I'm fairly certain

I could be some ghastly hallucination,

a figment of my own imagination

― Derek Landy

Soft 80's music plays in the background, accompanied by some football game put on low volume that no one pays much attention to as a few members of the staff busy themselves around the bar, the tables, and in the back, making sure everything is in order before the much more dynamic evening shift. Everyone is concentrated on their tasks, yet the atmosphere is still relaxed - the waitresses and the help doing things on autopilot, used to their usual routine, the place currently occupied only by some of the regular clientele, and a small stream of men loosening up their work ties and rolling up sleeves of already creased shirts in an attempt of seeming more relaxed and free from the corporate world than they actually were; their frowned stares still eyeing their smartphones while checking up e-mails and new deadlines coming their way.

She takes it all in, glancing at the customers absentmindedly while her thoughts sink into the welcoming commotion of things she needs to do tonight, her energy vibrating more than usual. But this time it's not the voices or mayhem moving around in her, not even the memories of the turbulent events of last night - they resurface, of course, more than she would like, but at the same time, what fills her up the most is the newfound energy that seems to spread in her bones without rest. She feels unusually hyped - the only difference now is that it's not caused by pain or her private devils. Instead, she feels like a robot with countless energy hitting her in waves. After Charlie left last night, she was torn by many feelings and sensations, a flow of never-ending thoughts falling over her head like bricks, making it hard to focus on anything other than the inner turmoil under her skull - and yet, as soon as her head hit the pillow she was gone, drifting into some strange stream of consciousness, that had more to do with unclear visions and colors than actual dreams.

And there were no nightmares.

She inhales deeper, still in awe at the new revelation. She even slept through the morning and early afternoon, spending almost a full 20 hours in bed, then woke up charged up like never before. So much that she decided to take a shift at the bar and work some extra hours on top of it - the thought of being cooped up in the flat for even few more unnecessary minutes with just her own thoughts and feelings made her even more wired, the idea too overwhelming and suffocating handle or process in any way. Plus, she was in desperate need of some fresh cash. She took a quick shower, tied her hair into a high ponytail, and speeded off to the bar, ravaging an impressive size cheeseburger with bacon and two portions of fries from a nearby food truck while waiting for the bus - her hunger felt insatiable, and consuming. Thankfully Phil was more than eager to take her in, always seeming a little understaffed at nights, especially at the weekends. He took her with wider open arms than the government embracing the income at the beginning of tax season.

Her stare trails off to the mirror behind the gracious and long row of bottles resting pridefully in front of it. She notices the shining and rounder than normal eyes as if she was on something, indulging in heavy drugs of the highest shelf. But she wasn't, at least not on anything physical. No pill or needle could cause the things that she was experiencing. She felt stronger, faster, and more focused. She wasn't sure how long it would last, but she loved it, deciding for once not to worry ahead of time of the consequences. Her stare shifts higher against the mirror, and she notices Phil gazing at her from his newspaper, a stack of documents lying in wait next to it, with full intention left for later. He seems worried, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, giving him that forever concerned look she didn't like. She knows what he sees as he scans her slowly. The same unnatural shine in her eyes that she does - she feels tempted to both sigh at his uneasy gaze and smooth out that frown off his face. But she doesn't do either. Instead, she gathers some things to take to the kitchen and swiftly lifts everything with ease. She hears the rustling of papers and waits for the inevitable with a little smile.

So, after all these years working here, you're suddenly respecting a wear code and sanitary rules? What has happened to you? Who did this to you? Who do I need to call?

She rolls her eyes and lifts her knee, shifting a plastic crate higher in her arms, knowing that he means her tied-up hair and a black outfit constructed of a clean cotton T-shirt and decent-looking black jeans that coordinate nicely with the other girls' clothes, a small red apron tied efficiently around her waist.

Phil, it's rather easy. Sometimes even aliens like me have better days, though it's very rare, so be prepared to start a parade in my honor. It's a momentum people will not want to miss.

Mmm.

