dislocated parts
you can hear
it in the midst of the night,
while your gaze
roams the vast plains on the ceiling
― Erna Grcic, Beneath the Surface
A loud shout fills the four walls, startling her, eyes opening up wide with fear, whatever sleep that was in her evaporating instantly. She watches the man that she has been desperately in love with for the past five years with growing panic. Seeing him in this state, with legs pulled to his chest, mangled up sheets covering the body. Hands pressed to his forehead, thick brown and wavy hair falling over his eyes. He's covered in sweat, panting heavily, and shaking without control. He's falling apart.
What's wrong, another dream?
He doesn't look at her, breath almost whistling as he speaks.
I hear them everywhere, they won't get out of my head, El... they won't get out.
He starts to beat the sides of his head with open palms, one hit after another as if physically trying to free himself from the chaos under the fevered skin. She grabs his hands in panic, barely being able to pull them away, her own hands trembling.
No, stop that. Dan, stop it, please. You're hurting yourself!
Something in her breaks, the voice shaking, but she tries to stay strong for the person that means everything to her in this world. She's what's supporting him, what keeps him anchored to the ground.
But they won't stop! They shout, El... swollen mangled tongues with rusty edges... slicing me open piece by rotten piece.
She flinches from the harsh tone of his voice as if hearing a wounded animal roar out his pain. Her hand lifts up to his arm to soothe his torment, but then she stops midway as the next words fall out of his mouth, hardening each fiber in her muscles.
They scream into my veins, under the skull... always inside the bones, love. Twisting the spine slowly, over and over again like a little useless toy... until it... snaps.
He says, almost emotionless, making the skin against her spine start to crawl - grabbing and rotating the sheets in his hands until his knuckles turn white, red lines marking the skin, threatening to bleed if he keeps on going. Her whole body goes deadly cold, shifting into a block of carved, skin-cutting ice. But she makes herself snap out of it, his pain calling her like oxygen when she's stuck under some strange, heavy glass; setting an ache in the hands to reach him, fueling her and turning every single vein in her system on fire, a chemical reaction, ready to combust.
No... No. It was just a bad dream. Look at me... please. Baby, come on.
She places cool hands on the sides of his face and turns him her way, watching the dark stare catch hers as the bright grey hues in her eyes bore into his. There is panic there; he's terrified and tired. Too tired - something screams in her. Without thinking, she presses her lips against his, doing it with force and fierceness that she wasn't even fully aware of, never expecting to crave someone that much. Putting all of her love and warmth that she had for him in that one long, excruciating kiss, holding him until she feels him gradually relax under her touch, then moves away a just bit, catching her breath, eyes searching for his. It's then when she sees it, darkness slowly subsiding, shadows of stars waking up to life. And his tone finally changes as he speaks to her, that voice so low in the quiet room, in the space meant just for them.
Only a bad dream...
He grabs onto her, pulling her on top of him, stopping every thought that terrified him and focusing only on her, as she does the same. Swallowing each fear that touches her insides, that freezes the blood every time he wakes up screaming in the night. Just nightmares, nothing else - she whispers into his ear, letting hope swirl inside her bloodstream as her nails drag against his bare back slowly. Counting each muscle and fiber, hands memorizing the structure, learning the heat of his skin as if it was the first time that they ever touched. Her heart, seeming to escalate in sound as it beats against his chest feeling a simple truth. She was his remedy, and he; her air. They could not exist without each other, even as the things they had, set everything in flames.
Warm tears start to flow down her face and blend with the feel of the blood under her nails as she grabs onto him tighter. Grabbing on to life itself, something inside of her sensing the darkness that has been coating them both for a long time now, and realizing that it wasn't going to ever let go, its claws set in too deep. She could feel him slipping from her hands, too far away for her to ever reach.
____
Panting heavily, she sits up on the sofa, and wipes the sweat from her forehead with shaking hands. Arms pulling tightly around the knees as she starts to rock back and forth, with a strange kind of rhythm that only lost souls knew how to sway to, the toes of her feet straining as she pushes herself harder into the pillows with each movement. Tomorrow. She thinks and tries to find air in the lungs that suddenly feel so dry and rough against the chest, while her cheeks and neck soak in pained hot tears. Just a nightmare, nothing else. He was gone, and nothing would change that, and all she needed to remember was how to make her muscles move and limbs shift forward. Just so she could once again see his name painted with golden letters, feeling each line and ragged curve covering the cold granite, letting her know he was once real. Only that, Eleonore. You'll make it, I promise. Gloria's words from a few days ago break through her tired thoughts as her body trembles slightly. I know, mum. I know. She whispers to herself in the quiet room, laying down slowly and staring numbly at the ceiling, hands grabbing the blanket that's around her and rolling her hands into fists.
Just a little more, and she will finally face what she has been dreading for so long. No matter the situation or the chaos she was in because of what she has done, this was actually what she feared the most, a simple task of paying respects and saying goodbye to someone that was already gone. Sometimes, it was the hardest thing to do in this strange cold world.
Slowly, she gets up from the sofa and stumbles into the bedroom without bothering herself to turn the lights on. She walks over to the dresser and slides her fingers against the wooden surface, gathering a little dust on the skin but not caring, seeing past the old drawers and layers of clothes inside of it. Imagining the shape of the ring in her mind, feeling the cool of the silver bend, and the shape of the little flower crowning its beauty. It was safest there, far from her hands. Too much pain to touch, too many things to keep locked away.
She sighs and gently backs away, sitting on the bed and reaching out for her phone from the nightstand, without rush lighting it up and scrolling until she finds the exact thing that she needs. Music softly fills the room and she exhales, falling back on the covers, tears softly slipping down her cheeks. Each tune and word, bringing her both an indescribable ache and a sense of relief, the lyrics hugging her skin, warming it up a bit, letting the tattered soul exhale.
There’s a bottle on the dresser by your ring,
and it’s empty, so right now I don’t feel a thing,
I’ll be hurting when I wake up on the floor
but I’ll be over it by noon.
That’s the difference between whiskey and you...
She lays there on her side, tunning everything out but the words and the melody that fills her up like a soothing balm, a layer of thick honey against ragged, broken glass.
...but your forgiveness
well, that’s something I can’t buy
there ain’t a thing that I can do.
That’s the difference between whiskey and you.
She sings the last line softly, staring at the ceiling, as her pillow soaks in the last tears, surprised at how gentle her voice sounds, being full of wonder that some love still lingered in her veins. Not just lost in the past, but beating in the present, no matter how deeply buried in her chest. Tomorrow will just be another day, and no matter how hard it will hit her, it too shall pass. Ending and letting another sunrise in, another gust of wind between her fingers, and pressing air into her lungs.
Even if everything fails, the world will still keep turning on just the same.
She says calmly into the empty room and then scolds herself for being so dramatic, snapping out of her state. It's just life, Eleonore. Stop wallowing over your existence and go to sleep. Shaking her head, she closes her eyes and hopes for the rest to come, putting all of the heavy thoughts to the side, sinking into the song that will stay with her until it's time to go and face all the things that scared her the most. The things that she lost.
______
The song Eleonore plays belongs to Chris Stapleton.
"Whiskey and You"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2uPKDXS8BA&ab_channel=CountryMusicChannel%3ABlueRiver
https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )
Previous chapter :
34. https://theprose.com/post/397121/knots-on-fragile-things
____