ACCLIVITY(Being Revised)

Lost Connection

Dear Amnesia, 

“Why can’t a heart ask for permission before falling in love? Wouldn’t that make more sense? Our survival rate would be higher if logic would stick closer than our fluttering, frail feelings.”

I crossed my legs timidly while sitting on the edge of the hotel bed. The taste of black licorice in the back of my mouth from the pills I just swallowed. I had found another bottle of the drug at the bottom of the bag. They make a hell of a last resort painkiller when you need them. I suppose that's why we keep them on us.

I clamped my hands around my bare feet as my chest beat like a drum stuck on repeat. I kept sucking in air but the exhales wouldn’t follow through. There was a time I was able to fight the temptation of them but for only so long.

I flicked my small dark burgundy beaded anklet. It had speckles of gold in between and studying it always made me feel a bit warmer. I sniffed and rubbed the palm of my hand across my cheek. My mind was stunned at the knowledge of a tear on my hand.

“Anna?” 

I quickly dropped my hand back down on my lap and swung my eyes away and onto the television that flickered in front of me. He pointed up at the screen, “you’re obviously not watching football,” he crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame.

“What makes you assume that-”

“It’s muted."

I nodded slowly, “you don’t really need to hear it.”

I felt detached from our surroundings as my head buzzed. I had an unreachable itch inside my mind. It was beginning to burn a hole through my skull. 

It was like being chronically lonely not just in a room full of people but in a room full of people you love. That's totally different. Perhaps it's because I don't remember ever having the luxury of family. 

I picked under my nails and my vision was spaced out; unblinking. He sighed and dragged his sock feet over to the edge of the bed. He slouched beside me; his weight on the mattress pulling me towards him. Our shoulders pressed against each other.

"I don't want a lecture-"

He lightly scoffed, "I'm not up for giving one."

Something caught a spark inside me for a split second. It was as if someone threw a warm blanket over my bare arms. It was related to relief but it was also warmth coming from somewhere deeper. 

He gradually raised a hand and pulled my freshly washed hair over my shoulders so it wasn't sticking to my lips. For such a tough guy he was certainly gentle. Each moment he's touched me gently, it feels more familiar; more sound.

I leaned a little closer and hesitantly tucked my cheek on his arm. We sat there as the football game flickered in our face. But instead we were more focused on our feet. 

"Where did you get that anklet?"

I squinted at it, "I have no idea," I muttered, flipping through whatever memories I could recall.

"Can I see it?" 

I lifted my head off him to see if he was serious. Sure enough he couldn't take his eyes off of it. So I slipped it off and handed it to him. 

He carefully took it and rolled the beads between his calloused fingers, "It's my favourite colour."

It was the last thing I imagined him telling me, his favourite colour. I blinked my eyes a couple times, fatigued from simply sitting, "I never could pick one."