He grumbles something indistinctive and shifts his glasses, slipping his nose back into the newspaper. She bites her lower lip and heads to the kitchen, shouting over the shoulder.

But nothing purple or flurry; it clashes too much with my filthy, dark soul.

She hears some muffled cussing and grins lazily, her hands already wiping the counters and putting out vegetables from the red plastic crate. She drops them into the sink and washes them under a cold stream of water before starting the peeling and dicing process. Finally, she takes out a knife and chops everything her my reach. It takes her only minutes to get everything done. Then she picks up the empty crate and throws unnecessary stuff into it that's lying around, wanting to create more room and make sure no one trips over it - which wouldn't be a first. Somehow Carl had a unique gift of dropping things, and tripping over them, which was thoughtfully overlooked on most occasions - because other than that, he turned out to be a good employee that you could depend on, an incredibly rare quality these days. She shifts slightly towards the door, her hands still on the plastic sides of the container. She takes a few quick steps and unexpectedly slows down as if her muscles had thickened, legs and arms inserted into something that felt like mud - a slow-motion loop that she sinks more with each second.

The sensation is bizarre, but she doesn't stop, not entirely sure if it was her going insane or the world around her - it almost felt like a bad trip from drugs or a dream in which you're a part of something that makes no logical sense - her mind takes it all in while the body keeps on moving, not actually bothered that much by the situation. She takes another step, and something shifts, flashing red, a strange filtered light over her eyes - its subtle and lasts only a fraction of a second but changes everything around her; without warning, a scene plays out in her head as if she was transported into someone else's eyes, someone else's subconscious. She stumbles slowly into a room that she does not know or has never been to, while at the same time, her mind lets her know she's just passing the kitchen door in Phil's bar, feet taking her to the little storage room hidden next to the back door. She blinks as other, new images fill them and cover up reality. It feels like experiencing everything through the colored glass of a kaleidoscope but without anything in between. But there is no toy to play with it, her eyes becoming the kaleidoscope itself.

In full amazement, she gazes at the big windows taking up almost the entire length of the wall in the back of the elegant room; and stares at the river and the docks behind the glass, marveling at the slowly setting sun in the distance. Then her stare gradually moves to the left until it stops on an old, deep chestnut color desk and the person behind it. She doesn't see his face, but the silhouette is too familiar to her by now to mistake it for anyone else. Jeremiah. She freezes in place, too scared to move in any direction, knowing that her physical body has stopped and is standing next to the back door, leaning against a wall there, the red crate still in her hands, fingers grabbing the plastic until her knuckles become white. Her eyes nervously scan the room and notice a heavy shadow lurking in the corner, making her heart rumble against its ribcage, hitting the bones and begging for an escape from its prison.

They are both here.

This can't be true.

Please, don't let it be true.

She wants to run away, but something holds her in place as Jeremiah grows into the main focus again, an invisible gravity she cannot seem to fight against. But this time, it is not dread but a deep-rooted curiosity and a magnetic pull to find out what's on that desk. This strange man she has always feared, and that made the blood in her veins freeze was right there in front of her, so close that it felt surreal. Yet, now she sees him with new eyes. He's concentrated, so inspired, and passionate about what he's doing that it draws her in; something in her own passion for art and photography resonates with what she's witnessing. And even though she should be terrified by it all, she feels this calm part inside of her, shimmering somewhere under the skin and telling her to have no fear, no ego, no doubts - the only thing it asks is that she keeps an open mind. She inhales deeper and comes a little closer to the desk, leaning over it, her mind shifting and bending into something new, thoughts not feeling entirely her own, as if she was not speaking them. Instead, she was being told a story, fingers gliding over invisible pages of a book.

She sinks into it, letting it guide her.

The lamps in the spacious, elegant room had already been turned on, even though outside, the sun still lays low over the horizon, barely inviting the shades of twilight into the space.

