Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
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I spent the entire next week stuck inside my own head, as if I hadn't already spent the last eighteen years there. I'm used to being painfully buried in my thoughts. So far so that each figment felt like my own personal prison at one point, a holding cell full of the worst things I could possibly think, true and false, about myself and others. Keeping me as their captive, bound to them, torturing me into believing them, willing me to submit. Until it got to a point where I would have done anything to make them stop, to free myself. But every possible escape route led to the same place. One promising only temporary consolation, the thoughts never really disappearing for good.
But then the incident happened, forcing me to deal with the demons in a more permanent way. I became no longer able to compartmentalize and pretend that I wasn't in fact drowning.
This week however, I found myself compartmentalizing yet again. Uncontrollable emotions consuming me once more, but this time for a totally different reason. A shiny new case has been built inside my brain over the past few weeks, just big enough for two green eyes and a pair of dusty old cowboy boots.
I've spent days pushing away any thought of him, trying to recreate that version of him in my head that originally took up space. The version where he was nothing more than a carbon copy of my brother and father. Just a football playing asshole with no regard for other human life.
It feels like days ago he was still someone who couldn't possibly care to know the ins and outs of me. I was someone to be overlooked in a crowded room, unnoticed, unwanted.
Taylor has proven that I'm not invisible to him, that he in fact sees me. With rose colored lenses making me seem... I don't know, not so bad to be around.
As it turns out I may be the one with blush colored vision, seeing Taylor now as something more than a cowboy, more than someone with questionable morals and rapidly decreasing brain cells. A new version of him taking shape in my head, creating a home to live in, rent free.
I didn't understand it at first, why the thoughts continued to spring to the front of my mind, threatening me to ignore everything else in front of me. Only when I had an epiphany in the form of the leather of my godforsaken journal poking out from beneath a stack of miscellaneous things on my desk did it make sense. It was a small glimpse of relief, a long sigh after an unbelievably exhausting day.
I found myself for the first time in years overcome with the need to write it down. To commit it to my memory. I wished I had taken a picture of him, of us or of the light brown of the milkshake, anything to commemorate the moment I realized I didn't hate him. Or the fact that I didn't mind it. That I wasn't as alone here as I sometimes felt.
When I arrive for our next session, this new found outlook fresh in my brain, I'm not sure what to expect. Part of me thinks he will come in and fuck with me in typical Taylor fashion. A plot to find any and every way to get out of doing his job already put into action on his part. All the while hoping that we will pick up where we left off.
