Devour Me

“M, my dear, why all the tears?”
“Thanatos,” she whispered.
“It’s been a while my dear M; I missed you. Why have you called me?”
“I… ” she stared at him, the words lost in her mind, the feelings overwhelming, indescribable.

He stepped closer, reaching for her, “M, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” He felt a strange tremor in the air; a different, darker vibration emanating from her sorrow.  She fell to her knees, wrapped her arms around her middle, rocking like a child self-comforting, silent.  He felt her heart beat, fast and erratic, tasted her tears as they fell.

“Thanatos, who is he?” She asked, finally, managing words to escape her lips.

Thanatos paced feeling her emotions roll over him like waves after a tsunami.  Confusion, pain, sorrow, self-hatred, all crashing over him, familiar but something different beneath all the other darkness. He looked at her again, her upturned face, green eyes begging him for solace, for answers, for clarity.  He dropped to his knees but did not reach for her.

“Who?”
“M, my M, the other M,” she sobbed.
Thanatos’s eyes darkened, “Why do you ask me about him?”
“He confuses me, Thanatos.  I don’t understand him.  I don’t know what he wants.  I don’t know what he expects or how to please him or how to make him forget me… or remember me.”
“Why do you ask me about him?”
You won’t let me go and he confuses me.  I don’t know what I am to him, to you.  What does he want? You won’t let me go and I don’t know if he wants me to go or not.  I don’t know what role I’m supposed to play anymore, Thanatos.  Help me, please,” she pleaded.

Thanatos stood and walked to the fireplace, reaching for the poker to stoke the flames, feeling the heat fill the room.  Staring down into the fire he said, “I do not know him.”
She stared at his back confused, “You don’t?”
He turned to look at her, “Why would I know who he is?”
“I…” she started to speak but felt a loss for words.
“What does he do to you?” Thanatos asked darkly stepping closer.

She stood and dropped her arms to her side.  Silent.  Her green eyes holding his gaze.  He advanced slowly, like a predator stalking prey, and she inhaled deeply.  Thanatos took her by the waist, pulled her close, gently kissed her neck.  She dropped her head back, closed her eyes and whispered, “Thanatos, who is to set me free?”

“M what are you doing?”
“Praying for redemption.”
“What? I didn’t know you were religious?”
“I’m not.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I think I need to run again M.”
“Run where?”
“Anywhere.  I need to run, M.”
“Run to me then.”
“What?”
“My dear M, run to me, please.  Stop running away and run to something.”

(Thanatos): M

3:23 am: corner booth

She sat alone watching a couple drunk in love; or perhaps just drunk love. She ordered another whiskey and stared out the window.  The shadows across the street reminded her of the first time she saw Thanatos.

It was her fourteenth birthday and her parents were arguing, again, in the other room.  She could hear her mother yelling while her father’s tone was deeper, a little muffled, but still menacing. The small apartment left little room for escape so she climbed out to the fire escape for a cigarette.  Slipping her headphones on, turning the volume up, she watched the darkness unfold on the streets below.  In the shadow, across the street, he leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette, looking up at her.

Her heart slowed with the eerie feeling of someone watching her, a stranger, calmly inhaling when she took a drag of her own cigarette.  He took a few steps to stand under the street light.  She exhaled slowly, not sure she was seeing as clearly as it seemed.  He was tall, dressed in black slacks, a black dress jacket with white shirt, cuffs open and hanging loose accentuating his long fingers.  His hair was short, black, a little messy.  What she noticed most were his deep blue eyes.  Unreal eyes like those in photographs of beautiful boys with microphones and smoke swirling.  He didn’t have a beard, but not clean-shaven, and she wasn’t positive but felt he let her study him for several minutes before smiling and walking away.

She met Thanatos a year later.  Visiting her cousins upstate, they took her to a party at a house near a lake.  The drinks were beer or overly sweet combinations typically involving Coke and cheap spirits.  A couple of older boys brought weed, acid and some pills with vague promises that it would make you feel good.  Wandering around drunk and high, feeling the usual melancholy, not wanting company, never able to feel connected, she slipped down to the lake with one of the knives her uncle used to gut fish.  She vaguely remembered cutting her wrist, slicing down following the trace of her vein.  She felt the blood, warm and sticky, dripping around the circumference of her arm.  She managed another cut on her other wrist, not as deep, and laid back staring up at the stars.

