravity. A quiet voice rings out somewhere under my skin, and I nod with unusual calm - a feeling of unexplainable peace washing over me and grounding me into place.

__________

https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )

.

Previous chapters :

.

52. https://theprose.com/post/526170/walking-on-eggshells-and-ash

53. https://theprose.com/post/553492/those-whispers-under-the-wooden-boards

54. https://theprose.com/post/706199/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things

Part 1

truth is not fully explosive, but purely electric

you don't blow the world up with the truth

you shock it into motion

― Criss Jami, Healology

But some machines aren't that good at lying.

He comes over barely two hours later, probably seeing through my bullshit attempt at seeming okay. Thankfully, I manage to get off the floor before that happens, wash away the cuts in the shower, then quickly put on a pair of black sweatpants and throw on a long woolen cardigan over a grey cotton t-shirt before the cold reaches my bones. And somehow, through all those mundane motions that feel like impossible tasks, I push away the pain that radiates from my knee - it takes a lot of deep breaths and sucking air through my teeth, but I do it. Unfortunately, a dozen other places that cause me to flinch every few seconds are slightly harder to discard. It takes all of my willpower not to scream out like a possessed person, pick up a nearby chair and smash it through the closest window. My irritation levels are so sensitive and sharp that the ability to ignore the urge sends a sense of pride into my worn-out form, giving me some strength to keep going. I don't find enough energy to clean the entire wreckage in the kitchen, and end up focusing only on getting rid of the biggest pieces of ceramic, glass, and whatever else is littering the kitchen floor, as well as swiping the stuff from the counters. It's the last thing I do before covering myself with the thickest blanket I own, and then passing out on the sofa.

I wake up to the feeling of light pressure and warmth radiating from my thigh. For a moment, with a fuzzy mind, I wonder if maybe I hit myself there by accident during my happy moment of sociopathic pleasures, but then dismiss the idea as I come to the conclusion the sensation is not unpleasant. With blurry vision, I look up and narrow my eyes, not sure at first what I'm seeing - and when I do, a smile creeps on my lips as I realize it's actually reality. My gaze wanders to Charlie's face as he stares at the TV, the sound turned off and its lights filling the room with an almost ghostly silver-blue gleam. He seems to be lost in thought, as if he's somewhere far away, much further than just the length of my sofa. I look down at his hand and feel heat spread through my veins as I realize it was his fingers I had felt before resting on my leg.

Suddenly I'm very aware of my body, my skin, and how my lungs fill with air, causing the chest to rise and fall; my eyes are unable to move away from his profile, gliding against the delicate bump on the bridge of his nose, the curve of the lips, and the shape of his jaw. I sense every breath that circulates through my system as my stare moves to his shoulders, mesmerized by the tiny dust motes flickering with warm, golden light against the edges of his beige and brown sweater. I think he senses a slight change in atmosphere, and his head turns towards me - instantly, my body stiffens, the blood under my skin seeming to freeze like the surface of a lake when winter becomes too harsh to handle. The sensation of being electrocuted fills me to the very last atom - a feeling of being caught on something I shouldn't be doing taking over as I clear my throat, which unfortunately sets the razors in it into motion. It's not a pretty sight.

Christ, are you okay?

I lean over the sofa, choking and looking like a dammed soul fighting for its last breath while grabbing to the edges of its liferaft. He leans in closer and pets my back a few times. I nod, not trusting my voice, and lift a hand dismissively as if silently letting him know the show was over. It was embarrassing how unreliable my body was, how it openly showed him how weak I'd become.

Yesterday really messed you up.

He says in a low voice. I hear many layers to his tones but choose not to comment on the understatement of the year. I sit up and rest my head against the back of the couch, gazing absentmindedly at the ceiling.

Yesterday, this week, the last two years, a whole lifetime. You choose. There is no wrong answer to it.

He sighs, and we sit for a moment in silence until I feel warmth expanding in the tip of my fingers, gently pouring like warm liquid through my hands. I exhale with relief and gaze at him with a tired smile as he moves his thumbs against the palms of my hands and then suddenly stops. I gaze at him questioningly.

Your bandages. Should I take them off for it to... work better?

No, not necessary, leave them. It will be a good reminder to stay away from any Hannibal Lecter-themed basements in the future.

That's not amusing.

What can I say; I find dark humor entertaining. The last refuge on the stormy waters of my beautiful existence.

He lifts an eyebrow.

Well then, at least we can be sure that your sarcastic self has not been harmed in any way.

