Thinking Too Much

So I wrote this one a couple of weeks ago back when I felt off. Figured it was time to give you guys something new but because of school and stuff I don’t have anything fantastic. Hope this is good enough for now.

Have you ever just been so disappointed in everyone and everything that you just feel like giving up? Not in the sense you want to end your life but more like you just stop making plans. No more looking forward to things or letting yourself get excited about stuff. No more trying or making an effort because you just figure “what’s the point” and expect it all to end in disasters. You don’t expect kindness from strangers and you sure as hell don’t expect the romantic notions you’ve always dreamed of from your significant other. And worst of all you don’t even expect your dreams to come true anymore. You just accept the fact that you’re you and these things don’t happen for someone like yourself. So you just make a resolution to exist and only exist. And it’s not the good type of existence either. It’s the type where you’re either numb to the core and not even surprised when people fail you or it’s the type where you stay up late at night with an ache in your chest thinking it’s not supposed to go like this and deep down you don’t want to be this person who just “settles” but it’s as if you have no choice anymore. Besides, how can you be so sure it’s not supposed to be this way when it’s all you’ve ever known? Maybe the ache in your chest is just a result of you growing up and realizing that fairy tales really are full of shit.

One Last Visit

I forced my tired eyes open and looked at the clock for the umpteenth time that night. I was never good at sleeping when he wasn’t home. I agreed to him taking on second shift because it paid more and he wanted that for us; but I had never been a fan of this new nighttime ritual. It mostly consisted of me staring at the clock for the majority of the night and silently praying he’d make it home in one piece.

I always took note of the times he got in so I’d have a rough estimate of when to expect him. His shift ended at two in the morning and he was usually walking in the door by 2:26. I would always fake it and pretend to be asleep so he wouldn’t worry about me staying up all night and losing sleep over him since I had to be at work by nine. Tonight though it was already 2:52. He was late. I pushed the thought aside. Perhaps he had stopped somewhere on the way home. He was that type of husband after all; the kind that liked to stop off and buy flowers or something random for me at least once of month.

I pulled the covers tighter around myself and shut my eyes, willing him to walk through the door. Pretending to be asleep was going to harder than normal this time. I tried to reason with myself, rationalize all the possibilities. Maybe he had to go over a little? Maybe he was caught up talking with the guys? I thought about calling, but that would be admitting something felt wrong and I could never do that.

I resolved to call him at 3:35 if he wasn’t home by then. The rational part of my brain told me that an hour was way too long for him to be late; he had never been that late for anything ever.

It was at 3:11 that I heard the door to our bedroom open. A wave of relief washed over me as I heard his faint footsteps. I closed my eyes shut as I felt the bed shift as he lifted the covers and climbed in. However, they quickly shot back open as he wrapped his arms around me and I felt how cold his body was.

“Hey are you okay? You’re freezing,” I asked, unable to pretend to be asleep as his icy fingers intertwined themselves in mine.

He murmured something incoherent in response. I went to set up but his grip around me tightened. “Babe, you’re scaring me,” I told him as I struggled to make sense of it all.

“Shhhhh, everything’s okay,” he assured me and placed his lips against my neck in a gentle kiss. A shiver went down my spine from the contact; they were just as cold as his fingers.

“I love you so much,” he was suddenly whispering into my ear. “Everything’s fine,” he said, “Just go to sleep for me, please?”

“I love you too,” I told him. I still had the urge to turn over and check on him, but his grip on me was so tight, like he was using me as a lifeline, and I didn’t want to disturb whatever peace he was finding from it. Maybe he had a bad night, I rationalized and tried to close my eyes. Falling asleep was harder than it had ever been though, and I found myself counting his breaths against my ear in a silent lullaby to lull myself into a slumber.

I had only drifted off for a little while when I heard the phone ring. I peeked at the clock that read 5:47 and reached over and grabbed my phone on the nightstand.

“Hello?” I asked drowsily.

“Is this Mrs. Montgomery?” the voice on the other end asked. It was a female’s voice that I didn’t recognize.

“Yes, this is she. Who are you exactly? And why are you calling at this hour?”

“Mrs. Montgomery I’m Doctor Taylor here at the hospital. You were listed as Mr. Montgomery’s emergency contact. Ma’am I’m sorry but your husband……” she began then trailed off, inhaling deeply before speaking again, “There’s been an accident. I’m so sorry but your husband didn’t make it.”