A man sits in the middle of this space, focused solely on his doings, his impressive tall and wide form hunched over a canvas that covers his desk; he seems to be lost in it completely, each brush stroke like a note played on a luxurious piano. You can almost feel the music coming from his actions, opening like a sonata, cascading in waves from the ceiling, and dripping to the wooden floors in a vibrating crescendo; each glide of the brush a whisper of a violin, each push into the canvas like that of a drum centered in the middle of a grand symphonic orchestra. The paints that cover the artwork are thick and rich, both in color and texture - they are so magnificent to the eye that one wishes to dip their fingers into it, pushing their hands into it with eager roughness, only to later touch it with unspeakable softness that only the kindest of souls could understand.

The man smiles lazily at his creation and continues with his actions, deliberately and with care. A flash of silver reflects from a small knife that slowly scrapes against the material of the canvas, creating sharp lines between the edges of the crimson paint, bright oranges around it flaring like bleeding sunsets ready to bursts.

"And what are you doing there?"

The man does not look up, the presence of another not in any way, disturbing his focus.

"Painting life. The ache and tormented notions. Passion. Hunger. The blood and soil of this earth."

"Ah, yes. Of course. How laughable of me to even ask. Perhaps one of your best creations yet, brother?"

"No, it's barely a prelude to something much grander."

"Well, I feel it won't be much longer until that piece will join the others on your gallery wall."

The man smiles unhurriedly and stands up from his work, the wet paints still gleaming against the light of the lamps above them. Something in the composition catches his eye, and his eyebrows lift in amused surprise. There is faint light that seems to be almost fluctuating from the edges of the lines and shapes, drying without a rush. It doesn't affect the painting too much, instead gleaming restlessly for a long while.

"Brother?"

The man doesn't respond, his eyes fixed on the canvas. Finally, the delicate blue, silver light disappears, leaving the raggedy lines in the canvas smaller, the holes barely visible now. The man tilts his head in both amusement and irritation. He did not like someone interfering with his work. But the thought of being challenged for the first time in decades pleased him somehow as if a new toy that he wanted to play with - when you live for far too long, things can become rather dull, therefor each novelty is a much-appreciated distraction that brings a nearly long-forgotten curiosity to it. Finally, the man looks up and gazes at his brother for a while, not truly seeing him. After a moment, he waves his hand, brushing away any concern lingering in the air.

Just a slight modification. Nothing more...

The sudden pain in her hands shoots out with such power that it rips her out of the vision altogether without any warning. Her fingers burst open as if electrocuted, the plastic crate crashing against the floor, causing the trash to fall out in all directions in the small, already crowded space.

Shit!

She breathes out shakily and blinks for a moment. Surprisingly, she's not confused and panicked. Instead, she just stands there, slowly taking everything in. It's a strange sensation because a part of her that she has been operating with until this day wants fear to take over, suffocating her into a pattern that feels like something permanent in her life by now. But this part of her resists it, spreading calm energy into her system. As if her fear and emotions could only reach a certain level before an invisible hand would hold them in check. It felt odd but also freeing, as if some of her old chains had been cut off without her realizing it, quietly leaving her side. There were still so many chains holding her back, but it felt good to have more room to move her hands and legs. Not wanting to dwell on it for too long, she bends down and swiftly picks up all the trash, throwing it out in the big container outside seconds later. She lets the cold wind calm down the heat on her face and gazes into the sky as if searching for answers. What did all this mean? Would there be more visions like that? Would they affect here in any way? It didn't feel like it. At least from what she could tell. Weirdly enough, she was perfectly aware that neither Jeremiah nor Alister saw her. The vision she experienced was not a live streaming, instead, it seemed to be a fresh memory. How she knew that she wasn't sure. She just did.