He becomes serious again and then lets go of my hands, turning his head towards the kitchen - something unsettles inside me unexpectedly, my fingers going cold in just seconds, and there is this strange side of me that wants to grab onto him, making his hands touch me again. The notion feels greedy, desperate, ravenous - beyond my control. Air catches in my throat, and I hold my neck tightly as if that could stop the next wave of coughing. It helps a little, though nothing can stop the fear and doubts that spill out of me in constant waves. Could I ever harm him if the need for his touch, the remedy effect he had on me, would become too strong? And if he no longer wanted to be a part of this? Would I become frantic and cruel like the monsters that occupied my head? You're losing yourself in the madness, child. Soon there will be nothing left - a voice whispers, making me cringe as I realize the words could be more than true. A little mantis and her prey. The voice mocks, taunting me with pleasure. I look up, and Charlie gazes back at me with a smile, somehow oblivious to the turmoil that's taking place inside my mind, and then points to the area behind him.

Should I even ask what happened there?

His voice might seem amused to anyone else, but I know how worried he was under the light tones. I feel my heart rattle in my chest; it sounds like iron elements banging against rust; my eyelid twitches slightly from the sensation.

Mmm, realizing you suffer from amnesia and mental illness can apparently have that effect on certain individuals. But maybe it's just me mastering levels of denial to perfection. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

What do you mean exactly?

I can practically taste his concern on my tongue; the rust in my chest makes the flavor bitter.

I was fine at first, as much as one can be in this situation, and then it struck me that I had pretty much forgotten it all - only having fragments, but everything in between was faded, rubbed out with an eraser, or covered with a thick dark veil.

I gesticulate with my hands, trying to find the right words, watching his eyebrows lift higher with each second.

And when it started to hit me back all at once, I... it just... it was too much. Everything became red, and I couldn't see past the rage. I saw nothing else, Charlie... nothing.

My hands lift in the air and stay there helplessly.

An outlet for all that pressure; sometimes anger is necessary, Nora, even if the effects scare us.

He says it calmly, but I also sense that the situation pains him.

You don't seem to be too alarmed by what you just heard.

He exhales slowly.

I have seen a lot in my life; medical practice makes you look at things from a different perspective - trauma is never easy.

Trauma.

I repeat the word slowly as if trying to dissect it piece by piece.

Are you telling me I might have some form of PTSD?

He nods, and I do the same, not really surprised, more like defeated by it. Just another thing to add to the list of enjoyment. I don't ask him more questions on the subject; there isn't that much to add - even broken things had fitting names for their problems - definitions, and elegant words to describe why strong people would eventually become shadows of themselves, fragile eggshells, crumbling on repeat every new day from even the most subtle triggers. My life had become one big trigger, and I feared the moment when the explosion would be too devastating to recover from - all I could hope for was that the shards and pieces would never cause him too much harm. Without saying anything, he wraps his right arm around my shoulder and pulls me in; I smile and let my body rest against his and mold itself to its shape. It feels comforting, warm, safe as if nothing else could ever break me again. I knew it was a naive notion, but it also felt good to let myself give in to it, letting my mind and body rest even for a little while.

We sit there, not saying much, just enjoying each other's company while something trivial and uncomplicated plays on the TV. I try to collect such memories with him as much as possible because I don't know how much more there will be. I let the gratitude towards him flow in my tired veins and feel myself relax, slowly drifting into another nap as my eyelids become too heavy, the body sinking so deep that it feels like immersing into the depths of my personal ocean. It feels heavenly until it doesn't. I wake up sometime later, more confused than before, not entirely sure what jerked me up so abruptly; I blink a few times and look up at Charlie.

Everything okay?

I nod slowly and move away from him as if I was waiting for something or someone, an invisible intruder that had no shape or form but was ready to attack at any moment - it was a disturbing feeling that I could not shake off. I take several deep, steady breaths as the pain in my knee decides to remind me of its presence; my face scrunching from the pulsating ache radiating so much that it feels like it's located right in the core of the bone, spreading and infecting every tissue in sight. I suck the air through my teeth as countless stings attack my skin; all the cuts from this morning waking up to life, blazing, and seeming to open up again. I feel drops of blood staining and sticking to my clothes, praying and hoping it's only happening in my paranoid mind - even psychosis seemed better than an unknown host attacking my flesh without permission. I swallow hard and gasp in disbelieve as the no longer existing bruises on my neck appear to bloom against my throat like deadly, beautiful flowers, unfolding their black and purple petals, as if poison ivy that outstretches forward like weeds down to my collarbones - wrapping themselves around them as if luscious green vines and yanking me up like a ragged doll.

Nora?