Her head swam, a mixture of alcohol and drugs, and she felt the pain from the cuts but didn’t move.  Instead trying to focus on locating the big dipper, identify Orion’s belt, looking for the North Star.  She laughed at her ridiculous dramatics and felt cold despite the warm summer night.  The fireflies blinked silently, calling to their loves across the grass, and she heard the occasional splash from a fish or turtle.  She smiled feeling life finally slipping away, so close to ending, the pain and darkness within finally about to be distinguished.  Vaguely she wondered how long before someone found her.  Would it be some fat housewife with her kids going for a morning swim?  Maybe one of her cousins would notice her missing and go looking for her.  Maybe she’d just rot here all summer, slowly decomposing into the earth until the rain washed her remains into the murky green lake.

She turned her head to the left, to look at the moon reflecting on the calm waters, and instead saw his blue eyes looking into hers.  He was kneeling silently next to her.  She didn’t know how long he was there, when he showed up, or where he came from.  She recognized him from the shadows across the street outside her apartment and she let out a small cry.  He gently touched her face, his eyes soft and kind, and took off his jacket to place under her head.

“Who are you?”
“Thanatos.  And who are you my love?”
“M.”

She saw lights blinking, heard voices and static sounds from radios.  No, she thought.  She looked at Thanatos and felt the black tar boil up into her chest threatening to crack each rib slowly.  As she struggled to focus, consciousness barely holding on, she felt pressure on her wrists, being lifted, heard voices all around.  Standing off to the side, Thanatos told one of the paramedics he had gone for his nightly walk and found the girl on the beach.  They thanked him for most likely saving her life.  As they loaded her into the ambulance she saw a black dog sitting across from the lake entrance, panting.

Two days later, at the hospital, her parents sat silently by her bed.  Her mother cried.  Her father clenched his jaw.  She feigned sleep hoping they would disappear for a while to the cafeteria.  When they finally left, she touched the bandages around her wrists and cried.  The doctors said they could help relieve her from the depression but they didn’t understand the well deep inside that held the bubbling, dark, black sticky tar that gripped not only her psyche but her very core.  It was a part of her, she understood that, something that would never disappear no matter how much they medicated or promised.

There was a soft knock on her door.  Thanatos stood holding a large bouquet of calla lilies and white lavender.  His blue eyes slightly clouded with contrition.  He waited until she gave a slight wave with her hand calling him closer.

“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I can’t let you go.”

She sighed, her mind snapping back to the present.  She still didn’t understand why Thanatos couldn’t let her go.

Text Stories: Games We Play

Anger is a strange emotion. When suppressed it consumes a person in small, subtle, yet deadly ways. It slowly chokes someone with a silent poison that blackens the soul and manifests as depression or apathy. If the angry person attempts to quash that anger, no matter how righteous, at some point anger will find an exit. It will find its way out as either a dark, maleficent energy or as an explosive rage. Either way like a fire it consumes whatever lies in its path. Incendiary like gasoline on dried wood; it only takes a tiny spark to ignite.

Don’t. Just Don’t. Seriously
What
Don’t fucking pretend to care
I’m not pretending
Fuck you
Why the hell are you so angry with me?
Oh, you miss me. You worry. You care for me, blah, blah.
It’s the truth
Really?
I don’t blow smoke up your ass
Hard to believe when I don’t hear anything from you for weeks at a time. You always have an excuse. Your phone broke, you didn’t pay the bill, no wifi. Whatever

I borrowed money from anyone just to get it back because I miss my best friend
Yeah, sure. Empty words. You say this every couple of weeks. Really, don’t lie to me. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of a friendship at your convenience. I mean shit to you

That isn’t true. You mean a lot to me. You are one of the few people I tell anything
Okay, tell the others than, I’m tired. I’m done with this game
It isn’t a game
Isn’t it? I need someone that puts me first, that cares enough to actually check more than every couple of weeks. If I don’t contact you its like I fall off the fucking planet. You forget until you get bored or are horny or some shit

That isn’t true. I think of you all the time
I’m right here like always
I’m sorry. It isn’t my fault that I have phone problems and can’t pay bills, you know I’m struggling right now
Yeah, I’m struggling, too.
I know and that’s why I worry. I’m worried about you M, really, you are my best friend

Thanatos smiled, “A new corset?”
“Do you like it?”
“Of course.”
“What are you going to do to me,” she asked licking her lips.
“What do you want me to do,” he asked as the light flickered in his eyes.

She walked, slowly, across the room and stood before him, “Thanatos, my dear, I am here at your pleasure, for your pleasure.”

