He didn't want my money; I had just been in the way

My memories plague me; trap me between the folds of consciousness. Katie say’s something, I don’t hear her. I remember being withdrawn from the world. Chemical imbalances in my brain caused all feeling to drain from my body, leaving me numb. Today I feel similar, except I am more withdrawn, the world more distant. I remember perceiving myself as disconnected from reality, outside of it. An observing, peering in. This was untrue then and undeniable now.

A familiar pain washes over me like a wave; it is periodically constant like the hour. Its blistering sting is brutal, but short lived. This made it bearable during the long tedium of each day. Nevertheless I don’t leave my chair out of a fear that I might fall and be unable to stand back up again.

Katie spoke again and this time I heard her. Her hands came to rest by her face and her hair fell over her shoulder. She had stopped crying and was lying motionless on the bed. What little make-up she wore had run down her face and stained the pillow.

She screwed up her face and her eyes swelled again. She clamped her eyelids shut and sank into the bed. Her body twisted and she drew herself into a ball. She did not want to cry.

I had learnt from various conversations that Katie had recently lost someone close to her. They had slipped in the bathroom, hit their head and never woken up. I think it was her best friend, but it may have been her brother.

The day I arrived was the day it happened. I fell into the black and emerged next to Katie. The paradox of nothingness to the blaring summer light had made the readjusting of my pupils to the bright yellow wallpaper excruciating. The details of the room had filled my vision one by one as I focused. Rectangular, a single bed against the wall to my right, an ancient TV in front of it, a window behind me, towers of books and paper positioned in unoccupied spaces and a corner sectioned of for the bathroom. It vaguely reminded me of hotel rooms from my childhood.

The strength in my legs had failed instantly and I slumped ungracefully into the nearest and only chair. Heavy streams of blood oozed through my shirt.  As I watched it flow over me I felt empty, like a dam that had been raised and lost all its water.

After a while I noticed, as I followed the journey of my blood, that it simply evaporated once it had left my surface. Not one stitch on the chair has ever been stained with even the smallest ounce of red, not even the carpet where I had stood. The only being it coats is me. As soon as it leaves my influence it fades into the air like a picture through time. Yet the stream never wanes.

She got a phone call, at first she said nothing. She had a cup of tea and continued as if everything was normal. Throughout the week she began to whither and burst into fits of anger. Now she lays dormant.

I wish I could reach out; I want nothing more than to be able to comfort her.  But, I wouldn’t know what to say. I would imagine I would just need to listen. Nevertheless, I am just the dust in the air, dancing in the sunlight.