Ten & Levan

1. One.

(Hayley Kiyoko - Gravel To Tempo)

LEVAN

The world is wider on the edge.

Eyes closed, everything is a little more interesting. The trees behind me sing as the breeze weaves through them, the dried leaves rustle and the waves beneath me crash into the rocky shores in chorus. Everything is vibrating with life. In a way, it almost feels like poetic justice because here is also, where most stories end.

In my head, the cliff has always been the place; I've imagined myself standing at the edge so many times that I've lost count, but none of those times were real. Now, with each step I take, it's all too real. I've never been this ready to fall and fade into the water. It wasn't this real when I decided that I needed escape, it wasn't this real when I snuck out of my house before the sun came up, it wasn't this real when I physically pushed my truck for two blocks so that its noise wouldn't wake the whole neighborhood up. It definitely wasn't this real even as I was sprinting through the woods, trying to run so fast I could leave myself behind.

And I think I've been successful, I feel quite distant from myself.

It's been about five minutes now, standing close to the edge, and my legs still hurt but not just from the running. When I open my eyes, despite the panoramic view, I can still see myself curled up in a corner of my dark cave, nursing my anger, turning words into ashes inside my throat. That's what he does to me. On good days, I wish my father gets sucked into a black hole and mom emerges out of it. Like an exchange offer. That would be amazing. On better days, I just wish he forgets his way home and drives his drunk ass to Iceland. But on days like yesterday, when I'm dark as a shadow and brooding; I wish I never was. Simple and honest, I wish I was dead.

I don't know what's worse; the bruises on my face that got me fired, or the relief it brings me to know that all of this is about to come to an end. I know, I shouldn't have turned up to work looking like I do at all, but you don't really have an option when your dad is a raging alcoholic, who likes to take his anger out on you.

Breathe in...breathe out...in, out, in, out, out, out, out....

Isn't that how you calm your nerves when shit hits the fan? 

My hands grow colder by the second, my heart is thudding in my throat, and my lungs are begging me for air that I can't seem to absorb anymore. I know that this breathing exercise isn't helping me; I'm still a freezing, shaking mess. I can't help it, this is what he's made me.

On the edge, it feels like the world is slowly closing in on me. It's like someone's pushing down on my shoulders, like I'm standing on my lungs and squeezing all the air out. I'm panting, but without a sound. Wide horizons, limitless trees, free waters and yet there's no room for me to breathe. I'm suffocated inside of me. Sucking in painful, deep breaths, I try not to think about mom. But ever since she's been gone, I've been gone too. 

I was her sky, I was her sea. I was her air to breathe. I was her warm, shining sun, and her cold, winter breeze. I lost her, and now I'm not me.

I pick a pebble up from under my feet and shove it in my pocket. I'd let this pebble act as the rock for my sinking body. Add to it the fact that I can't swim, and the rocks under the cliff would probably knock me out before the wild water devours me with a dismissal burp, and there you have it - the perfect recipe for a tragic end.

I close my eyes and think of mom again, willingly this time. Mom, mom, mom. She was my sky and sea, my sun and breeze, my air to breathe. I try hard to remember her pale golden hair, her striking blue eyes, her laugh and her wild stories. But my thoughts only loop back to how it would've been if she hadn't died.