Mare Moody - [blank]

If only I had the ability to crawl out of my skin and feel myself in the purest form. I don’t want to be his. I can’t be his. How do I get away?

I stand still. He continues up the steps; each tantalizing movement he makes taunts my conscious. My soul is slowing dying. I don’t know how to breathe or live. I don’t know how to live or breathe.

Have you ever watched someone you loved simply give up? The slow slip of any motivation drains from their blood like a disease. I don’t want to stay where I am but I love him. Perhaps if I follow him, if I give him what he wants, he will finally love. Anxiety comes over me like a storm cloud over my congested brain. Every thought, every millisecond of time that passes is one more millisecond of torture. One more millisecond of doubting. One more millisecond of hating, loathing, internally ripping myself apart.

I pull away. I snatch my hand out of his.

“No, not today.”

I back up.

“No.”

I turn around and before he can’t object, I am out of the door.

I speed walk down the street. My feet grow more anxious and my walk becomes a full on sprint. I’m glad for the moment that my shirt is so large that it covers my body in the daylight.

My door is almost in front of me. I can’t turn around. I will see him looking at me from his driveway. Don’t look. I know that if I do, I will become a salt pillar stuck in the repetitive cycle of lust.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

I run towards my door when I see it. I sprint straight up the stairs and into my room. I feel the tears streaming down my face. Why do I do this to myself?

I need to get away. Far away.

My head turns toward my dresser and my hands begin to move. I grab a revealing shirt and skinny jeans. The old shirt on my back feels like a breath of fresh air when it is removed by my trembling hands. I get dressed at a steady pace. When I am finally wearing an actual outfit, I walk back out of my house.

I walk the other way from his house. I walk and walk. I may walk for miles, or I may walk for a minute. Whatever my brain decides should happen will happen. I let it control me like a dog on the leash.

Eventually the sunset catches up with me and we both slowly fall into a deeper darkness. The sounds of the city are amplified in the darkness. My feet are still leading me. I need a drink. The water on the pavement reflects back at me like a portal to a better world. In its troubled surface, my face is blurred and the fear printed on my face is unrecognizable. Anything and everything written on my face is blank in the face of the water. My future holds the same fate. I watch the puddles pass me as my feet push me further into the blank, unwritten future.

The rhythm slipping out of the speakers falls on the floor and drags itself to my untouched body. It crawls like a hungry demon, bound to fill my existence with its grasp. As soon as the bass bites at my feet, I am overtaken. It fills my body and radiates through my veins. All emotions which cannot be expressed through words are reveal themselves in music.

My heart beats with the drums. The club is dark, but enough light beats from the ceiling that a clear path to the bar is lit. I walk towards it, like a slave to the need to forget.

Liquor. That’s what I came for. I find an empty bar stool and sit on it.

“Give me your cheapest and strongest,” I request.

The barkeep nods and pours a shot. I push it down and pat the bar for another. With every shot, my body feels heavier.

After six shots, a man with a shirt covered in Greek letters sits two stools from me. Maybe it's the alcohol pumping through my veins or it's the pure insanity that has become me, but a huge smile materializes on my face. It feels foreign.

I haven’t smiled since I got with Kane. I have always wondered what it would be like to be with someone other than Kane. I look towards the man and bite my lip. He sees my glance and slides his eyes across my figure, inspecting the terrain.

I get out of my seat and walk towards him. I had not realized how hard the alcohol had hit me and my first step on the ground is the most unsteady step I’ve taken in a long time. My foot attempts to convince my brain that the floor is slowly slipping out from under my feet. I look up, he is still glancing at me. I follow his eyes to the seat on his left and I sit.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

Part of me knows that he has realized how trashed I am and intends to make it that much worse.

He taps the bar and the barkeep drops two shots in front of us. My brain simply acknowledges the fact that it is liquor and without caring what the actual liquid is, I attempt to throw it back.

My balance breaks when I lean back. The man notices and puts his hands around my waist to steady me. I giggle. That too feels foreign.

“My name is Chris,” he smirks, “what’s yours, beautiful?

“Ana,” I mutter as I reach for yet another shot.

I still need more liquor. My brain is almost off. I’m still registering lyrics from the club music behind me so I know I’m not drunk enough.

I tap the bar again. Maybe 20 more taps and I’ll be done. Chris continually talks to me. I’ve learned that if make eyes with him at the right times, I get free shots. The bar keeps getting tapped and Chris keeps talking.

I am drowned in my thoughts. The face of my mother comes to the front of my head and refuses to leave. I shake my head to try to rid of the thought.

I look around the bar, attempting to find a distraction while the alcohol sinks into my bloodstream. I notice another man looking at me from across the bar. He seems exponentially more attractive than Chris though the dark lighting and the copious amount of alcohol I’ve consumed. He sees me glance back and he walks over. He stands over me for a second. I can barely see his face.

“How’s your night going?” He asks.

“Good,” I giggle as I reach for another shot.

This does not make Chris very happy.

“What the fuck, man?” Chris yells at him

“Dude, she is obviously uninterested.” He chuckles.

I sit as a middle man, slowly swaying on my bar stool. I’ve had enough liquor to kill a horse.

“Fuck off!” Chris yells as he reaches out and pushes him. The new guy falls into the people behind him. The beat of the music is so mesmerizing that I zone out of the mayhem and into my thoughts.

WHAM.

A fist is slammed straight into Chris’ face. I scream and look at Chris who is now on the ground.

“What the fuck!?” I scream at the new guy.

Chris gets back up after wiping his face and returns the favor. I am caught in a sea of blood and fists but there is too much alcohol in my system for me to safely get out of my chair, let alone the club. I drunkenly analyze my options. I could try to stumble away or I could calm the two men down.

“Guys, let’s just—” I get interrupted by a fist colliding with my jaw. A scream escapes my mouth and I fall to the floor. My eyes blink in and out of focus. I don’t know if it's the liquor or the head trauma. I roll over and lie on my back. I look at the ceiling and begin to laugh. My life will always be a mess. I may as well accept it. The lights in the club begin to fade to black. My laughter grows louder.

I wake up in a daze. My head is pounding and I know that there is still alcohol in my system. I can see bright lights through my closed eyes. It takes an insurmountable amount of courage to open them. When I open my eyes, a wave over confusion comes over me. I’ve been in this room too many times.

Fear creeps its way up my spine and nestles in the back of my head. It nags me to be scared. It curls itself around my head and whispers softly in my ear.