Cold-hearted love

21. Sage

I wake up with a start, body trembling, not from the cold or because I leave the balcony doors open at night-- because I like the shadows the moon cast.

With shaking fingers I get myself a drink. The bitter taste of vomit fills my throat. I should be thinking about the dream but my mind is a fog and I can barely stand. It's two in the morning, I've been asleep for four hours since I first passed out on my bedroom floor.

There's that horrible feeling again. My head aches, my eyes are probably red and my breath comes out ragged. I know what's coming next when I wake up like this. I quickly run over to the bathroom sink and vomit.

Drinking comes with cost. The only thing that helps with this feeling is more drinks. I wash the puke from the sink and slide down to the floor head, in hand. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and think of all the times Elliot or Everett found me like this. Everett found it disgusting, while Lio found it pathetic.

My head is still banging but I get up and sit on my balcony, drink in one hand, lyric note books and pen in the other. I take a few breaths of cold air but it's now use. I'm wearing a emerald green satin night gown with a big v. 

The memories of everything that happened in a balcony like this float in like a unwanted boat. Emilio and I playing chess. Emilio telling me stories. Emilio singing to me. I shake my head and talk to the only person I could.

Someone who always distract me when I most needed it.

Me:Elijah?

Elijah:Yes, dear girl?

Me:Was that your memories?

Elijah:The first part yes.

Me:Whose was the last part?

Elijah:That's something you'll have to figure out yourself, Lyla. 

Knowing he wasn't going to tell me anyway I asked.

Me: Why did he do that to you, cut of your hands, I mean?

Elijah: For a number of reason. To teach me to control pain. To make sure I know my place, etc.

For a moment surprise overtook me. I decided to push my luck and ask some more questions.

Me: Why did you go along with it?

Elijah: The same reason you went to the asylum.

Because of his siblings. I could here that in his mind. Perhaps the only emotion there was worry for them and not himself. Because Elijah. . .he barely cared of what they were doing to him. He was more worried about Brian? I think that's her name.

Me: Why didn't you use your magic?

Elijah: You know by now that our magic can't hurt our parents. At least no fatally. But surprisingly it could to our siblings.

Me: How old were you?

He had looked seemed so young. Even if I hadn't seen how he looked; he felt young unlike now. Now I could feel the weight of the years on him. How time had aged his soul. I've always been told I had an old soul but that was because life had put me through things most people don't even go through in their life time but if Elijah had been a live for thousands of years. . .and he this happened to him as a child. . .I can see why he became a monster.

I should ask about my second dream, if you could call it that because it was just. . .flashes of visions of someone else's life. But I didn't. It felt personal and it felt like one of those thing I kept to myself from everyone else. Because these flashes no matter how horrible felt like treasure and I didn't wan to examine to closely why.

Elijah: Six? Seven? Eight? I don't quiet remember, Lyla.

He was young too young for any of this. How could they do that to a child? But at least now I know why he could keep his cool when. . .everything my family did to me. 

Elijah: I'm fine now, do not fret.

The liquor wasn't even  half way gone yet but my headache got better, the quesy felling stayed the same. Sometimes only drinking more helped this feeling. I should be better by morning.

My finger were still shaking but slowly I get up, stedying myself on the walls and grab my guitar from under my bed. I played many instruments but the guitar was easiest for me. I remember when Emilio taught it to me on a balcony almost identical to this a couple rooms down the hall.

Music was beautiful to me. I played the piano, violin, chello, etc. I made my own music, it was one of the things I bared my soul to without anyone knowing. It was a magnet pulling out thoughts I couldn't trap in my mind anymore.

My finger brush the guitar and I start to strum melodies. I sing a song I wrote weeks ago in the school in my book. I grab my pen, with shaking finger correct some mistakes and sing.

Can't lose if you never cared,

Can't get hurt if you never felt,

Can't love wrong if you never done right.

(Tune change)

But I cared.

I felt your pain when you never felt mine.

Loved you in all the wrong ways like you did me.

Now your gone.

And my hearts cold and dead,

No fire on earth cold melt this stone.

I wish I could fix it, wish I knew how

but no fire on eart could fix me.

Use to tell myself it'll be over soon but it never is.

Never is.

Mmmm.

Mmmm.

I've cared, I've lost, got hurt, done wrong.

Now nothing feels the same.

Mmmm.

Wish I never cared,

Wish I never loved,

Wish I never felt,

Now nothing feels the same.