I hear his voice and shake my head, too scared to open my eyes. I don't have the slightest clue what's going on. It's nothing I have ever felt before. This thing, this overwhelming sensation of drowning in everything. Every pain, ache, scar, every bruise, and damaged tissue coming back to life all at once. A rotten soul stained by all the darkness of this world - I think to myself and tremble. Did you have fun pretending you could make it out of this alive? It must have felt good to act like you're like everyone else. My breathing speeds up as I struggle to push out the buzzing words, fighting against any new sensation. I hold on to the couch as something much worse comes back to me. The thing I thought started to heal.

No, it can't be.

I was doing better.

That monster had become smoother, easier to bare.

The pressure on my ribcage grows, invisible iron hands twisting around them with such power that I can almost feel the bones there crack. Snap like a twig, bend your bones for me, I need to make a fire. My heart feels like it's being strangled with grief, causing my eyes to sting as memories push themselves on me; an ache so familiar that somehow it felt like home. A home you loved and cared for - but that chose to rip you apart nonetheless, its walls crashing in on you, leaving you among its ruins. It's just in your head, it's just in your head. I repeat it like a mantra, fighting to hold onto the logic that was telling me this couldn't be true - but it feels so physical, so real that I cave under the pressure that turns oxygen into something dense, unclear, like drying concrete that hardens and conceals any human form, filling my ribs until all I become is a live wall of sorrow and pain.

The empty gap in my chest left there after an invisible bullet, with all of its sharp metal edges and haunting images, waking up to life, something attacking me in such a way like it wanted to claw out of me. My whole body trembles as if I'm lying bare in an open field of snow, nothing protecting me from the cold or the wind that blows recklessly and without mercy. The image is so powerful that the walls, the furniture, and everything around me disappear, even him. Don't let him disappear. No, please, not him. That finally jolts me back into life, the thought of a new loss that I could not handle yanking me back into reality - for now, at least. I didn't know how long I could hold the void back. With the last remains of sanity, I force myself to look at him, wanting to anchor myself to his presence, to my center; he was the only gravity that could keep me in place. He looks back at me with pure terror, and I gaze back at him with the same fear in my eyes. I start to breathe faster, the invisible metal arms tightening their eager grasp. Why didn't you stay in the snow, child? I gave you everything that you could ever want there. Peace, calm, the final surrender. I gasp, and the pain kicks in again; quick, sharp, oppressive, aimed to kill, to finish the job.

________

https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )

.

Previous chapters :

.

51. https://theprose.com/post/514578/a-little-game-of-hide-and-seek

52. https://theprose.com/post/526170/walking-on-eggshells-and-ash

53. https://theprose.com/post/553492/those-whispers-under-the-wooden-boards

Writers block? Keep writing...

Like everyone else who writes I also suffer from the dreaded "writers block". The thoughts dry up along with the ink. That vacuum of creativity then starts to fill with a whirlpool of self doubt but there is a way out of the maelstrom of inability.

Take a book, any book. Open it at a random page. Pick the start of a paragraph on that page and just copy the words on to your laptop or, if like me you stil write in longhand, write them on to a clean sheet of paper. Guaranteed that sooner or later your own thoughts will takeover from the words you are copying and the hunger to write your own words will return.

MartinGale

i like the way you look at me,

i whispered with a smile

you smiled back

tucked my hair behind my ear and said,

how do i look at you?

oh my dear, my honey,

my darling, my love,

you look at me

like i placed each star in the sky

like i am the sun breaking through darkness

like you’re seeing for the very first time

you look at me

as if i were your favorite song personified

as if i invented beauty

as if it was the last time you’d ever see again

my love, you see me like no one else can.

your eyes both devour me and embrace me

and i feel vulnerable

yet invincible

every time i meet your gaze.

today i cried in front of you

because i realized that i am scared

you made me promise

to tell you if i ever thought

we couldn’t end up together

i promised

but the thought of such a thing

made my heart crack ever so slightly.

i don’t ever wanna feel that way, i said.

you agreed,

and my heart ached to think of a world without you.

you looked at me with concerned eyes

with a tinge of desperation

talk to me, you said, when i began to cry.

let’s talk about it.

what i really wanted to say

but didn’t, was—

my dear, my darling,

i love you.

it’s like a broken record in my brain

whenever i am with you

i love him. i love him. i love him i love him i love him i love him i love him i love—

i love you, so very much.

and i want to tell you

but i’m scared to death

you are everything i have ever wanted

and you are everything i have ever needed

and so much more.

thank you for seeing me

knowing me

and loving me

in ways i didn’t even know were possible.

you, my love, my honey,

were most undeniably made

to have poetry written about you

and im hoping it’s only the happy kind this time around.