“What do you mean accident?” I asked, sitting up in the bed and anger rising inside of me. If this was some kind of late night prank this was seriously fucked up. “He’s right here in -,” I started to tell her and looked behind me where I expected my husband to be laying. Instead the bed was empty; the covers still pulled up untouched.

“Mrs. Montgomery? Hello? Are you there?” the woman on the phone kept asking as I slowly got out of bed and made my way into the living room. I frantically checked the counter but his keys weren’t there. Tears began to fall freely as I made my way over to the window and saw that his car wasn’t in the drive either.

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Montgomery,” I heard the woman say again as I collapsed into a heap on the floor, feeling all the life within me draining.

Denying It

He hears her scoff for the second time as she files her papers and looks out the window across the main street courtyard. “What?” he finally asks.

She just shakes her head, tearing her gaze away from the window and stacking more files.

He looks out the window again and spots it now; a random couple engaged in way too much PDA on a bench outside. He chuckles, “That time of the month for you?”

She slams some of the files down on the floor, sitting up straight and shooting daggers in his direction. Again he chuckles and backs away from her desk, arms raised in defeat. “When you wanna talk about it, you know where to find me,” he says while taking a seat at his desk.

She slams a file drawer and ignores him. For a moment she thinks about quitting. She hates this pre-wedding season for the paper. Nothing but random wannabe cupids come in and request event coverage for their proposals. Still aggravated with the benchwarmers outside, she gets up and goes to the window, pulling the blinds down quickly. “Seriously, can’t they maul each other elsewhere?”

She sits back down at her desk while he gets up and pulls the blinds back up. “If you close those now, people are going to think we’re closed.”

“They can read the sign on the door.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, “Really?”

She just shrugs and goes back to busying herself with her paper work.

“I think they’re kinda cute,” he observes while looking out the window.

“I give them another month; then we’ll probably see one of them with someone new on the exact same bench.” She remarks, not looking up from her papers.

“You know your relationships might last longer if you quit betting against others’.” He suggests.

She shoots another warning glance his way before picking up another file and looking through it.

“How was your Valentine’s weekend with what’s his face?” he steps forward asking, a slight smirk on his face as he waited expectantly for his response.

“Don’t act like you don’t know his name,” she replies without looking up, “And it was just like any other weekend.”

“You guys didn’t do anything?”

“You mean something other than Netflix and chill? No.” she answers irritation rising in her voice. “Didn’t you have an interview to go do today or something?”

“Nope,” he replies and takes a seat in his swivel chair, spinning it around before bringing it closer to her desk. He props his feet up on the edge and looks at her expectantly.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“What’s eating you up Noob?”

“First of all, I’m not a noob,” she replies, “If you remember correctly I graduated with honors when you didn’t. And I think you’ve known me long enough to know its me just being my normal ‘bitter bitch’ self. That’s all.”

“You’ve been a bitter bitch since high school. I’m asking what’s up with today.”

She sighs and leans back in her chair, tossing her pen and glasses onto the desk. “I’m just sick of it ya know? Of the boring and mundane. I sure as hell never intended to end up here, but I thought maybe if I had a decent relationship that didn’t make me feel so small and insignificant……. I don’t know, I thought it would make up for that. Look can we just drop it?”

“Why? I thought we were making progress.”

“How about because it’s dumb? Seriously it’s a pointless conversation. Stuff like that doesn’t happen for girls like me.”

“What stuff?”

She laughs half-heartedly, “Romantic shit, I guess. Look it’s an illusion okay? It’s something they shove down the throats of young girls at an early age in preparation for the literal dick that is bound to be shoved down their throat later in life.”

“I can see the title now,” he mocks, “Dicks Down Daughters’ Throats.”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“It’s catchy.”

She looks at him defeated. She considers arguing her point but instead picks up her glasses and begins working again.

“You know, all the years we’ve known each other, you’ve never told me why you have such dramatic issues with this stuff. I mean,” he sat up continuing, “You mocked every couple you saw in high school. You even mocked me and my girlfriends. Openly, I might add.”

“You nearly broke your damn neck asking a girl to homecoming, remember? I think I had a right to mock that.”

“Noted,” he agrees, “but what about the other stuff?”

