The freedom of captivity

you needn't smile

Edmund Eames

I look at the orderlies from a distance as they try to calm Reginald down. I feel so guilty, it seems that I have triggered something inside of him. I feel tears in my eyes, why do I hurt somebody every time I want to do something nice for them? I ignore the screaming and bitter cries of this tortured soul as I slowly walk back to my room. Pondering the whole point of being like this, pondering everthing I've done and dreamed about. Pondering the meaning of my life, but that's been going on for a long time.

I walk into the lonely room, I open the box filled with my expensive personal belongings. I take the signet ring, putting it back on the same fingers who has worn it all this time. It feels out of place, a reminder of the one who I once was, somebody who would follow someone's lead. Somebody who wasn't allowed to think for himself, the beautiful gold of the ring has burned wounds in my skin. I look at it before putting it back in the case along with my emerald jewelery. Altough they're no longer a part of me they will never leave my side. I am still not used to the fact that this asylum isn't filled with art that's supposed to be in museums or the fact you can't walk barefoot because the marble flooring is too cold for that. The manor I used to live in was absurd, I see that now but it was home. I had nowwhere else to be, except under the beautiful nightsky. That was my real home. I couldn't call that prison of fear my home. But it is still absolutely absurd how used I am to those things. I wonder what my family is doing now. Whether they still hate me. Or if my brother is now the one who can't do anything right. I hope not. I feel a tear falling on the stupid signet ring signing my place in a society I have never asked to be part of.

I hear a knock on my door, I wipe away my tears and look at the door. It's Douglas, "Are you alright?" he asks. "Yes, I just have some allergies." I say and he frowns but he understands that if I lie he doesn't need to ask any more questions. I sit down on my bed. "I wanted to thank you for showing me the roof." He says. I nod, "Don't thank me, the stars are something everyone deserves to see." I say, he sits down beside me. "Still I really appreciated it and I think it's a lovely gersture." I smile and look in his complex hazel eyes, it's like someone couldn't decide on brown or green so it became a mixture. It looks almost ethereal. I feel a shock going through me and I stand up. Scared of myself. "Get out please" I say as I try not to hurt myself while digging my nails into my flesh.

"What have I done?" He asks while backing away slowly. "it's nothing." I say, my whole body is seems to tighten up. Everything hurts, it's as if it's trying to stop blood from coming out everywhere where it could ecape the grasp of my body. "I need some time alone." I say as I close the door in his face.  His face is painted with stupid pity and confusion. I hate pity I don't need it, do I need it? My body feels like it's going to convulse, it feels like it's been filled with water till my throat. I button up my sleeves and look at my blue wrists, all the old scars from the being hit on the same places over and over again are interrupted by one long scar of desperation, of desperation to escape all of this. To escape this shame I felt all these years.

I feel like my heart could stop at any given moment, and I would not even mind it. I am trambling as I pluck at the healed scars in desperation of a drop of blood, in desperation of pain. I am not allowed to feel this, I am not allowed to feel things. I pluck on my skin again and again and again untill finally one of the scars rips open. I take a deep breath as the blood flows down my wrist. I feel the tears flowing down my cheeks I am not sure if they are tears of happiness, pain or sadness. The flowing red line of relief feels like a rush of euphoria as it drips down my hand, I elegantly lead it towards my fingers, admiring the crimson colour. I guide it through my fingers as if it's holding my hand, I close my eyes and release my shame. It might be a bad habit but it's the only thing that helps.

I hear the music from the sitting room through the walls of my room, it's O mio babinno caro I hum with it when the door opens. Solomon sticks his head through the door. "Go away." He shakes his head. "Douglas didn't mind it, but you shouldn't be so lonely here." He sits down on the ground next to me and light a cigarette. I sigh and try to hide the little puddle of blood. He smiles modestly and takes off the bandage on his hand. It reveals a festering wound in his hand in a rather strange pattern. "How did that happen?" I ask. He hands me his burning cigarette. "I did it myself, just to feel something." He says, it's the first time I have heard him talk about his feelings. It's like he expects me to talk about it. But he just grabs a flannel and start to clean the wound. "I should berate you about this." He says while looking at me in a brotherly way.  I take a deep breath. "But I won't because who am I to talk?" He says gesturing to his hand. He puts a plaster on it. He looks at me, "I'm going back to the sitting room. Care to join me Eddie. You needn't be happy at all times." I smile and stand up. "That might be true for you Sol. But I don't know if it is for me."