it's getting closer now
by: october lies (september 1, 2008, 1:24pm)
"the fear of being alone"
She crawls onto the bed, hard as stone but smooth as marble. Her hands touch the wall, but she's not far enough away, no, there's not enough distance between her and the door. She claws at the paint, lavender and old and moldy with writing everywhere, trying to burrow herself into a hole she can forever hide inside. It isn't long before her fingers start to bleed, the skin torn and peeled away, her nails broken.
She can feel her heart beating in every corner of her body, faster than the rhythm of her clawing hands, the speed of her drumming, scraping fingers. everything inside her just wants to spill out and crawl away on it's own, because god, she's so afraid that she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know where to go or how to get there, but she does know that she's got to get away. Oh, she knows that she's got to get away before he sees her, before he hears her heart pumping faster, faster, faster, racing as if she were about to die.
No, he can't see her, she knows, he can't find out what she's done, the crimes she committed, because that would mean the end of it all, the end of forever. That would mean the end of them and that's something she won't ever be able to cope with, something she'll never be able to get over. Her heart can't take that kind of beating, she tells herself, so she can't ever let it happen, can't ever let it be a possibility.
Oh god, her heart is beating so loud, she just knows the entire world can hear it which means that he can, too. So she's clutching her chest and breathing so slow, so soft, turning her head towards the door, praying it's closed. But no, it isn't, it's open, wide open and the light is on. He'll know I'm in here, she thinks, she realizes, he'll find me and see what I've done. And she takes the blanket and crawls under god-knows-who's bed, sobbing silently and begging to go unknown until it's over.
She freezes when she hears them, the voices and the footsteps, "I can't find her. Do you know where she is?" Her head is shaking "no", eyes wide and lips trembling. It's him, she clarifies, he can't find me. But it doesn't work and she hears them stop talking, she feels the floor vibrate with each step.
And before she knows it, she's screaming at him, begging him to let her go because a girl like her doesn't deserve this kind of treatment, no, not this kind. Her hands are slapping his face, shoving against his chest, even though she knows she can't get away. And god, she's crying so bad and shaking so hard, she feels like such an idiot for causing such a scene. If people couldn't hear her heartbeat before, they could hear her screaming now.
"Shh," he tells her and she hates him a little bit for being able to be so quiet. "It's okay, I'm not mad."
She laughed at him, then, for expecting her to believe him. If there was anything she wasn't, it was gullible, a fool, naive. No, she wasn't naive, not anymore.
"Just calm down, everything will be okay."
His arms were around her, shaking with her own body, and suddenly she was cold, she was freezing, she was ice. Suddenly, all she wanted was to be held because god, she was so dramatic, so pathetic. Her emotions had gotten a hold of her, her fear stole away whatever bit of rationality she'd had and left her wild and frantic and dripping with guilt.
And oh, god, she was sorry. She was so so sorry as if she'd never been sorry before. "I'm so sorry," she told him, over and over and not listening to any of his words because she had to make him listens hers. "I don't know what I was doing, I don't know why I did it, but I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have broken the promise, I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have."
She was so stupid, she knew she was, believed it with every fibre of her being, everything inside her body.
"But it's alright, my little bear, everything is alright. I still love you, that's all that matters. I still love you."
And god, she didn't deserve him at all, didn't deserve the way he was cradling her, holding her to him so close as if nothing else would suffice. She didn't deserve his tears, didn't deserve his time or his love or his patience, and she especially didn't deserve his forgiveness, because she was so stupid. She broke the promise even though she gave her word, and she did it all. The room was spinning and everything felt upside-down and her head felt like all the blood was rushing to her brain, her eyes, her mouth, her ears.
She couldn't help her body from going limp then rigid and limp again, back and forth. Her muscles were alive then dead, alive then dead, alive then dead.
"No, no, no," she chanted, "this is wrong, just wrong. It's wrong, wrong, wrong. You should be mad; you should be yelling at me, yelling at him, hurting me, hurting him, killing us both."
And he was rocking back forth, now, his cheek pressed against her too-hot-forehead, trying to keep her warm and awake. He was shaking his head, holding her tighter, keeping her close. "No, I'm not mad."
"But I'm wasted and high and I kissed him and he tried to-"
"And you're blown and insane and crazy and you thought he was me and I still love you."
God, how could he do this to her, make her feel worse and destroy her entire world. He should be yelling at her, treating her like the scum she was, the promise-breaking-alcohol-drug-loving girlfriend she was. But, no, he wasn't, he was holding her above the world, reassuring and promising her everything was alright, telling her he loved her, when, god, she shouldn't be loved, no, not anymore.
"But he tried to-"
"And you stopped him, and god, baby, that's all that matters right now other than I love you," he said, almost too loudly, rumbling her entire numb body, "I love you so goddamn much and everything is going to be okay."
And she smiled then, sadistic, drunk and guilty and all-too-fake, but she smiled and her heart felt a little better. "Promise?" But god, nothing would get rid of that feeling, the lower-than-dirt feeling and the broken-hearted look in his eyes. His beautiful, brown, doe, puppy dog eyes. She could see all the dust-ridden-cobwebs in his eyes and laughed. They looked so silly, all of a sudden, when she thought of them as seventeen-year old cobwebs, collecting dust and days and memories.
He laughed, too. "Yes, I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise. I still love you."
"I love you, too."
if you haven't caught on by now, the "she" in the majority of my writing is actually me. i'm referring to myself in third person without attaching a tell-all name.