Ashes and cinnamon

I'll have vanilla then, please

I drank down my grief like it was the finest red wine. After a while you can not tell the difference between pleasure and pain.

There was a brief memory of true pleasure. A meadow full of marguerites, lined by a tiny, ice cold stream. I could have heard all the bugs there, and the willow trees were singing the most calming sound imaginable.

But here were no willow trees and the sound was far from pleasant. Not horrifying though, no. More menacing. Like the feeling you have when you put your hand in icy water. It hurts, sure, but you know that if you take the hand out, it will be thousand times worse. So you accept the freezing water around you, after all, it doesn't hurt that much.

The numbing, freezing sound played all my life. It was a loop, a net keeping me from falling into the darkness. Unpleasant, yes, but without it, I'd be doomed.

I hugged my knees. On my shoulders layer a warm, fluffy, light blue blanket. It was a welcomed change from the unsettling sharpness of my plain white room. There was a table, a cabinet, ancient wooden wardrobe that smelled of lavender I had put in and a bed on which I was cowering.

I lighted the aroma lamp on the cupboard. I poured in a few drops of cinnamon oil, helping to calm myself down and focus on regulating my breaths.

I licked my chapped lips. I could still taste the copper crust holding my skin together. My tongue met a fresher copper drop. Till a new one could form, I pressed the hem of my shirt to it. It was too late when I realized I shouldn't have done that.

Did I really stained a new shirt again? Have I really destroyed another thing that I got and didn't deserve?

I buried my eyes in my blanket, wiping the strings of tears.

Fuck me.

"Mia Estate, what happened?" He carried in a sweet, heavy scent of lilies. It gave him a magnificent, royal like presence. His curly hair, dark as my black nail polish, were falling on his shoulders, embroidered with few silver lines.

"I'm sorry... I-I didn't want to... I stained the new... I'm so sorry-" I couldn't continue.

"It's okay. It won't be visible on the wine red shirt."

He took his handkerchief and wiped my tears.

"I made you pancakes, mia Estate. Do you have all your stuff packed?"

I nodded my head. I have packed yesterday evening and checked it several times.

"Perfect, as always, mia Estate. Now, you're surely starved, so come on."

I was. I stood up, brushed a mote off my clothing, took my backpack and followed my dad downstairs.

The smell of cinnamon kissed my nose like it was the first time I've noticed it.

I sat at my place, my back facing the door. I couldn't stay still, even though all of my energy was focus on that task.

Dad sat in front of me, having the perfect view of the room and the door, more importantly. Not seeing all exits of any place made him physically sick, almost to the point of vomiting.

I stared at the plate full of pancakes, cinnamon sugar and maple syrup. It sure tasted magnificently, I knew it. But I wasn't hungry, not even slightly.

I took a fork, slowly cutting a small piece of the dish. Dad was eating his own. He sometimes looked at me, making sure I was alright and eating.

I finished my breakfast, hoping dad wouldn't notice how I was shaking.

Panicking even before the school started. Fucking perfect, I thought, as I swallowed the meds next to my plate.

***