She sighs, setting her pen down again. “As long as I’ve been alive I’ve never seen my parents exchange gifts with each other ‘just because’ or hold hands in public. I never heard them compliment each other; just always tear the other down. Love was supposed to be this great thing that brought them together but it just lead to me growing up in a broken home. You seriously expect me to have faith in romantic notions despite these facts?”

“Maybe you’ve just been with the wrong guys,” he suggests, “They can’t all be like that. How long have you been with this new guy now?”

“Couple months, why?”

“Why stay with him if you don’t believe in the ‘romantic shit’?” he asks in return.

“Weren’t you just listening? That’s the whole point I stay. I don’t believe in it. Which means that I don’t expect him to do anything, which means I don’t set myself up for disappointment. We live out the same boring routine day after day, week after week because that’s how this really works. They call them fairy tales for a reason you know? They’re all tall tales; they don’t really happen.”

“Not to girls like you,” he adds, circling back to her initial point and angering her slightly.

He didn’t have to rub it in her face she thought quietly. He would never understand. He grew up in the perfect home environment with the perfect family where his mother received pearls for every anniversary and diamonds for every Valentine’s day and random gifts in between ‘just because.’ It made being friends with his mom on social media unbearable to the point she had to practically block her as she watched her upload at least one cute photo of what her husband had done for her week after week. Or whatever she was doing for him. His parents had understood the importance of working together to build an empire, which was why their prodigal son already had his student loans paid off while she was still struggling to get hers under control.

“Why don’t you just suggest to Frank that he be more romantic?”

“So you do remember his name,” she replies.

“Don’t dodge questions.”

“Don’t ask stupid ones.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Telling him to do that stuff defies the point doesn’t it. If he doesn’t want to do it on his own then I don’t want him to do it. There’s no sense in making myself out to be some needy bitch on top of being bitter. Like I said, it’s just easier to keep quiet and not expect anything. The day he does something on his own, I’ll probably die of shock if you want to know the truth.”

“Well you see, there’s a problem with your theory,” he begins, pulling his chair closer to hers, then turning her to face him, “if you really meant all this; you wouldn’t be so worked up about it. You obviously expected more. And as your friend I believe you deserve more but the real question is……..are you going to settle or do something about it?”

Beautiful Disaster

Hey guys, sorry I haven’t uploaded much. October isn’t a good month for me ever apparently. I’m sure I’ll be back into my old self once November starts. In the meantime I have this for you.

She was one with pain, hurt, agony, destruction, and chaos. Every storm, every hurricane, every tornado, every wildfire, every earthquake, every drought; they all ran through her veins. She was a force to be reckoned with this way; she had survived them all. These disasters were her friends, and she was the most beautiful disaster of them all. Upon her body were the scars that told of life within the darkness. In her soul was torment, anguish, longing; she pushed herself to travel in search of something better but left a trail of damage in her wake. In her heart was ache and suffering but also wisdom and passion; the kind of heart one would expect to find in Mother Nature. She had eyes like the sea after the clouds rolled in and the touch of the wind grounded within her fingers. She had the power to breathe life into you or leave you gasping for air just by her presence. But it was this fear of suffocating that made them believe she was something to be admired from a distance, never up close. So they watched from afar, wondering silently why they couldn’t help but be enticed by her destruction. The answer was so simple though; it was because she was taking herself back. She was tearing down bridges, flattening false homes, and destroying already broken roads all in an effort to reclaim what she had lost.

Power Play

Hey guys, this is an older one but I edited for you. Hope you like it :3.

“Do you believe in love?” she asked as she rolled over onto her back and looked up at him, her shirt riding up a little and exposing the skin.

He licked his lips and tried hard to focus on her question. God help him, he thought he was IN love, but no way he’d ever admit to that. Still the look of that skin was too tempting as she stretched out on his bed . “Yeah of course. Don’t you?”

She cocked her head to the side and looked on thoughtfully for a moment, the waves in her hair creating a halo over her head. “Mhm, I don’t know. I kind of believe in lust at first site.”

He found himself chuckling. “Lust at first site?”

Her eyes narrowed and set, pinning his gaze to hers. “Don’t sit there and act dumb. When me and you met you didn’t look at me and think ‘Hey, that’s the girl I want to marry.’ You thought what every other guy thinks which is ‘Hey, that’s the girl I want to fuck tonight’.”

