Bittersweet

1

You tell me again that I am nothing, an emotionless husk of darkness. Our eyes meet and I ask “How can I be nothing if I am darkness?” You can’t say anything, only stare back, eyes beginning to water, and I have to look away for how weak you are. 2

You stand and throw the vase at me, the same one my mother had given you for your birthday, bedecked with grapevines, and it shatters on the wall not two feet behind my head. I flinch as the shards find their way into my back, through this flimsy purple shirt that I had bought just for you, just to impress you and show you that I can be better, that I can change for you. As you stride to the exit I find that this was apparently not true, that you are much more difficult to please than at first glance.3

I bite my lip when the door slams shut on my dreams and close my eyes as I feel them in agony through this frail shirt. They soon are squeezed from my system, however, and I stand, shakily, and stare at the broken glass behind me. Colored water runs down the wall like blue blood, invincible from this emotional bacterium as the horseshoe crab. One of the nightmares chooses that moment to take its place at the front of my thoughts and I am plagued with the vision of your throat slit and gushing to the floor, as you fall to your knees and I watch while the blood dries upon my hands.4

I almost lose my balance and go tumbling back into the pool of emotions, though catch myself just in time. Forcing myself to breathe as normal, I clench my fists and stroll out of the house, though have no idea where I will go. Home seems to be the only place where I will feel even the least bit safe, and so, jaw set, I take a sharp right, the chill air taking little bites from my flesh, though I am oblivious to any such pain.5

I stride to Alpine Subway Systems and pause before going down, glancing behind me for your presence I can feel so clearly. I do not see you, however, and so take a quick breath and carry on. It is eerily empty in the place, and though a part of my mind tries to make me leave, the remaining part hardens against such cruel softness and forces me to persist. After all, I am virtually late, so everyone must have already gotten onto the train.6

If anything goes amiss, half of me has already decided to blame you.7

I board the train just as the doors are beginning to close. Four o’clock and hardly anyone is here. The subway tunnel looms ahead, darkness swallowing up the tiny amount of light produced by white-hot bulbs hanging on the walls. Before I even have time to pick a seat it is off, quickly gaining speed down the track. I sit in the nearest one I can find, not really caring in any case, and stare idly out the window, watching the lights flash by. They are fireflies at first, hovering complacently by the train, but soon lose their satisfied nature and fly faster, faster until they are swarming around me. My breath is fast and claustrophobia sets in as outside it is simply one long stream of alabaster fire, though even through this sickness I can still not take my eyes from it. My mouth is oppressed with as much force as I can muster, eyes wide in horror, gawking at my ignited fears. 8

In the same spot I sit, for an indefinite length of time, knees hugged tight against my chest in the foul subway seat. Finally it slows and the lightening bugs disperse, becoming again only a few every second, as they were meant to be. A circle of light makes its presence known and the train suddenly bursts out and screeches as brakes grind against the floor bars. Without direction I stand and wait impatiently by the sliding door, and salty blood pools on my lip as I bite down with all the strength I can muster. Finally it opens with such a force that its wind nearly throws me back, though I am able to conquer its authority and jump down onto the platform, hardly able to breathe. I look around hastily, half expecting to see you, though my only companions are a homeless man reclining against the slimy brick wall, and the sharp tribulation of fluorescent lights. I stare at them, first in confusion, then with a malice that I have only ever known with you. Reminding me of the feeling in your presence, I quickly regain my composure and with a final glance upward continue on to ascend the stairway. 9

I find myself blocks away from my temporary prison and soon am off the busy streets and onto more residential ones. My mouth is dust and I fear that with even the most insignificant movement the shriveled pink tongue would instantly fall away into powder. 10

I rigidly swallow nothing as in the distance there is the abode, the rotten yellow peeling thing that I hate in its own wretchedness. Slowly it comes to be my only focus and as it winds its picture around my mind I begin to breathe easier, for even in my revulsion I cannot help to love it and all it tries to be.11

Jaw clenched in an abrupt gust of nervousness and it is there, looming up in front of with its miniature size. I stare up at it cautiously and gaze into its depths, my heart suddenly pattering as if it was beating its last. 12

Up the worn cement driveway and past rows of dead potted plants, neglected in the summer’s heat, my sweaty hand takes hold of the knob and turns once, slipping, until I grasp harder and finally with a swift shove it flies open and I step into the dim entryway.13

There are no lights on anywhere as far as I can tell, and a quick search through the house only proves that I am indeed alone. My mind wanders again back to you and how at this moment I miss you so greatly that I feel I should call you and tell you how sorry I am that I killed you again, but rationality takes its course and I know that, at least for today, it is over.14

Dust hovers above cardboard boxes, scattered throughout the few rooms that Mother and her boyfriend should have taken care of long, long ago. In a rare burst of curiosity I open one and find it satisfied on an appetite of Reader’s Digest magazine. The grime fills my nostrils and a violent sneeze escapes its confinement, spreading germs as well as even more filth everywhere. I quickly stand and exit the room, dust dancing angrily in the shafts of sunlight, its peace so rudely disturbed.15

I enter my room and lay gently on the bed, staring at the many ridges engraved into the ceiling. Tears are locked tight in their glass cages behind my eyes, however, and even as I long for my young whoring mother, I cannot shed a single one. Without noticing it I soon blink out of this reality and off into the land of perpetual dreams, the place that deserves my avoidance and yet still, night after night, I return to brave its depths.16

The silence beckons me out of my sleep. Through the darkness these nightmares prevail, aiding no hope, no light. The end is near, I can feel it, and still I will carry on, if only to prove to you that I can do it.17

You died again, this time a slit wrist, not much different from the others. I am only thankful that it was not me this time, at least not my hand that did the slicing, though it was me who caused it. I am not sure that this is good for me, but as I watch your body fall, the light fade from your eyes, I just stare, jaw set in a motion so unlike any I have ever know. There is no sentiment from me to you, and you cannot smile as you once had. 18

It fades away into another dream, though before I can recognize the placing I am gone again, and half-sleep catches me unawares as I roll out of bed and stumble out the doorway across the hall to the bathroom, where I barely make it to extract my insides. A bittersweet taste encircles my tongue and I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and stare into the mirror, lit only by the streetlamp shining in so sharply from the window.19

My eyes are upsetting, half-closed and waiting for their daily dose of pain. Head throbs with my heartbeat, each pound another neuron dead, and vaguely I wonder when I will run out. I blink slowly, once, then twice, and force myself to smile. It is daunting and I have to quit, in fear that my Bloody Mary will escape her prison. With the thoughts streaming through my head so haphazardly I cannot make them out, I whisper her name just once, the words burning my tongue and piercing my lips with their poison. 20

Smiles will not come again and so I exit the room, slipping on the cold tiles, and make my way as a zombie back to my bed. I crawl in, something missing from the equation. Sighing, I find myself in a fetal position, air-conditioner clicked on and raging freezing air at my exposed form, even as outside it snows the tiny crisp flakes of angels.21