A Heart Doesn't Break Even. |Max George & Siva Kaneswaran|

I'm Telling You

* Today *

Here I go. My old phone card inside. Pincode. Old number. Living phoneless and isolated felt good but it didn't erase fear.  I bought this Los Angeles apartment with found money, now hidden in the safe.  The strong smell of lilies goes up in the room. A place where the sun can shine, where the sun itself constrains. A safe place under the sun. Canterbury. On the right side of the road hidden in numerous trees and lilies a dilapidated building. Human scent came out when officers kicked the door in. The dog led the people here, fastened to a tree. One by one they entered, the expectations weren't filled in. Nobody there, no one they had to fight. Upstairs, right door. Though I wasn't there I could describe the room without effort. The walls were painted white, old white. You could notice stains, paint crumbled. Left, a wooden table. Across the room, fear. Fear in human shape. Hands tied together on his back, a cloth around his mouth. His eyes weren't talking. A cop ran to the table took the phone, took the sparkling thing on the floor, gave orders and disappeared. A short one took pity of the dejected lost boy.
I wasn't there but I had eyes everywhere. I felt what was going on, flashes of all parts came to me at night. I heard the cops story for the first time but I knew the next sentences, I knew the details, I knew the answers to their questions. I knew all of it. My mind was telling me a story. The reality was that I had lost my sparkling bracelet. I had the car spare key in my jeans pocket. I wasn't with Siva the entire time that day. I was being accused of kidnapping the boy I lived with. I said no. It wasn't me. I never hurted Nathan Sykes. Why does he keep telling awful stories. I can not remember any of it. When you can't remember something it's because it never happend right?

Next thing I knew I was in an white room myself. They sended me to a doctor. The kind where you have to sit down and talk about every moment in each day. They want to figure out how you think, why you think certainly things. Telling your story over and over. They want you to lose it. Then they point at you and go "You see, you have a problem." They are my problem. This clinic where I have to stay. These doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists acting like they know me. Do I have to admit that I have a problem? I am not aware of any. Am I too young for answering life questions and thinking them trough? Yes. Absolutley. "I am fine." My favourite easy answer. Doctor Sanders used to reply with "I am fine. The most told lie by women."  Checkmate. The day in the park, from the moment I awoke until I fell a sleep. The police and doctor Sanders asked me every day to tell it. They were sure I left something out. Not on purpose. They believed it would come back, most likely in a dream sooner or later. They believed me. Doctor Sanders convinced a few people that I speak the truth. I honesty don't know how or when or why I did what I apparently did. Doctor Sanders said I once knew, now I still do but it's ignorant. My mind wasn't allowing me to block things any longer. It came back, step by step. I felt like an airplane passenger. The feeling that you can't control your life, you are to high. I was high too. High on speculations, anger, the way people looked at me. I was dirt. I was lying or an psychopath. I cried my heart out. I cried rivers. I used to pray 3 times a day, begging for memories, begging for more answers. Believe me, telling all was what I wanted. So I kept on telling my story like all the time before whithout new additions.