He forced his eyes away toward the ceiling, sighing loudly. He couldn’t tell her she was wrong, cause she was absolutely right, that’s all he had thought about. Maybe he could admit what he was thinking and shut her up on the subject. Then he looked back into her eyes and saw that determined expression of hers and sided against it. For a woman who always wanted a man to prove her wrong, she sure had her heart set on being right all the time. Fidgeting he ran his hand through his hair. Why did she have to be so damn complicated?

“Well what is love to you?” he asked her, probing. She seemed so sure of what men wanted from her, but no clue of what she wanted from men, or from herself. Or maybe she did and was just too scared to admit it. Just another fragile girl with a tough as nails shell.

“Everything anyone’s ever wanted, and everything they don’t rolled into one.” she answered while rolling over onto her side so she could no longer look at him. He had her retreating. He wasn’t supposed to be the one asking questions, she thought. None of the others ever asked questions.

He laid down behind her and wrapped his arm around, pulling her closer and gently kissing her shoulder. Immediately she stiffened, like a wild animal that wasn’t use to human contact, about ready to run at any second. He buried his face in the waves of her hair, closing his eyes while she kept hers forced open, concentrating on not enjoying, not thinking, not reading into his simple gestures. Why did he have to do these things? Because he wanted to prove her wrong? To her this wasn’t a good enough reason; she vowed not to let herself buy into any false illusions. She knew what she was and she knew what she wasn’t.

“Care to explain what you mean to me?” he asked while pressing a kiss to her neck. She felt a tingle go down her spine and for a fleeting moment, she felt herself almost crack, break, give into him. Heat rose in her cheeks and she struggled to regain this composure. She wouldn’t break first. She had to break him first.

She lowered her voice to her sleepy, seductive tone, tilting her head to look at him, fluttering her eyes. “Maybe I can demonstrate it instead.” She looked on as he clenched his teeth but then he surprised her by scooting back a bit.

“Don’t try to weasel your way out of the question.” He whispered in her ear. Another shiver down her spine and all she could think about was that she wished she could hate him for this; for not being like the rest. If he had of been, things would have been so much easier. She could easily go on about her life just like she always had, and he his, both being just a faded memory to each other. That’s how it was supposed to go. But was that how she had always wanted it? He made her question herself, her instincts, and she didn’t like it.

“Wasn’t trying to weasel my way out of anything.” she replied slyly while trying to move back closer to him. For a woman who had originally tensed in his arms, he wasn’t about to let her back in them just to try and manipulate him. He wasn’t about to let her little motto of “I use them, they use me” work on him.

“Just explain your answer, and I’ll give you a treat.” He was trying to reverse her tactic, use it against her.

Sighing, she rolled back over to face him, their eyes meeting in a stare down. Neither blinked nor flinched as they examined the other, searching for the answers to the questions that haunted them both.

Oldie

Hey guys, this is actually a really old one that I wrote before and I just edited out some of it.

She’s escaped, somehow, sometime, a chain got loose. She took off, she’s running, but to where? Is the place she wants to run to even available? Is she really even out of those chains? Its dark and she has no idea where she’s going. She’s just going, going, gone. Freedom, it feels so sweet against her face, but she’s too focused on outrunning this fear that maybe, perhaps, she’s not really free. She can’t catch her breath. Her mind is racing with her. What’s happening? What’s going on? Is this good or is this bad?

Suddenly she trips, she falls, face first into the cold hard ground. Scratches left all over her body that will soon leave scars only those closest to her will ever see. She sits up and sees the shackle still wrapped around her ankle, and the long chain that follows it far, far, far off into the darkness. She should of known it was too good to be true.

Frustrated she sits up on her knees and runs her fingers through her hair, pulling hard. Her mouth drops open and she’s trying to find air but she can’t. Her eyes become blurry and she lets out a scream, clutching at her heart, crying out for help. The pain from the fall is nothing compared to this. This false of illusion of being on her way back to having what was once hers. She screams again, louder and lets the tears fall. A girl, lost, only fragments of her, fragments of what remain.

She can’t breathe. It hurts, that’s all she can repeat in her head. It hurts! She’s crying and begging for it to go away. She looks up to the Heavens, she asks God for help. Is he even hearing her cry? Does anybody hear her? Can anybody hear that inward cry from her that is continuous, day in and day out.

