[EDITING]
For him, the whole world was on fire except her.
And he didn't let a single flame touch her.
For her, she herself was on fire.
And she protected the whole world from her flames.
Especially him.
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Living with the demons of her past who...
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The truth about life is, that it is inconsistent and filled up with so much inevitable shit. Whether you stay alive today and dead tomorrow, happy now and miserably sad the next second or hopeful for a lifetime but despairing, counting the days for eternal rest.
And, right of now—hell, I think for a long time—I'm mediant. Physically alive and living the best life anyone could visualize. But, mentally I'm fucking dead and much happy than I should be. Maybe it's because that in my head I still wake up to dark brown—almost black—chunks of wavy hair fanning my bare chest, soft fingertips tracing outlines of my tattoos sending an ache straight to my chest, hurting way more than a needle drawing on my skin or that, fresh air of breath hitting my body and igniting every atom, every nerve and every bone. It's eccentric and deranged how a certain thought, a memory makes you feel better than climaxing or anyone kind of physical pleasure.
It's a constant picture. Like watching the same movie over and over again. Maybe it's because it's my favourite memory—which I like to believe—or that it is the only one I could remember—which I refuse to believe. I feel so mad, hurt and fucked up that I don't remember much of her, even if it has only been five years. So, the only memory I have engraved to my head is the little feelings. Like, how I felt her skin against mine, how her breath made me feel alive, how her smile lighted up the whole fucking world and her brown eyes aligning my way of life. She's not even alive but fuck, my life still depends on her.
Calling the bartender for another refill of scotch, I gulp down the rest of the liquid, missing that burning sensation. The things I'd do to drink alcohol for the first time.
"Take it down a bit, will ya?" Jason nudged my elbow before bringing back the weed bud to his mouth.
"Unlike you, I'm not getting high every single fucking day," I retort. He squint his eyes at me looked at his phone for the umpteenth time. Apparently, Jennifer for some psychotic reason kicked my step-brother out of their apartment and Jason being... well, Jason is scared shitless with an engagement ring in his pocket.
"Maybe she found out you're going to propose and freaked out?" Mason suggest, tending his own drink. We have been solving this 'Jennifer freak out mystery' for what seems like hours since Jason called an emergency meeting and it had to be on a day I'm in town. There's so much shit I'd rather do than sit here, in a club surrounded by all my addictions other than a specific one. An addiction I wouldn't be able to devour, ever again. The thought stings in my chest and I felt a wave of anger pent up, the more this bartender takes time to fill up my empty glass.
Think good things, Damien. Like, the sound of her laughter, her delicate voice, smooth skin.
God, I hate the fact that Rhea is my only cure. It has been years and to this day no doctor or therapist has been able to ease me up without letting me outrage and lose my shit. The mere thought of her cools me down a bit. But there were times when emotions win over thoughts, over Rhea. It's getting harder day by day hence, the alcohol addiction.