He looked into her deep green eyes for a long moment, her lips holding a taut smile, and felt a strange, unidentifiable emotion. Her sadness, as always, was palpable. Her sehnsucht lingered below. But something more, something new, simmered beneath.

“Who is he?”
“Who,” she said softly trying to hide the surprise that Thanatos didn’t know something.
“You’ve changed.”
“I have not.”
“Yes. Something is different. It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Thanatos, are you… are you jealous?” She stuttered with genuine surprise.
“Of course not. I am the god of death. You have danced with me for years. You come to me while you run from everyone else.”

She slowly reached behind to untie her corset as he spoke. His words seemed carefully chosen as if to hide true meaning. She knew that game. She’d played it many times throughout the years.

“Do you want me to leave,” she asked wryly.
“Of course not my dear M. I want you more each time. Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

Laying next to Thanatos as he slept, she stared at the ceiling and sighed. There was something different that she couldn’t explain. The usual black tar consumed her from within but this time it felt hot; incendiary. It felt like a stoked fire, the embers slowly awakening, and it crackled with small pops somewhere inside. She had no words for this strange feeling slowly heating and bubbling, like a simmering blaze before igniting to an all consuming inferno.

Conversations: Thanatos’ Mistake

You, my dear Thantos, made one fatal mistake
What is that, my dear M?
You showed me that I am important
How have I done that?
You can not release me from this pain, give me the death I desire, so there must be something of worth, a greater value, than this earthly veil reveals
What makes you think such silly thoughts?
If there was no truth to what I say you would release me, give me death, reap my soul as you, the god of death, are meant to do. Instead you continue to play with me which means I have something more than this life offers.
You are a foolish child.
Yet you do not deny my claims
I do not
I am your muse
You are
Which means if I can be the muse to the god of death than there is something more than what I see now
I can not deny your logic
You have made a mistake Thanatos
What mistake is that?
You have given me a purpose
What purpose is that
To find what is so valuable that the god of death will not reap.

She: M

He watched her closely as she strutted back from the bathroom.  He noticed the various eyes attempting to glance surreptitiously.  He smiled, to himself.  She was his inspiration, his muse, wanting to not just use her for his pleasure but give her pleasure, see her smile, drive her to shudder and shake, to make her happy because she never experienced it before.

She appeared as an object, a desire, a notion in his mind that drove his passions.  He never expected that she would become so much more.  He did not expect her to consume his thoughts.  He did not expect her to strut and fret on his stage.  He did not expect her to be full of sound and fury signifying everything.  He did to expect her to become more than a player in a scene, more than a puppet on a string, more than desire.

She was more than a book from a library, plucked from the shelf, meant as a nightly distraction.  She became a catalyst for change, not just an object, even if she didn’t see it yet.

She strutted with contempt.  She knew, in her heart, she was more than an object but used what she knew would capture desires.  She knew she’d leave a path of destruction and change destiny for herself because fuck the gods, fuck destiny, fuck those that believed she was forgettable, that she was nothing, that she deserved nothing.  She would scorch the soil beneath her feet for no other reason than she deserved to feel so much more than what was given to her.  She knew, in her heart, that she deserved to be seen.  She deserved to be seen.

She strutted in the impossible high heeled, thigh-high boots, because she knew it would capture looks.  She knew it would capture desires.  She knew her role, as a woman, was to become desired and an object.  She knew the expectation was to become desire itself, a symbol of sex and control, of desire and fidelity, or infidelity, as woman to man, as written before time itself existed. She knew the expectations and strutted with strides of fuck you and your expectations.  She was not a plaything, she only pretended to be.  She would burn all those roles in order to achieve what she always desired, deep down — she needed to be important.  She needed to be acknowledged as fuel for the fires that would burn the world and change what was written a thousand years before.  She needed to be more than Thanatos could control. She needed to be greater than the gods that demanded she become a puppet in their play.  She needed to be seen.

He smiled as she sat, purposeful, at his table, quickly downing the drink waiting for her.  She smiled with perfectly painted matte red lips.  “Sorry to keep you waiting Thanatos,” She said softly.

“I will wait forever for you my dear M,”
Yet you will never release me, will you?”
No, of course not my dear.  You are my muse.  You are my inspiration.  You consume my thoughts.”
“Isn’t that the way you’ve written it?”
“Of course.”

The waiter brought another drink, placing it silently before her, and she raised it with a wry smile, “You, my dear Thanatos, will regret your decision.”