She inhales deeper and heads back inside, gliding over to the bar and smiling at Phil as he gives her a questioning look. She shrugs it off lightly, letting him know all is well, and then dives in behind the counter, picking up her worn-out bag and slipping out the phone. She checks the screen and looks at a message he wrote many hours ago, not ready back then to respond. Its words echo in her head as if he was saying them out loud. Stay in my life as long as you like, somehow the world feels much better with you in it. Something warm and soft spreads slowly in her chest, causing her to blink faster as she replies - knowing it was the first time in her messed up life, anyone had ever said that to her. The world feels much better with you in it. Her thumbs glide over the screen as if in a trance, feeling way too many things to even explain.

[ it's only better because you're there too ]

Another inhale.

[ I will take you on your offer ]

She puts the phone away and gazes up at Phil. His eyebrows lift in response.

Thanks for giving me another chance when others didn't. When I was nothing more than a bundle of ripped-out cords and lost hope, it means a lot to me.

She watches his eyes go wide, almost panicked, his shoulders curling inside, his entire form becoming uncomfortable. He never liked any display of affection, neither at work nor anywhere else. He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck as the skin there flashes first pink and then neon red - literally stained by a live display of public feelings directed at him. He blinks a few times and then clears his throat in a way that only men can.

Is this your attempt at getting a higher hourly rate? Because if so, don't count on it. I'm already adding to the business with Carl around.

He states with a rush. She knows he's trying to say anything just to drown out the outstretching silence. He fidgets a little and then returns to his papers. I nod, letting him off the hook.

You got me, boss. Once a scammer, always a scammer.

She busies herself with helping the only waitress currently moving around the tables, her pretty face flushed, energy annoyed, but the stare still managing to stay professional. She quickly scoops up dirty glasses and dishes left behind and smiles at Tracy and the short, blond hair masterfully arranged into something straight from a hair salon. Tracy mouths a thank you and continues, then disappears into the kitchen with everything, just seconds later returning with food and drinks on her tray. She smiles at the sight and then quickly disappears into the kitchen as well. She knew help would be needed there too. It doesn't bother her though. Somehow even though the time was reaching midnight, she still felt full of energy, small electric currents bouncing off her skin. She had no idea how to explain tonight but it didn't scare her, instead, filled her with something completely new. As if something in her was constantly changing and shifting, but for the first time in a while it felt like a good shift. It was hard to explain, but it felt like she was connected to something that gave her more strength, and more faith in her future actions. She closes her eyes and stretches her muscles, shoulders rolling inside and outside as a lazy grin lifts the corners of her eyes. Such energy, it felt delicious. Her mind relaxes even more. So much that it lets other things in as well that she made sure to keep out; the memories of the last night circulating in her bloodstream, in her opened mind. But this time it's different. In all the places where the vacant spaces were before now something else would come into focus. So much of last night was a blur to her, most of it concentrating on the before and after. The middle, being visible but slightly blurry, the passion and mayhem clouding some part of their time together. But not it lets loose, free from its shackles. It explodes in her and bounces off her walls, heating the skin and expanding with a big bang like the matter of the cosmos itself. She catches her breath and hits the wall behind her from the impact of the energy that danced within her. She feels mesmerized and dazed by something she has never experienced before.

Geezes... fuck. What is this? What... is... this?

She breathes with difficulty, her chest rising and falling with speed. Her head spins, and she shifts her fingers to the wall, nails digging into the wall.

Elle? What's wrong? Do you need water?

Tracy's voice breaks through the haze, and she looks up at her as the energy slowly calms down outside, while still doing its silent dance under her muscles. She nods a few times, gradually regaining her peace.

Yes, I'm fine. Just a head rush.

You're overworking yourself, girl. I keep telling you. The pace you're having tonight, I have never seen anything like it in my life. We all need cash, sugar, but don't overdo it.

I won't.

She says calmly now and nods with a smile.

You better, because I'm way too tired myself to pick you up from the floor if you collapse.

Tracy winks at her and returns to the bar area.

I will keep that in mind.

She inhales once more and gazes down at her hands. So that's how it looked with him, that's how it was. Geezes. All of that passion, the hunger, the beast inside. Was that always inside of her or only because of the pain? She asks herself while standing there in the corridor almost motionless. And what if it wasn't just the pain? What if they both caused it? The thought makes her head spin again, but she calms it down, returning to work. All those questions would have to wait for now.

