At dusk

It’s a close friend who finally tells you. Rosie. She’s the one who will do it. The one who gathered the guts to get it over and done with and finally tell you. But you had somehow already put the pieces of that puzzle together. You just didn’t want to see the picture with the neon sign over it. You couldn’t bear to open your eyes and so Rosie will do it for you. She will tell you everything. She will stay with you that night, armed with cookies and ice cream and a hard drive filled with “Friends”. Watching Chandler’s adoration for Monica will be unbearable. But the ice cream and large handkerchief right next to you will help. And you will fall asleep to the sounds of Joey being ridiculous as he tries to introduce his new pet to everyone.

Rosie will soon leave because she has to. You will insist that she does even though what really want to do is hold her because you need someone to hold. You will tell her that you’re fine even though you’re not. She will understand your need to be alone. Then it will really hit you all at once like a missile finding its target and exploding, engulfing everything around it.

It’s hard to spend that night alone. The confusion is overwhelming. It’s hard to be alone when the pain kicks in. And every single day after that will feel like a struggle. You will hate how long the days will be. You will hate life. Sleep will become into your refuge. The thought of waking up in the morning will frighten you. You will keep remembering everything all over again; those red flags that you refused to pay any attention to, putting together all those tiny details you once ignored and answering those questions that you kept asking yourself but had decided to bury. The very moment you open your eyes it will all come rushing back; that pain mingled with a tremendous need to vomit. It will sweep in like a strong tide flooding your insides. The bile will rise up, burn your throat and choke you as it drowns you.

Drowning won’t be all that you will feel. Your head will get heavy and you will grow distraught. Then there will be this piercing in the very centre of your chest. You’ll begin to sob because it hurts so much. You will feel the need to tear through your skin, break past your ribs and rip your heart out. You will try to stifle those sobs because you don’t want anyone to hear you cry.

You will grow short of breath, the bile still lodged somewhere between the back of your tongue and your chest.
You will begin to shake.
You will beg.
You will hope.
You will pray.

Then you will cry a little more. You will really cry…for relief, for redemption that will not so readily come.

And those tears. When they come, and they will come, will burn even before they fall. Right before they burn your eyes, they will burn at the pit of your throat, mixed in there with all the bile and all the mucus, stuffing your nostrils and making it harder to breathe. Opening your mouth to help yourself breathe better won’t help much either. The fresh air will mix with the tears and the bile and even though it may not make sense it will burn even more. Like an acid poured over a large raw wound in your throat.

Your heart will plead for sleep to come back and shoo the pain away, to steal you away again to a place where only your dreams count, a place where even your nightmares are welcome.

You will hear yourself whisper desperately into the air, “Please!!”

You will shut your eyes feel their wetness and wait. You will wait and wait and wait but it won’t come. You will lay there helpless and worn.

There’s no medicine that will work quite long enough to keep your mind off the pain; not going out with your friends for drinks, for ice cream, to dine out or to the movies. All you will want to do, all you will seem to require for the next few weeks, the next month or so is to eat, when you do have appetite and when the nausea isn’t kicking in, to sleep, when sleep is kind enough to carry you away and to cry. Even though you really don’t want to cry, you won’t be able to help yourself. You just will.

Dave will try calling a number of times. You will pick up once. But the sound of his voice, that voice that you once looked forward to listening to every hour of every day, will sadden you. Your heart will sink. You will hate him. You will want to scream profanity at him through the phone. But you won’t. You will still feel that love for him and want him back. You won’t have the strength to pick any more of his calls after that one time.

He will come over to see you. You will let him in. But you will just sit there on the sofa, silent. He will say his piece, give one apology after another, make an excuse for his behavior and then make a thousand different promises. You will listen for a while. You will feel the need to slap him hard across the face. But you won’t. You will listen to him until his voice starts to fade into background noise. You will stare at the wall in front of you, taking odd notice of the smudge of dirt right next to the television, on the left side just a few inches away from the screen, trying to figure out what it is and what it looks like. A cat laying down; that’s what it looks like. You love cats but this time the thought of one won’t make you smile. He will stare at you waiting for you to speak and then he will leave. He will come back again the next day and the next and the next until he gets tired of silence. Then he’ll stop trying to call.

You will be glad. You will be sad.

You will be angry because you can’t figure your emotions out.

Then Alex will call. Then Barry will call. You will never understand it. But that’s just the way it happens. At that point when your relationship is on the rocks, nearly every other possible suitor you have ever had will call asking to see you, saying something about missing your pretty little face or will send a text message wondering why you’ve been so quiet for the last couple of months apparently wanting to check on you.

