Don't Get Into The Car

[ 11 ]

Simon lays awake, his gaze fixated on the ceiling. The light of the moon filters in through the small sliver of the drawn curtains, casting a grey glow across the room. Although you're on the second floor, nestled in the confines of your bed and probably deep in slumber, he convinces himself that he can discern the faint, rhythmic sound of your breathing. Tonight, sleep is an elusive phantom, dancing just out of his reach, as if playing a tantalizing game of hide and seek.

At first, his mind is ensnared in a relentless loop that constantly replays the heart-stopping moment he saw you attempting to flee. On the surface, he had maintained a facade of calm and collectedness, a veneer of control that masked the turmoil within. But deep within the hidden recesses of his mind, hidden from your eyes, a storm was brewing. A torrent of panic and fear swallowed whole him, an overwhelming tsunami of emotion that threatened to submerge his sanity in its dark depths.

He was well aware that the thoughts of escape, those tantalizing whispers of freedom, still lurked in the corners of your mind, casting a shadow over your interactions with him. That's why he made the conscious decision to leave you alone in the house yesterday. Well, it was more than a decision. It was a test, a gamble of sorts. An experiment to see how you would react, what decisions you would make, in his absence.

In his mind, he had prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios. He had expected, with a certain degree of certainty, that you would misbehave and act like a rebellious brat. Maybe you would even give in to the temptation of curiosity and sneak downstairs to explore the rest of the house. Yes, he had anticipated a myriad of potential outcomes. But what he had not accounted for was the jarring sight that had greeted him upon his return.

The living room was a scene of unbridled chaos. It was as if a hurricane had swept through, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Furniture — at least the stuff you could lift — was overturned. Old books from the bookshelf were strewn across the floor like forgotten confetti after a parade. Even the vase that adorned the coffee table lay shattered, its fragments glistening like teardrops under the harsh overhead light. Every semblance of order in the living room was all but eradicated.

In the eye of this storm of disarray, you knelt. Like a solitary figure in an abstract painting, you were the focal point in this whirlwind of chaos. Your body convulsed with the rhythm of your sobs, each one echoing through the space, bouncing off the walls. The raw emotion that filled the room was palpable, a bitter perfume that clung to every surface.

Simon blinks, his eyelids fluttering once, then twice, as he's yanked from his thoughts and thrust back into his bedroom. He finds himself lying in his cold, empty bed once again, the emptiness of the room serving as a haunting mirror, reflecting his inner turmoil.

The depth of his frustration with you is so profound, it's like a storm raging in a teacup, creating a vortex of feelings that's almost suffocating. His irritability permeates the surrounding air, brewing a heavy, palpable tension that hangs like a rain cloud ready to burst. It's not that he's demanding or expecting too much from you, his desires are actually quite simple - all he yearns for is to see a flicker of understanding in your eyes, a sign of acceptance of actions. He craves your obedience and submission, the surrender of your will to his. He imagines a future where he can lavish you with affection, treating you like a precious gem, showering you with the abundant love and respect that you absolutely deserve.

His dreams are filled with vibrant images of you looking at him with love, of you accepting his care and protection, of you surrendering your fears and doubts. He sees himself as your protector, your guide, your lover, and your friend. But as long as you continue to perceive yourself as a prisoner within these walls, his dreams remain just that - dreams.