This world is a much better place with you in it.

She whispers gently, disappearing behind the kitchen door.

_______________________

Previous chapters

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

(part 1)

55. https://theprose.com/post/706205/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things (part 2)

56. https://theprose.com/post/743987/uncharted-territory

he felt electricity flow through his veins,

his arms, his eyes

― Nick Oliveri, The Conjurer

Charlie

He slowly lifts the bottom of a white, sleeveless shirt and turns his head around, gazing at the body reflected in the mirror, the flaring lines at his lower back and forearms almost screaming with their presence. The slightly faded afternoon light gently slipping between thin beige curtains, painting the wooden floor of his small, simple bedroom with golden amber stains across its surface and sliding slowly past the oak shelves stuffed with used copies of books and old, worn-out journals filled with his rushed, energetic handwriting - dust motes moving in the air and turning into tiny gold flakes against the sun's gentle touch. It's a beautiful scene, almost stopped in time, but he's oblivious to it, too occupied with a million thoughts hitting him over the head each time he blinks or dares to breathe. He watches the firm muscles tense under the skin, constantly shifting to the sound of all the memories he's trying not to bring to the surface. He doesn't want to make them stronger, more physical, not wanting the ground he stands on to become quicksand again. There were bigger things at stake to consider here than his roaming, conflicted feelings - he sighs and winces slightly as too many shifts cause the skin to sting in several places. He slips off his shirt and throws it at a chair behind him, irritated with the burning sensation, eyes once again scanning the lines and their patterns, gazing at them with wonder. Her tattoos imprinted on his skin, marking him into something that belonged only to her.

He shakes his head at the thought and gazes up to his face, noticing the dark blue circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep caused by a restless night filled with a wired mind and a body with skin in a constant state of fever. He inhales deeper and then unwillingly looks back to his chest, remembering her stare as she towered over him, dominating him, fingers moving both, with roughness and softness against the skin and muscles, as if she saw something far beyond just his body. Her stare blazing like wildfires that attack forests after months of drought - so uncontrollable, demolishing everything in their reach - yet there was affection hiding under all those flames, under all the mayhem. And that stare scared him, making it the exact moment he stopped it all from going even further, his thoughts momentarily sobering as if somebody threw a big bucket of ice over his head. Instantly, everything around them grew back into focus, as if waking up from a dream.

Or being torn away from it.

He thinks and tenses again. He could risk the physical between them. After all, he was only human, a regular Joe - someone that made mistakes like everyone else. But the tenderness that he saw in her eyes was something that he couldn't dare to gamble away if things between them would ever go wrong. He would not risk the parts of her that were most fragile, something that she so rarely allowed herself to bring to the surface. It was like an electrical shot straight to his nervous system, causing him to master all the willpower he could conjure and turning it into anger. Anger at the possibility of ever hurting her, of being yet another monster in her life, another demon to make her eyes more wary than they already were. The thought terrified him and made him furious. He never felt such fury before in his life.

Never.

It was the first time he was grateful for the rage cursing through his veins.

His back slouches, shoulders curling forward as if he was carrying a massive weight for far too long, and today it had finally become too much to bear. And yet, somehow, he manages to look up again at his reflection, at the lines that said so many things without any words, painted out for everyone to see. A reminder of a presence that has made a permanent residence in his being, something that could not be tamed or forgotten, causing things in him to swell and grow, making it seem like the heart under his ribs no longer had enough room - outgrowing everything he has known so far. Unfortunately, the lines were also question marks carved and crafted into his flesh. Questions that tortured him from the first second he left her apartment, the beast made out of his thoughts, escaping to roam around his head freely, snarling or whimpering - depending on the direction his mind took.