 

 

 

Texts: Rain

The streets were slick from the softly falling rain.  The rainy season, when she could walk the dark, rain soaked streets, hiding her tears with the raindrops from the darkly clouded sky.  It was the rain that made Seattle the city to always hold her heart.  The city that cradled her melancholy.

Y did you say that?
Say what?
I’m failing here, really bad
What’s wrong M?
The same thing as always.  Y did you say that? What am I supposed to do now?
M, you aren’t making sense.  I’m worried.  R u drinking?
Walking in the rain
Y are you walking in the rain
Because I can’t escape.  There is no where for me to run anymore
How much have you had to drink?
Not enough
M, please, u r killing me
Lol, no I’m not.  U don’t care, not really, we r just friends
What the hell does that mean? I care about u, I think about u all the time
Ok
M, what’s going on
Nothing.  Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother u.  That’s what I mean by I’m failing.  I’ve become the manipulative abuser and I hate it
You aren’t an abuser. Talk to me
It’s just the rain and alcohol.  I’m fine.  Ttyt
M, please, don’t do that

….

M? Talk to me

M, please, answer me

Texts: Miscommunication

Photo Credit: Bishop DuBourg

How much have you had to drink?

What’s the difference

Are you home?

No

How are you going to get home

I don’t know

Why did you drink so much?

Why did you say what you did?  Just before I walked out the door? FFS what was I supposed to do with that?  Did you do it on purpose

What are you talking about?

You really are fucking clueless aren’t you.  You are the one that makes me wet, you are the one that makes me smile, you are the one that makes me get up in the morning and you are the one who relegated me to this

To what? I don’t know what to say to any of that

Yeah, you never do, do you.  You only know how to say shit when I’m about to meet someone else

You are my best friend, you know that, I want the best for you

Really? Do you?

Yes. Why are you angry with me

I’m not angry

Yes you are

No, I’m not angry.  I’m hurt

Why

Fuck you.  Really, just fuck. you.

How am I supposed to fix this if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?

Nothing’s wrong.  I’m fine.  I called Uber

Talk to me

I’ll be home soon, nothing for you to worry about

I worry about you

Don’t.  I’m fine. Just drunk and I’ll forget all this in the morning.  Go to sleep, sweet dreams, ttyt

Don’t do that

Do what

Avoid the question

I forgot the question, it doesn’t matter, I’m fine, no need to worry.  I’m almost home.  Goodnight

You aren’t supposed to be drinking anyway

Yeah, I know

Talk to me

What do you want me to say

Tell me what’s wrong

Nothing

Bullshit

What the fuck do you want from me? 

I want to know you are okay, you’re safe

Yes

Don’t do that

Yeah, whatever, I’m done, goodnight

M, please, talk to me

Nothing to say. I’m home, safe, goodnight

 

Road

The dark road tunneled ahead of her, the headlights illuminating a few hundred feet, as she sped along listening to the static from the radio echo in her head.  The thoughts cascaded like cicadas in the summer heat, droning endlessly, singing to the only one who understood.

Where she was going she couldn’t say.  She could only say what she left behind.  Or, what she was running from, trying to leave behind, though deep down she knew it would follow, like luggage transported from one destination to another.  There was nowhere to run, no one to run to, no one to catch her.  No one to save her.  She knew that even as she pressed her foot on the gas pedal until she felt it hit the floorboards beneath.  There wasn’t enough speed, wasn’t enough road, wasn’t enough distance between her and the past.

“What the hell does that mean?”
“You can be aggressive as hell when you feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”
“I never said you were a bitch, just aggressive, there is a difference.”

She paced her kitchen reading the texts wondering what the hell it all meant.  Why would he tell her that just before a date she was already nervous about.  She had no idea she was like that.  She always tried to acquiesce, to do what others wanted, to appease and please yet she was aggressive as hell?  What did that even mean?

“I can’t change overnight.  I’m trying for fucks sake.”

She tried to breath but instead inhaled with a jagged stutter.  She felt her arms shaking as she held the wheel, pressed the gas pedal harder even though it was already to the floor, and tried to focus on the dark, endless road ahead despite the tears blurring her vision.  This was all familiar.  Not the road itself but the flight.  She flashback to the freedom, at seventeen, when she finally escaped hell; or so she believed then.  Back then she also hit the gas as hard as possible, fleeing up the road, leaving the house she grew up in as a distant memory in her rear-view.  She never returned even when her mother begged.  She never felt the pangs of nostalgia like her older brother wanting to visit the old pizza place and ice cream parlor.