Remember that one time you had a huge disagreement with Dave? You said something about him being selfish. He said something about you being overbearing. He raised his voice at you and you couldn’t believe how he was brushing off something you felt was a huge issue. He shrugged. You stared on. The next few days were strange. He would come over to see you but the days were filled with awkward moments, straight emotionless faces, eye rolling, heavy sighs and silence; the awkward kind of silence that makes you want to scream and causes you to implode and have rather strange conversations with yourself until the moment has passed.

“When was the last time I had my nails done? I should get my nails done.”

“Maybe I should apologise first”

“Will Khaleesi ever sit on the iron throne? Maybe I should just read the books. Dave is my Khal Drogo”

“Maybe I should apologise first”

“What happens when you travel faster than the speed of light?”

“I feel like having some chocolate. Dave always buys me chocolate.”

You had those little discussions in your head until the awkward moment had passed, until you decided to just slide past it.

Remember that time? Remember when Alex sent you a long message talking about how much he missed you and wanted to get together for drinks? You considered going but then it’s Alex so you thought twice about meeting him at all.

This time round when your pain is all that clouds your mind, you feel the need for some kind of release. So when Alex calls, you don’t hesitate meeting him. You hope he has changed. But he won’t have changed, not yet, not for you. Everything he says won’t sound new to you. It’s the same thing he said the first met you about a year before. He will say that all he can think of when he thinks of you is the sweetness of your lips, the perfect luscious curve that they make when they are slightly parted, the softness of your skin, the groove of your backside, the slimness of your waist and how perfectly round your chest is. But Alex isn’t very good with words. He isn’t very smooth so it all comes out sounding a little too perverse, a little too blunt.

You will smile because you are quite honestly just tired of being sad. But you will feel the urge to smack him in the face when he runs his hand up your thigh, with that cold hand that’s a little wet with the sweat of his cold Tusker Lager. You will cringe and purse your lips trying to calm yourself. Maybe he will notice your disgust because he will move his hand within seconds.

You will wish only to be back in your bed, re-watching “Friends” for the one thousandth time and finding your way back to the safe embrace of your sleep.

Barry will call the next day. You can’t remember the last time you talked. But he is at your door within the hour. He will make some small talk before grabbing you by the waist and kissing you without hesitation. It’s the one thing you had always liked about Barry, how sensual and spontaneous he was. He whispers all the right things to you. Perfectly sweet, perfectly empty. He will pin you to the wall and send those sweet shivers down your spine. It will be the perfect distraction. He will leave momentarily. You’ll be glad nothing more happens. Nothing more should happen anyway. Hopefully you will still have half brain you will remind yourself that having Barry just isn’t worth it.

You will thank the heavens that he had to rush to a late evening meeting that he mentioned earlier. You will thank the heavens that your clothes are still on.

You will be happy to be alone once again and yet still crave the company that you just had. You will look up at the dark velvety skies and wish for better days.

The stars will watch you. Perhaps shed a tear for you. They watched everything from the very start and are sorry that your sweet little heart is being shattered in the worst way. They will see your pain. They will probably feel it too.

The day will finally end and so will the next and the next. They will all finally end. Somehow. Miraculously, they will end.

And whenever the sun sets, you will thank God that another day has passed. That even through the pain that keeps stabbing at your heart relentlessly still burdens you every day, at least you are somehow still very much alive. That even with all the thoughts that are floating through your mind, you somehow remain quite sane. And you will look out to that sunset and hope that you will be able to see a brighter day, to wake up to a world refilled with colour, bright, beautiful, joyous colour and glam like it had before.

You will beg.
You will hope.
You will pray.
You will be just fine.
Footnotes.
Voices. So I published this “short story” under a new category called voices. It’s something we all have. There are voices around us and within our own minds. We can capture more stories than we can imagine from them.
My dearest Rose, there you go. I mentioned your name in one of my blog posts. BIG HUG!!

Cheers!!!

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6 thoughts on “At dusk

  1. ValereanSteel says:

    Khaleesi does eventually sit on the Iron Throne (oba?). Well done indeed.
    “Filim.”

  2. Nyana says:

    I loved reading this. Especially the bits about Patrick and Alex. They take you away from the pain that is Dave for a bit. It is all written simply but the pain and overwhelming confusion is quite clear and very relatable!

  3. Leah says:

    Like Nyana has said I bet all girls can relate to this! Nice work!

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