There was a cynic in him that wanted to ask. Did you want me or the battery cord for your pain? Did the bottle of morphine feel as ecstatic this time as well? Or did you want to rip more away from me? For a brief second, it felt liberating as the anger swiped through his bloodstream, pumping fuel into his muscles and his triggered thoughts. But not long after, guilt followed, slipping through the cracks and joining the party, stinging at his insides stronger than the lines painted across his skin. It wasn't Nora's fault that all of this was happening to her and that there was no way for her to stop the nightmares by herself. After all, she had asked him seconds before, even though her entire system had been screaming with unmentionable ache and despair. He knew that he could've stopped her and helped in other ways. But the torture in her eyes made it impossible for him to deny her anything. He couldn't let her suffer like that, wanting to be her instant remedy, the cure in her blood. Who knows? Maybe it was a flattering thought that licked at his ego; maybe deep inside, he loved the idea of being so important to her. Perhaps he was just a fool with a heart too easily opened, a heart that always somehow turned towards her as if an invisible needle, pointing north.

Yes, the fool part was certain.

He wonders if she would act the same if there was no pain to deal with, no need to pour water over the flames eating her alive each time of day and night. Would she still crave him in the same way? How did she really feel? Did she see him as something more than a friend and a safe harbor for the tortured body that was running on fumes by now? More than just someone that brought her moments of peace between all the invisible demons she had to face? Again, he wasn't sure - never the one to assume things, on most occasions remaining rather oblivious to this area of life. There was a very valid reason for friends and family teasing him about being clueless when it came to romance and stuff revolving around it. He considered himself an intelligent and more than capable person, but reading signs was never his strongest suit.

I can't risk something I can't live without.

The words ring out in his head, and he slouches again under their weight, knowing they might as well be his own. He stares at the clock on the small bedside table and blinks a few times at the red digits until they blur out completely, then sighs and picks up his phone, fingers dancing across the screen.

[ everything alright? ]

His thoughts circle around many things until they linger on a dark living room and them in the middle of chaos, on the flames that wanted to eat them both alive in such an unexplainable, erratic way. After a while, the phone buzzes twice in his hands, and he jumps, cursing under his breath, annoyed for feeling caught red-handed on the memory.

[ yes, just like it was an hour ago and the hour before that ]

[ roger-over ]

He sighs at the reply. He couldn't help himself not to check up on her after everything that occurred in the last 48 hours. The fear of the possibility of losing her and something bad happening to her permanently echoed under his skin. He texted her several times to ease the worried mind but wasn't brave enough to call. Maybe it was for the best. They both needed some space. He slowly stumbles to his bed and sits on it heavily, leaning forward and hiding his face in his hands. He sinks for a moment into himself, time losing meaning, and then he growls, irritation bubbling straight from his deepest core.

Damn it. So many things fucked up at once!

He shouts out even more, aggravated, and then hears an unexpected banging sound that makes him jump again. He stares surprised at the wall behind him just before another small pounding starts.

I'm trying to sleep here. Do you mind holding back the drama tantrums for later??

Rob's muted voice fills the little room, and he blinks, eyes widening. Shit. He forgot he wasn't alone in the apartment. After last night he was constantly distracted and not being able to take in any details around him for too long. Eventually, everything would slip into a frenzied haze, making him act like an only semi-responding zombie. Just enough to nod, make sounds, and answer simple questions, frowning confused whenever his brother's voice would penetrate his thoughts loud enough to drag him out of it.

Yeah, sorry. Go back to sleep.

He mutters, slightly raising his voice so Rob can hear him, and hears some low cussing behind the wall; that gradually turns into a vibrating, growing melody of his brother's enticing grizzly snores. He shakes his head at the surreal scene and falls down on the bed, outstretching his arms above his head; so they now resemble a pair of locked scissors as his stare digs deeper into the ceiling as if wanting to bend it with the power of his mind, thoughts swirling in all directions, floating but not lending on any ground for longer. What did you do with me, woman? He asks into the empty space and sighs again. One hell of an adventure this has turned out to be with her. But maybe in the end, he always knew it, from that first moment, in one of the doctors' offices when he caught her stealing morphine from the medicine cabin. Or perhaps right after, when all her pain magically dissolved by the power of his touch, and she asked him if she could keep him. Maybe right there at that moment he was already gone, surrendering to things he had no idea about, not realizing how much she would change and shift his entire life, leaving him spinning without rest on its axis.