This is the girl inside the body. The one that doesn’t exist apart from there. On the outside, there’s someone else in charge. An internal battle, the romantic and the pessimist.

Wild Creature

So I’m just really messing around with this one. I plan on working on it more, but I just really like the inspiration I have for it so I’m sharing early.

She had never dreamed of weddings, only funerals. Or soft kisses, only fighting. She didn’t dream of breakfast in bed, but late night phone calls of terror. Nor did she dream of happy endings, only heart shattering partings. This is what happens when you spend your life fighting, struggling, knowing only the worst. She became wild despite her cage and that was where he found her, when she was at her weakest and lowest. Deep within the darkened shadows, hidden away from the rest of the world. Curious as to who she was and how she got there, he opened her prison doors and spoke of the rest of the world. But she didn’t budge, instead retreating further into the corner. She growled, bared her teeth, bit him whenever he attempted to reach out. He took it all in stride though, deciding to sit outside the door patiently waiting there. They studied each other with him doing his best to not make any sudden movements as she slowly began to move about the cage again, eventually coming within inches from his spot outside the bars. Then one night the dark was too much for her and he woke to find her curled up on the outside right beside him. He helped turned what was once feral into something whole again as she sought him out during her late night horrors like an escaping refugee. During the day he brought her roses for her dead garden and spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand yet found comfort in. He taught her about magic, about wonder, and adventure. They went on long strolls as she began to learn the ways of the world and become familiar with the paths they followed. It was rehabilitating, healing, and exactly what she needed as she became stronger, wiser, healthier, braver. He was patient, kind, determined, deliberate in the way he approached her. In his eyes she found peace while he found trust within hers. This is how she found herself; this is how she found the courage to keep fighting.

Pillow Talk

“When you think about the future,” she asks, curled up next to him on the bed, “what do you see?”

Some might call it pillow talk; she’s not sure, she’s never done this before. What she does know is that something about the smell of him and the calm of his heartbeat and the darkness shining through the windows makes asking these questions okay. It’s as if the darkness keeps them safe for her, makes them her little secret, things that he wouldn’t otherwise admit to.

“You really don’t know?” he asks back, pushing a strand of hair out of her face as he looks down at her.

She slowly shakes her head no. She lives under the assumption that she doesn’t really know anything, that is until he’s near and setting her on fire. Then she’s suddenly hyperaware of the world around her.

He gives her a sly grin. “Get up,” he instructs and stands up, grabbing her by the hand and taking her with him.

She lets out a faint laugh as he covers her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Just trust me,” he answers and guides her around the room. Eventually they come to a stop and he slides his hand from her eyes to wrap them around her waist, standing behind her and resting his head on her shoulder. “What do you see?” he asks and nods toward the mirror mounted to the wall in front of them.

“I just see me, and you.” She answers, staring at the reflection in the mirror.

“That’s the future I see,” He tells her.

She lets herself crack a smile, turning in his arms to wrap her arms around his neck but that’s when something goes wrong. Suddenly she’s reaching out to touch him and he slips through her hand like sand, disappearing like a ghost. Then the wave hits her and she’s doubled over on the floor crying out incoherently about lies and fairy tales.

“Hey, wake up,” he shakes her gently from his spot next to her.

She blinks into the darkness making out the fine details of his silhouette. She’s confused as she stirs, wondering where he went and when exactly he got back.

“You were having a nightmare,” he explains while pulling her closer.

Her tense muscles relax as she breathes into him, thankful that it’s all over.

“What was it about this time?” he asks softly.

“The usual,” she answers while burying her head against his chest. She remains silent for a moment before speaking again. “Hey, when you think about the future, what do you see?”

