Chapter Text
My life was a series of strange coincidences.
The thoughts once shared between two human beings. The words whispered, disappearing like smoke in the air. Said but forgotten. The glances cast around when your eyes incessantly searched, but couldn’t quite find what they were looking for. Perhaps because they simply didn’t know. The desires surging through the bodies, lust and want encompassing everything around in their thick and vicious fingers. The fractures you could so easily trace with your fingertips, like invisible scars scattering your body, warming up under your suave touch. The loved-ones, that were your heart and your soul for the minuscule amount of time you were allowed to spend with them. The gut-wrenching feeling of letting them go.
And then him.
The most bizarre and strange coincidence that happened to me.
The random luck of the universe as he preferred to call it.
The feeling that was tearing my insides, burning my flesh with its clarity. Never-ceasing, never-leaving my haunted mind. The feeling of an ending coming. I could grasp it sometimes and feel the weight of it on my palm, how it pulled me down, awfully and terribly deep into my own mind, facing my darkest fears and desires. That I always kept guarded. That I didn’t allow myself to think about. Like lead flowing down my hands, getting under my skin, replacing the blood with its repugnant heaviness. Sultry fog enveloping me in its welcoming arms like a lost friend. And I tried to fight, tried to escape, but it came back time and time again. Pushing sharpened claws deeper into already abused flesh only to see me bleeding, wounded, unable to tear myself away from darkness. Perhaps because it was already in me. Invading my heart and soul, running in my veins, seeping through my thoughts.
Back in time, I thought he was my salvation, the light in him so bright and prominent, that it would make me whole again. What a fool I have been. All this time I was feeding on his light, greedily taking more and more, because he was giving, never wanting anything in return. And then I realized I can only break him. Because I couldn’t be fixed, because he couldn’t help me.
So I let him go.
They tell you that you can write your own story. But what they don’t say is that it will end. And that the ending won’t be yours. It would be a result of paths you took, words you said, curses you screamed in vain. A destroyed cobweb, crumpled in a hand. Every person you once knew, every situation you once have been in, every word whispered when you were afraid of speaking aloud, every thought that flicked through your brain, everything that happened to you amalgamated into one entangling mess. With you. In the middle of it. And then you will realize. With perfect clarity, like rays of sun sipping through wide-open windows, that the end won’t be yours. Whatever path you will take it will belong to others. Of what they said and did. Of what they wanted from you. It will crawl up your spine, coiling around your body, squeezing. Going past the skin, wounding the open flesh, cutting through the veins, snapping bones. Reaching your soul with slick fingers, pulling at your heart with sharp claws. The decision you will make won’t be yours. Strangely perhaps. Mine was my mother’s. It was the sickening laugh of fortune. I pushed her away, far as I possibly could, further away from me and my life. And yet, what I did was the result of her words and actions engraved in my mind. Thoughts I couldn’t escape because there was nowhere to go. Because you can’t escape your own mind. You can only elude yourself, push those thoughts beyond your reach. But they will always always be there.
I was afraid, utterly terrified of losing him. Of being alone, once again, in the midst of people that didn’t know me at all or simply didn’t care. Of those who never loved me. Never cared. With just a gentle brush of his fingertips down my sides, he showed me a different world. He showed me what I could have if I was only brave enough.
But in the end, he was never mine. Perhaps that broke me beyond any fixing point. The simplicity of him not being mine. To mark. To claim. To simply have. Because after he left, it felt like he was never really there.
Perhaps he left, without much fight, because he knew I wasn’t his. Because, for lack of a better word, I was already claimed. And the facade I had to put every day, deceived him. The forced smile that curled around my lips strangely foreign. The phony laugh that resonated from my chest to the open air, vibrating around us with feigned joy. But when the night came and all the masks fell down to the ground, cruelly shattering with odd finality, he was the one holding me in his arms. Seeing, for the first time, sparks shining in my eyes when he told me, time and time again, how beautiful I was. How he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. For having me. For loving him. And I couldn’t cease the overwhelming feeling of not being enough. The vicious sensation washing over me in tidal waves, crushing me from the inside with untamed truth. That he was too good for me. But as always, I selfishly took what he offered. Perhaps that was what cut through him, crumpling him in a vice grip, the truth painfully silent as he realized it. Perhaps that made him let me go. Not when I said I didn’t love him back, not when I screamed that I never wanted him, not when I coldly spat that whatever it was between us, was nothing. But he didn’t fall into the darkness then, he didn’t collapse under mine cruel words. He held his head high, looking me straight in the eyes, closing the gap between us, taking my already wet cheeks between his palms, thumb brushing over my tears, whispering ‘ I love you ’. And I believed him. I wanted it to be true. That his love would fix me, would heal me. Make me whole. That his love was the thing I was searching for my entire life. That his love would be the solution for everything.
What a fool I have been.