"If I don’t take anything from here and surrender to the cops, can I keep you then?"

"Keep me?"

"Yes, as a pet or a houseplant."

"What, not even as a boyfriend or your boy toy? Oh wow, I see your sense of humor is still doing well."

"Hmm, I wish I was joking. But whatever medical miracle you doing here, it’s definitely working."

He smiles with softness at the memory, letting warmth and peace fill him up; eyes searching the ceiling for answers he so desperately yearned for. His thoughts slowly change their track, floating until they find a sudden stop. It feels like a small pebble falling into the water and creating ripples against its crystal gleaming surface. His pulse rushes as a thought he was avoiding for a while returns to him, pushing against the walls in his head. I see you found yourself a healer. He inhales sharply and buys himself some time by counting each small crack and dent on the ceiling, waiting for the blood in his veins to move slower, to become less erratic. A healer. Am I really that? And what does it mean exactly for me? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? He ponders as his chest begins to move at a more regular pace with each breath. It must be a good thing if I'm able to help her - he thinks and then frowns. But there are consequences to everything.

To all the unexplainable things in this world, the ones having the subtle taste of miracles.

They always had some effects.

He thinks harder. Did he ever feel tired or drained after helping her? Was he suddenly exhausted or left with a headache? No. The answer is soft but at the same time, stern. No, he continuously felt good after, at peace, content that he brought her some release. He focuses more on his memories, testing each one like an elastic, colored rubberband - comparing, checking for symptoms that could imply a negative outcome or sickness, his medical training kicking in. No, he never felt worse or exhausted after. Maybe a little tired, but in a way that good exercises work, causing the blood to flow faster and the endorphins to shoot out, changing the chemical structure of the brain. He marvels at the thought. Helping Nora was like stretching and flexing muscles in the morning, like having a bigger run - a part of you was a bit out of breath, but at the same time, it felt right, needed, as if it was a part of his purpose, of his life path - just like medicine and helping patients were for him.

He blinks at the newly discovered revelations and lays there for a while in silence. His brain takes time to bring in the new data and the questions forming in his head, shifting his views on things he took as certain elements of his reality. If he helped her, were there others that he could benefit from his touch? Was that woman he helped as a kid a part of that journey? And if so, how many people did he already help in that way without even knowing? He lifts from the bed and sits on it, staring at the space in front of him, taking in so many things at once, his head threatening to explode from too much information and possible theories. Finally, as the light in the bedroom shifts to different places, its shades becoming more vibrant and dominant, he glances back at the tall mirror with a simple dark oak wooded frame in the corner of the room - the lines on his skin seeming softer somehow, not even stinging anymore. He inhales deeper and reaches for his phone, the words on the screen coming to him with more ease this time.

[ stay in my life as long as you like, somehow the world feels much better with you in it ]

He presses send and smiles to himself. The situation between them wasn't ideal right now, and he knew that for a while there would be some awkwardness lingering in the air. But something deep down in his gut told him everything would work itself out. It was a feeling he couldn't explain in any rational way, but it filled him, moving through his bones and resting in his veins. He puts his hand on his side, his thumb gliding slowly against the red-sensitive lines there, feeling almost like a memory he didn't have but could catch somewhere in the edges of his subconscious mind. The lines felt like a road map to a place he had always known - a place he didn't yet have a name for but was certain he wanted to come back to. He shakes his head. Such a new strange feeling, yet so familiar. He tilts his head slightly and pulls out facts and definitions that he studied and read about countless times in technical books focusing on the part of the brain that controls both its memory and the loss of it. Hmm, this feeling he had when he touched the shape of the lines against his skin reminded him of some form of amnesia. Some people that went through it would sometimes describe it as a strange sensation - like when they would walk past their own house and had no memory of ever living in it, yet somehow the building would seem familiar to them, even though they couldn't quite place the why factor. Sort of like a feeling of Deja Vu, or in other cases, a past life sensation. He wasn't sure how he felt about past lives as his mind was more practical than anything else, but there was something he heard once that stayed with him for many years. "It is similar to waking up and only remembering your dream for 30 seconds or a minute and then completely forgetting about it."