Back then, when she fled, the roads started out familiar, she knew which way to turn, which way led north or south.  Eventually she lost track.  Eventually she simply drove, focused and unfocused, following wherever the road took her as long as it wasn’t back.  It didn’t matter if the sun or moon was shining, it only mattered that she moved, ran, at top speed, as if she could outrun her fear, her pain, her mind and all the secrets.

She carefully arranged the plates, the knife on the correct side, the forks and spoons in their proper place, as the Christmas tree glowed behind her.  A bottle of red breathing on the kitchen counter while the white chilled in the fridge and garlic wafted through the house.  She pressed her hand against her solar plexus as she glanced at the arrangement, hoping it was correct, praying the glasses were in the right place, wishing for small praise that she fulfilled expectations.

Standing in the kitchen, the heat turning her cheeks pink, she quietly downed a glass of wine and filled it again quickly.  She felt that numbness, the softening effects of the alcohol, like cotton behind her eyes, softening the tension in her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“The table is set.”
“I better check to make sure it’s done right,” her older brother said, giving one last stir to the risotto before removing it from the heat.

She felt light-headed from erratic breathing.  She heard the buzz from her phone.  She wanted to drive to him.  She wanted to be held, to be cared for, to be understood but she knew the reality.  It was all a fantasy, what she built up in her head, and he didn’t care the way she did.  He didn’t feel the way she did.

“Are you okay?  You’ve gone quiet.”  She glanced at the phone as she pressed the pedal harder despite it being pressed all the way down already and she let the darkness take her.

Nightlight

3:43 a.m.

He feels the bed shift as she gets up; hears he bare feet padding across the floor in the darkness.  The only light from the nightlight plugged in the hallway illuminating her movements.  He closes his eyes seeing her in his minds eye.  The familiar press of her hand against her chest, holding her breath like she holds in the pain, as tears fall.

3:54 a.m.

He hears the front door close softly.  She wears his hoodie because she can get lost in it and when she lifts the hood she feels completely hidden.  Her breath puffs in the cool autumn night and she hears the crunch of dried leaves.  She walks silently, avoiding streetlamps, letting the darkness envelope her trying to breath deep and slow but failing.

4:25 a.m.

He sits on the edge of the bed, runs his hand through his hair, and stares out the window contemplating whether to wait or find her.  He picks up his phone, the light illuminating his face in a soft blue, and asks Are you okay?

She pulls her phone from the pocket of his hoodie and stares at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell him the truth.  Go back to sleep, I’m almost home.

He reads her message; a response but not an answer.

6:59 a.m.

Sitting on the front porch she watches the sky lighten as the sun rises.

7:00 a.m.

She hears the alarm go off in the bedroom then silence a moment later.  He rolls over feeling the empty space and cool sheets next to him.  He gets up and makes coffee.

7:17 a.m.

She looks up at the sound of the front door opening.  He holds out a cup of hot coffee, the steam rising perfectly like in advertisements, and feels a brief touch as her fingers brush his.

“Did you sleep well?” She asks softly, putting her head on his shoulder when he sits next to her.

“Did you sleep at all?” He asks concerned.

She sips her coffee and he wipes her cheek with his thumb.  The nightlight in the hall switches off as the sun rises higher.

Voodoo

There was the familiar break.  Her mind shifted from reality, from the monotonous grind of life, to an inexplicable darkness. Alien to most but to her, familiar and comforting; a welcoming escape.  She let it fall. She let her mind drift.  She let her feelings shift.  Her pupils widening as the hit of delirium consumed her.  She did not struggle, did not fight in fear; instead choosing to fall into the delusion like a voodoo priestess succumbs to the spirits.  She let it lure her, lead her, down, into a deep abyss, like a snake bite draining it’s victim of life.

The rain soaked streets glistened under the street lights as he hustled across the parking lot.  Pressing the button on his key fob, his car blinked and beeped in response and he felt a small rush of gratitude.  The late October chill filled the night and crept into his bones as he slipped into the drivers seat.  Pulling the door closed with a satisfied thud he quickly started the car and turned up the heat.  He breathed deep, filling his lungs, and releasing the days tensions as he released his breath in a calming sigh.