Invisible Monster

Hey Heathens sooooo I’m feeling more like a tortured soul here lately :P. Lucky for you, bad for me. A lot of it is just dealing with inner stuff and trying to remain calm. When you’re someone like me and you having anxiety and panic attacks, its kind of hard not to let things get to you. I think a lot of people that feel this way don’t talk about it because when you get right down to it, it’s kind of hard to explain and varies from person to person. For some it could be this cloud of darkness or feeling of dread. For me, it’s fighting off the little voice in my head. I know I can’t control the future, or people, but the little voice thinks it has everything down, that it knows these things before I do so it basically tries to convince me that what it’s saying is going to happen. It keeps you from a lot of stuff, from even trying to have meaningful relationships, or giving people a chance sometimes, or even going after something you want because it’s just kind of like “Why bother? You know how it’s going to end.” It really sucks when you get right down to it because like any other female, I’m a romantic at heart, but pessimist in regards to the voice. For example, I might think doing something is kinda cute or sweet or whatever and want to do it and then the voice is like “Ha, you’re dumb, nobody likes that, you’re clingy, co-dependent” so on and so forth. At any rate, I couldn’t sleep last night so I came up with this, hoping that it kind of sheds light on what happens when people experience this. Enjoy :3.

Do it.

“No.”

Run.

“No!” she screams and just as quick doubles over, feeling the force of it attacking her insides. She wants to fight it, she needs to fight it.

Now.

“Why?” she asks meekly, staring up to the invisible force that has managed to kick her in the ribs.

It’s what we do best.

“It’s what you do best; I’m tired of running.” She makes a feeble attempt to sit up but ends up doubled over on her side again as another swift jolt of pain comes crashing through her.

You’re going to get hurt.

“The only one hurting me is you,” she spats, rolling over and clutching her sides. Tears form at the corner of her eyes but she tries to blink them away.

You know how this ends.

“I don’t care,” she bluffs. It’s a lie; she cares more than she ever has. She’s just too afraid to admit it. She’s terrified that it’s going to end badly, that she’s not going to come out the other end alive. She knows she’s going to have to endure this, this pain, this suffering, this torture. But silently she’s hoping, praying that this thing will be silenced soon.

What did I tell you about these kinds of things?

It hisses in her ear, running a cold shiver down her spine as it yanks her by the hair. She lets out a yelp and tries to plant her feet firmly on the ground. She’s hyper aware that she needs to get up, that she needs to be stronger but it’s already pulling her by the hair and dragging her into the darkness.

See, not even coming to rescue you.

“That’s because you’re not real,” she grits through her teeth. Angered it pulls her up then throws her onto the ground once more.

I’m the only real you’ve ever known.

“That’s a damn lie,” she manages while slowly sitting up, silently recalling the comforting bright eyes from before.

Want me to go down the list?

She flinches and scoots back toward the tree, weakly shaking her head no while pressing her hand to her now bleeding lip. She hates the taste, the copper and dirt and sweat and tears. It’s bitter, just like the invisible being.

Let’s see, there was first your–

“STOP!” she cries out and curls into a ball, covering her ears and closing her eyes tight. She doesn’t want to hear it; she doesn’t want it to remind her. She hates the list more than she hates it.

Such a drama queen.

It’s mocking her. She hears the leaves rustle as it moves in closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear again.

So tell me, where did they all go?

“Leave me alone!”

Not till you tell me.

“You already know!” she cries, hugging herself while her ragged breathing shakes her body.

I need you to tell me again.

It taunts her. She doesn’t dare look up from fear of possibly actually seeing its face this time. She doesn’t want to see how ugly it is.

“You’re cruel,” she chokes through a sob.

No my dear, life is cruel. And they’re cruel. I’m just brutally honest.

“You don’t know anything, not like I do.”

And what is it that you know exactly? Last I checked all you’ve ever known is what I taught you.

“I can’t live my life listening to you,” she manages, finally sitting up and leaning back against the tree. She can’t feel it anymore but she knows its somewhere close. Just watching, waiting, like always.

Okay smart one, it growls as it pulls her hair again and lifts her up to her feet. She winces but does her best to fight back another yelp. Since you can’t listen to me anymore, time to start listening to the others. Go on; go tell them how I torment you. Go tell HIM that I’m here.

It roughly shoves her down the beaten path and she finds herself once again doing her best to plant her feet firmly into the ground to fight it off. She doesn’t want to face him. Not like this, not in front of it, not when she’s battered and bruised.

“No!” she yells, “I won’t do it!” And just as quick she’s pushed to the ground again, this time sliding across the dirt and gravel. She rolls over onto her back and stares up into the oblivious sky above her. To anyone walking by, they wouldn’t know that she was struggling. She would just look like some dreamer in the grass. “He already knows you’re here,” she finally says.