It kind of felt like that, as if things connected to her were a dream he just woke up from and could only catch for a few moments before it would disappear completely. However, the difference here was that even though the details slipped away from his subconscious, the feeling itself remained. And not only did it stay with him, but it also kept expanding in him as well. He didn't know yet what all of this meant, but he was ready to find out.

With her.

________________

previous chapters

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)

55. https://theprose.com/post/706205/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things (part 2)

I want to slowly

read the rest of that iceberg

s l o w l y

piece by piece, each day of my life

it's okay

my heart is just as bruised and battered as yours

but within you, it finds a place to rest

to breathe

it finally feels safe

safe in words no dictionary could hold

you put a spell on me, darlin

a spell covered in the dust

of one million dying stars

I shifted, bent

and formed into a new being

a new shape

that nestled itself perfectly

into the curve of your body,

and the roundness of your arms

as they wrapped around my soul

my entire being destroyed

and shattered from the inside out

and rebuild anew

now, not one moment passes

without my skin craving yours,

these hands restlessly searching

until they find

the masterfully well-built web

of our fingers

intertwining into one,

my light yearning to once again be with its counterpart

wait for me,

under the Apollo's Sun

as I find my way home

not to a place or any four walls

but to that melody

playing my name between your ribs

a galactic storm

put into a slightly fractured and bruised heart

that beats

to the rhythm of my own

finally, I have found

someone with a chaos matching mine

.

I scrambled out of my body

twisted my threads into cords

shifted into something else

limbs too long, head too loud

an itch set too deep in these muscles of mine

to ever be caught ( touched, stroked,

embraced like a whimpering child )

my fingers reaching forward,

calling the moon and spitting seaweed from my mouth ( scratchy, wet,

blooming in the dark )

words like little pebbles

tumbling down,

once sharp, now smoothed out by fractured warmth

and the great blue ( crashing tides, millenniums of light-years

tucked away under the heart )

selfish thing, loving things, explosions and combustion

99 red balloons like mosaic tiles

rolling off my tongue,

moss green waves swelling between the ribs

emerald storms traced with gold

soft serpent snakes

made not out of hate but love

words and prayers

in the form of sea-glass

colored in the shades of my other soul

constantly reaching for the sun

breaking out of my cement-dried form ( blooming past the ceiling,

growing on eggshells and soil )

dancing more on things I used to, only tiptoe

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

maybe I have been here before

walking on wooden ladders,

and climbing the moon

perhaps Jupiter was my other home,

maybe I have been here before

sailing on ice cubes

in the tallest glass of life

perhaps, stardust powdered both my skin

and my heart

invisible tapestry of constellations

in the shapes of fallen suns

reflecting of my eyes

maybe I was made of rain dew

and lemon-drops,

my soul

colored with pastels

and flirtatious butterfly smiles,

perhaps, me and the darkness were good friends

lights like summer braids

woven into my hair,

and mixing with navy-blue ash

maybe I have been here before

and you whispered

my name so well,

you called me love

and climbed the moon

with me

I immerse myself in the sun

swallowing gold

within tattered lungs

gravity no more than a delicate red string

in a child's

soft chubby hands ,

my body lifts and pivots in a boundless spell

swirling somersaults

on the edge of the light

cutting air between oxygen and lost time .

I am something yet unsaid

lifetimes

of dying stars

fireworks waiting to be lit

I immerse myself in the sun

I swallow myself up

starting creation at day one .

reinventing structural walls

the blueprints

to my soul