The road glistened in the rain, his headlights creating a tunneling effect, as he made his way through the night.  Autumn leaves littered the medians, orange and yellow, and barren trees lined the horizon.  He squinted in the heavy rains and darkness feeling the tension in his shoulders.  Slowly making his way off the exit, meandering down a winding dark road, he clicked on the high beams and suddenly slammed on the breaks as a figure randomly appeared in the center of the road.  A dark hooded figure standing stock still shocked his system.

She blinked in the glare of the headlights feeling her heart racing at the sudden shock of a car stopping inches from her.  He cursed, opening his door, the rain momentarily ceasing.  “What the hell are you doing in the middle of the road? Are you trying to get killed?” He shouted angrily.  The hooded figure raised its head slightly revealing a pale face, lips bright red, and green eyes captured by the light of his high beams.

A breeze blew across the road causing a swirl of leaves to dance and the hem of the cape to sway.  She ducked her head as if bowing in apology but remained silent.  His anger cooled, “Do you need help?”  She turned away in response.  “Are you okay,” he asked concerned, stepping a little further from his car.  She lifted her head again and he saw her deep emerald eyes like a cat staring in the darkness as a chill passed through him.

“No need to fret,” she said softly, almost imperceptible, as the wind blew the leaves again.

He hesitated unsure what to do next when the chill he felt moments earlier turned to a soothing tingle, like the feeling of fingers softly trailed over his skin, and his shoulders released the tension he felt while driving. His mind blurred, thoughts dissipating, but his vision focused on the silhouette that stood before him.  Crisp and sharp like a fresh image embedded in his mind and the cat-like green eyes pierced his perceptions of time.  He had no idea how long he stood there, motionless and silent, but he felt nothing but a peaceful embrace as he waited for time, and his senses, to recalibrate.

He felt the shift from reality to delusion in that moment and instead of fear or struggle, he let it slip over him like slipping into a warm bath, the water soothing and relaxing instead of bracing.  He heard a voice in his mind, embrace delirium, she is gentle. He couldn’t identify where it originated since the figure before him remained motionless and silent.  Her lips did not move yet he heard the voice as clearly as if he wore headphones.  He asked, “Did you say that?”

“No,” the hooded figure said softly, “but she says the same to me.”
“Can she be trusted?”
“That is for you to decide,” her green eyes blinking slowly like a cat.
“I feel unusual,” he said calmly.
“So did I, the first time,” she responded just as calmly.

She blinked a few times clearing the dryness from her eyes and she slowly shifted back to the mundane.  Staring out her office window, she watched a man rush towards his car in the rain.  A Cheshire Cat smile lifted her lips as she knew within the hour she’d stand at the crossroads of a dark, windy rain-filled autumn road and discuss delusions with a stranger.

*Photo Credit

Sunset

Watching the sun set, burning the sky in bursts of orange and purple, she downed another shot of bourbon.  She felt the numbness, the feelings slowly burning into ash, like the sun burning the sky.  It was all a heartbeat away from darkness.

How are you doing

A simple text.  A simple question.  The answer fraught with tumultuous responses.  Her thumb hovered over the keyboard; how should she respond?  She wanted to talk, needed to talk, wanted the connection but hesitated.  Aloof?  Perhaps pithy.  Anything to hide her desperation.

How are you doing?

A simple avoidance.  She wanted to talk; correction, needed to talk, but a simple deflection to keep the focus off herself.  She didn’t want to lie, didn’t want to say I feel like shit, as usual. Easier to deflect and ask about him, keep a conversation while avoiding anything to do with her state of mind.  The conversation flowed.  Stalled.  Flowed again and turned to music.  Songs perfect for you he said.  How does he know the perfect way to break her?  The songs to make her speechless; bring her to tears.  How does he see her so clearly even when she tries to hide?

The sunset slowly burns the sky to darkness.  Trails of color falling, fading, as she watches, heavy lidded from alcohol, until the stars sparkle in the darkness.  Her heart aches, sensucht, yearning for something indescribable, something that will never arrive. She checks her messages. Nothing.  She waits, hoping, holding the phone like a precious stone, the only connection to someone.  The only connection to him. Sensucht.  He is what she yearns for; a connection.  Love.  Someone to see through the darkness that haunts her daylight.

Are you okay?

She hesitates.  She downs a shot of bourbon.

He waits.  Checks his phone; nothing.

Are you there?

She watches the sun set.  The light burning into darkness.  Her thumb hovers as her mind races through responses.  Don’t lie, no, don’t say fine, don’t tell the truth, I want to die, her mind shifts slowly, drunkenly, through responses as the sun falls beyond the horizon.

*Photo Credit