It’s towering over her; she can tell by how the air suddenly feels heavier. Does he know that I’m the one that gives you nightmares? That I’m the one that makes your body shiver more than he has? That I get to touch every part of you? That I get to claw at you? Does he know what I know? Does he hear you cry like I do? Does he know about how you implode in on yourself? That you’re a damn ticking time bomb? I wonder if he would stick around if he knew.

“Stop it,” she begs, placing her hands over her ears again to fight it off while tears escape from her eyes to roll down her cheeks.

You really want to believe it’ll all work out, don’t you?

This time she doesn’t respond. Instead she sits up and pulls herself to her feet. She just needs to leave, to get away from it. Then she’ll be okay, if only for a while. She staggers forward on down the path.

Going to go tell him?

“No,” she whispers softly, drying her eyes with the back of her hand.

Guess we can just keep fighting then, it says and stalks along behind her, ready and waiting for any new sign of weakness so it can attack her all over again.

“He could stop you, you know that right?” she asks while whipping around on her heel to face the invisible thing. As soon as she says it she wonders if the statement is even true. Could he stop it? Could he silence it? Put it in a cage to never see the light of day again? If she really told him all that it says, could he really put out its flame? Comfort her? Reassure her that what it says is all just a web of lies?

Or would he leave, like it keeps insisting.

Go tell him then, it growls.

“No.”

Sleepless Nights

“Hey,” he calls out, “nightmares again?”

She doesn’t answer, simply nods while keeping her eyes on the corner of the room. She’s pulled her knees up to her chest and has been sitting there hugging them for what feels like awhile now. She’s not sure how long exactly. She didn’t want to wake him. She never really had that issue before. Everyone else around her had always been heavy sleepers, never noticing when she got up to stare blankly into the darkness.

“How bad this time?” he asks, sitting up and rubbing the sand out of his eye.

She shrugs. For a split second she considers telling him. After all, it’s not like she doesn’t remember it. On the contrary she remembers everything. She remembers the beast, and its menacing gaze. She can recall its breath on the nape of her neck and its hungry growl. How it sniffed her out so easily, how it sniffed him out so easily too. The blood curdling scream as it devoured him and he himself became one too, and how then there were suddenly two of them chasing after her.

“You can tell me.” He tries to assure her while pulling her close. She lets herself breathe him in, a reminder that he’s real, that he’s not a monster, that he doesn’t smell like sulfur and ash like the beast from Hell.

Deep down she knows she can, but it just seems so damn unfair. It’s bad enough that she’s being punished by the past. Why should she bring him down with her?

He rubs her back, massaging her tense shoulders gently in an effort to soothe her. She lets him hold her but wonders if he can really shield her, if she can even shield him. That’s the whole issue here, isn’t it? He can kiss her, but can he heal her? He can love you but can he save her?

It doesn’t matter. It’s not his job to. He didn’t sign up for this, it shouldn’t be his problem she reminds herself.

Besides, that isn’t the issue, that isn’t the root of the problem. The problem is there’s a beast that was once an innocent little creature she tried to save that ended up biting the hand that fed it. And even after she managed to find the strength to put it down and pull the trigger, it still found a way to torment her.

He presses his lips to her temple as she finally tears her gaze from the shadowed walls. The seasons had long since changed since the living nightmare, but yet her own walls were still partially up. Though she had let them down for the most part, she was still struggling to let them continue their fall.

She rationalized it in her head; that she was protecting herself, that she was even protecting him. There were parts of herself that she still didn’t show; there were parts of him that she still didn’t know. This seemed like all the reason in the world to keep it up. She already knew from past experiences that she was capable of handling anything, but what about him? What if he couldn’t handle it? Handle her? Handle the details of the nightmares? Here lately they involved him more and more, and they usually consisted of him turning too.

“Are you okay at least?” He finally asks.

She thinks about lying, about saying she’s fine and leaving it at that. Considers faking a smile and pulling away from him just to lay down and pretend to go back to sleep. It would be so easy but she can’t bring herself to do it. After fighting this war alone for so long, she couldn’t help but get lost in his comfort, taking it in like a drug.

So instead she lets another piece of the wall fall down, in bits and pieces like it had been since day one, and shakes her head no, allowing him to lay back and pull her down with him so she can rest her head against the calm of his heartbeat and maybe, just maybe, it’ll play her the right type of lullaby so that she can finally sleep all the way till morning peacefully.