When he left, it felt like all the sun has been stolen from me. The only thing left was the overcoming misery, the ache and sorrow spreading like venom through me, clawing at my flesh, crawling inside. To subdue. To possess. To conquer.
I still remember the talk we had. The happy mask on my face, albeit I was indeed relieved at that moment. That it was over. And that someone was there for her.
"Well, maybe you can give her what I couldn't."
"What's that?"
"You. All of you. Do you know what it's like to want to love someone?"
"No."
"I hope you never do."
That feeling is feeding on you, eating you bit by bit, slowly chewing, but never being satiated. It digs deeper into you, pulling harsher, wanting you exposed. Wanting you whole. And you go willingly, wanting for this to be spread all over you, to let that warmth consume you. For that love to absorb every inch of your heart and soul. You crave it, but when it’s done and when it’s gone, you can’t breathe again how you used to. You can’t sleep with the same ease. You can’t think. You just want to be consumed again. But what is left is just a reminder of that feeling, just a ghost memory that it happened. Rotting inside you, like a disease unfurling in you.
The one major side effect of living in the presence of darkness was that it washed away the disillusion, the mirrors you surround yourself with to deflect truth, leaving you with gritty reality you didn’t want to face. So you hid all these little things neatly folded in small boxes, pushing everything to the back of your mind, never wanting to open them up again. And you kept on pretending, even when hating, detesting and loathing it with all your being. Pretending that everything was amazing was one of your best roles. They believed you.
You almost believed yourself. Until him.
Another strange coincidence was that with just a gentle brush of his fingertips, the walls surrounding me had fallen down with screeching noise and crashing sound reverberating in my ears. Collapsing like a house of cards at my feet. Until I was laid bare. Raw and vulnerable. And when I lifted my eyes, embarrassment filling all the pores of my body, and looked into his green irises, I felt my knees go weak and my legs buckle under his gaze. Shiver going down my spine, goosebumps eliciting my skin.
Acceptance.
Was what filled his eyes. Affection, love even want happened after. But I would never forget his kaleidoscopic eyes in that exact moment, looking at me softly, lifting the heavyweight off of my heart. I never felt more vulnerable. Or freer. And I never would.
The only thing haunting me more fiercely was his stare when he left. His jaw set, fighting to not let tears fall down his cheeks. And he looked at me, that one last time, holding a hand on the doorknob, his eye-lashes already wet. And I felt myself crumble and break under that gaze, the pieces I so patiently put in place, trying to somehow fit them correctly, falling to the ground with the sound of finality. The shatter echoing in my cold hotel room, many hours after he left. Perhaps even, never leaving me, just becoming ever-present background noise, I simply learned to ignore.
That was the day I swan dive from the cliff without realizing it, jumping head straight into the cold water of unknown territory. Wanting just to feel his warm hands around me, sneaking over my waist, pulling me into his chest in a tight grip. For just a few more minutes of being loved. Unconditionally. Without questions asked. Only because I was me and me alone in that exact moment. All of me bared and exposed for the light to consume me. I craved it with my whole being, but it never came. So I did the only thing I could, I suppressed it, shoving it back to the dark place in my mind, to never let myself feel it. To never let myself crumble under this feeling. Perhaps that saved my life. Or perhaps that destroyed me even more.
It happened randomly, once again the series of strange coincidences that marked my life, continuing. I don’t know what lured me. Perhaps because for the first time in months, I finally felt something, when my bottom lip was sliced open and blood started dripping down my chin, red soaking into my already sweaty shirt. Perhaps because it felt real when I poked the bruise on my ribcage, sharp pain fogging my mind for a split second. Perhaps because I found a soothing abyss, falling exhausted on the bed, allowing myself to sleep and forget, my muscles aching. My mind blank, not a single thought from the past mauling me back. And simply as that, I could just forget who I was, what happened to me when soft cotton was pulled around my palms and wrists, almost non-existent weight grounding me. When I let my mind slip, focusing just on this second, this moment. I let myself be free.
Or perhaps the ache spreading from my sore muscles, from the cut flesh, from simply being tired was the only thing I had control over. My entire life slipping through my fingers, like puffs of smoke when I tried to grab it only to dissolve into thin air. Suddenly my world was turned upside down and I was drowning in high water because no one ever told me how to breathe underneath
I felt his presence before I saw him. Like the gentle breeze from air-conditioning blew his scent closer to me. I stopped, in the mid-punch, feeling strangely heavy. For the next second to feel the fist of my opponent on my cheek and at the corner of my mouth. My head swayed. And I lifted my eyes to see him standing there. Like no time had passed. Like nothing happened. Looking at me with eyes wide open.
A strange sensation washing over me. When you haven’t seen someone for a very long time, the image of them freezes in your mind at the last moment you saw them, for you, they all should still be there. Suspended in that timeframe, standing still in that snapshot. It was like a punch to the guts to have that image so blatantly demolished.
I knew one day he would find me.
The only question was if I would let him fix me.