Come to Me Quietly

How much time passed while I sat there, I didn’t know. Time no longer mattered. Numbness crawled out along my limbs, not enough to erase, just enough to distort, to cloud the fucking unbearable ache that had bound itself to my heart and mind.

My head spun and the bag burned in my pocket.

Climbing to my feet, I stumbled toward the dingy porcelain sink mounted against the far wall. I pulled my shirt over my head and worked loose the bandage from my chest. Heavily, I leaned on the sink, staring at myself in the mirror, unable to look away from the eyes staring back.

Sickness seethed in the pit of my stomach, stretching out, clawing at my insides, which seemed to be fighting for a way out of this body, like they, too, wished for an escape. I pulled the bag from my pocket. Sweat beaded up on my forehead, hatred pouring free.

I clenched my hand around it, knowing it wasn’t the drug, but Aly that had a hold on me.

Motherfucking trigger.

It burned against my flesh, and I squeezed it tighter, felt the anxiety wind me tight. Every damned day, it was this way. I was like this fucking disaster because I didn’t want anything but to be free, but there was no freedom for the condemned.

And I hated.

I hated.

I hated.

I slammed my fist into the mirror, shattering it into a million pieces. “Fuck!” I roared, the sound bouncing off the walls.

I don’t want this.

The mirror rained down, shards of glass splintering as they fell, crashing down into the sink, pinging as they skittered across the floor. The skin on my knuckles gave, splaying wide. Blood seeped forward. And I could feel it, the snap as I finally slipped over the edge I’d been teetering on for so long. My fists met the wall and remnants of the mirror again and again as if I could beat this need out of me. The bag was crushed so tightly in my hand it was as if the force alone would cause it to disintegrate. Evaporate. Cease to exist.

Or maybe I would.

There was no pain, just the fury that had taken me whole for the last six years.

And I was panting, reeling, gasping.

Fucking lost.

“Shit.” I clutched my head in my bloodied hands and the bag fell to the floor, my eyes frantic as they darted around the confines of the suffocating room. That feeling of confinement only escalated the anxiety that gripped me tight, provoking the rage inside. I choked, couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

Snatching my shirt from the floor, I dragged it back over my head, fumbled around for my keys, and ran out into the night. Tonight the darkness was thick, no moon in the sky, just the echoes of distant revelry. My bike gleamed like this flagrant symbol of escape just outside my door. I kicked it over and flew from the lot, pegged the throttle as I took the bike to the road.

The cool fall air beat furiously at my face, the rumble of my bike vibrating in my ears. I sped through the streets, lost myself in the frenzy, gave in to the need to escape even when I knew I never could. I had no idea where I was going because I had no place to go. This… this was my fate because I had no right to be in this world.

The lights thinned out around me as I consumed the road, and the city grew dim as I left it behind. I hit the open desert, the glare of my headlight splaying out across the pavement. My hand was fucking shaking as I pinned the throttle as far as it would go.

I hated.

God, I hated.

I forced it faster, this rage inside me spurring me forward, pressing me harder. There was nothing for me in this city.

Nothing for me anywhere.

That emotion brimmed to the edges of me, heavy and thick, my chest tight with that fucking rock that would forever be lodged just at the base of my throat. I leaned into the curves and welcomed the air that pelted and whipped, the chill that stung, welcomed the anger and the hate and the anxiety that were my constant companions.

They were the only steady I knew. The only things I could count on.

I shouted into the driving wind, cast my fury at the nothingness because that was exactly what I was.

Ahead, the road curved to the left. Sharper than I thought. I took it hard, and I felt the quiver of the bike. I fought against the wobble of the handlebars, fought to conquer the shot of instability that rolled through the length of the bike. I righted it and struggled to focus on the blurring road. I blinked hard, trying to clear the fog from my mind.

An abrupt right came up fast. So fast.

“Fuck” fell silently from my mouth, maybe as a plea as I flew into the turn. I leaned and braked hard, everything shaking before I felt the back tire begin to skid. Then the front wheel caught.

And I was flying.

Weightless.

A long time ago I’d lost control. I’d lost it the moment I’d given in to carelessness, when I’d taken the most important thing in this world and set it aside while I strove for the trivial.