While You Were Out | BOYSWORLD

R E L A P S E

Elana Caceres allowed whatever the song Alexa pleased to enter into her stream of consciousness, like an 80s film, as her mind wondered why her thoughts were at their loudest at night, when everything else was still, and time was irregular. An egg ghost in human form. Seemingly endless. Maybe seeing that everyone else drifts off to dreamland, and silence would take over, death's second self sealing up everything in rest until all that's left were darkness, it's unsolved mysteries, distant supernovas that screamed in silence, and whatever the orchestra the wilderness had to offer. The young cinnamon nyctophille found this utterly unjust.

Why?

Why did her own pathetic excuses for thoughts have to take over her safe hours. The only time of the given twenty-four hours she felt at home. At least it used to be her querencia. Why oh why did her demons have to take that away from her. Why why why?

Amelia...Amelia Skinner...

Her mind was slowly drifting off to her merciless anxiety driven coach of rhetorical questions. Drifting off to unsettled insomnia, heavy eye bags and corrupted sleep schedules.

Amelia Amelia Amelia

Elana Caceres absolutely hated it.

She told herself, every single night since insomnia decided to attack her that she wouldn't stay up late. She kept on telling herself again and again and again, until suppressed tears, clogged screams, and a swollen throat would shut her down in the most artificial way possible.

Her gut twisted at the thought, like the words that effortlessly slipped through her delicate venom-kissed lips. At the thought of her.

5.00 a.m.

She had her mobile caressed between her petite hands, cinnamon and warm, as though the device were an unsipped cup of coffee, porcelain to it's finest. As though the device were far from a two-edged weapon, as though it were worth holding onto.

She waited. Her mind absolutely shut down and a scattered mess at the same time. Simply, insomnia.

Amelia. The name waved like a red flag, tended to deliberate ignorance, on her screen.

She was calling to see if she was awake.

She hoped she was awake. She hoped she was not awake.

She hoped she was awake and- and what?

Tell her that she couldn't sleep? Tell her that she's suffering from a serious case of insomnia?

And then what?

'You can tell me absolutely anything and everything, El. You know that, right? I don't want you being an introvert who represses everything inside. Do yourself a favour and be more open. At least with me. Hey I tell you everything. And I want you to do that too. I don't want you being suicidal'

But I do try to tell you...

She could go on and on about what's on her mind, what disturbed her, what gave her fluttery waves of enthusiasm. 5 A.M. or midday she couldn't care less.

You don't listen when we talk

She never listened when she talked.

She was not awake.

Just another misplaced sense of fate.