Ashling

Chapter 55

Ever lost track of time? Not knowing what day or date it is, what time it is. Not even knowing if the world outside your cocoon is even alive.

The only thing that tells you that time is indeed flying past, leaving you in your miserable state, is the sound of the clock ticking.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

I've grown way too accustomed to this. Never before did I pay attention to this pulsating sound that feels like it's poking on your brain; each tick louder than the previous one.

The other sound that has been clearly audible to me all this time, has been my heart beat.

Lub dub.

Lub dub.

There are 72 beats per minute. Multiply this by 60 and 24.

103680 beats in one day. This is another thing that reminds me how my life is inching forward, while I just stay where I am; huddled in my room with the curtains drawn so that there is no source of light.

The doctor told me that my body shut itself that day due to the emotional trauma. But I have a question. Why isn't my body shutting itself now? I know it has been days since the.. The incident. And each day has been more painful than the previous one. Every day I feel the exact same thing; denial, anger, defeat, sorrow. It's like a vicious cycle that refuses to cease.

The only difference is that it intensifies each day. The denial becomes so strong that I nearly lose my sanity. The anger builds up to such an extent that I feel like breaking and crushing everything. The defeat overtakes me like waves crashing on the shore and taking away the sand with them. The sorrow blankets me and threatens to suffocate me each time.

Every time I think that I had been dreaming, my body feels like it's being crushed. I start shaking violently and have a minor panic attack. Other times, I'm so tired that I just dismiss it as something inconsequential. I don't weep anymore. Every tear drop that could've been synthesized by my tear ducts has been used. There's nothing left anymore. I'm empty. I'm hollow.

The memories of the dreams have started to fade.

That's the thing about dreams; they're beautiful as long as you're in that other dimension. Then you wake up and no matter how hard you try, you can never remember the beauty of that dream.

There are times when I try to connect the fragments and make a big picture, anything that can help me recall how things were like.

I can't remember what she was wearing when I first met her. I can't remember how we met, actually. It kills me to think that I can't recount something so crucial.

I do remember our first date, only bits and pieces though. I'm glad I remember our first kiss, the way her soft and full lips felt against mine. I also know Just A Kiss was playing in the back. God, that part couldn't have been more perfect.

I remember the time we spent in the vortex tunnel. That was the first time she taught me to stand up on my own and be my own saviour. And look at me now.

I remember when she told me she loves me. I also remember how she looked standing by the window, looking outside. I hope I never forget these two images.

But most importantly - and I'm thankful for it - I remember her smile. The way her lips curved perfectly and her eyes sparkled. I remember her eyes and the many shades of green they radiated. I remember the warmth of her skin every time she touched me. I remember these little things.

And as much as I'm thankful, it's these little things that cause the most pain.

You know how they say 'Time heals all wounds'?

Bullshit.

I'm pretty sure the person who said that was extremely drunk or a little bit off with his mind.

Time never heals wounds. Because, quite frankly, time never helps you, nor it waits for you. You think you can lean back on time and let it heal you? Guess what? You're wrong. It'll fly past you before you even have time to think that 'there is time'. See the irony there?

How can something so unreliable possibly heal you? Every time you'll think of that tragedy or traumatic incident, you'll hurt. It's your mind that would've gotten used to the pain and so that raw feeling wouldn't be there. But you'll hurt nevertheless.

Time doesn't heal you, it just reminds you that the world is moving past you while you're stuck in your pathetic state. And that is why you make the unconscious effort to get out of that black hole you've been succumbed in. You and your faith are the healers. Not time.

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I'm aimlessly roaming in the living room, wondering why I left the dimness of my room, when the door bell rings.

I sigh. It's probably Sam or Suzanna. Or both. They've been coming every day, sometimes twice a day, to check up on me. They clean my home, make me eat, watch TV with me, make some small talk, and then hopelessly go home.

It's not that I'm being ungrateful or unappreciative. I love them for sticking with me in my hard time. But it's just that I feel mean and selfish whenever they come and help me out. Because it's not working.

At first, they had acted to be all reserved with each other; not kissing too much or showing any signs of affection. They were behaving like two people on their first date, not like a couple who's been together since what feels like eternity. It frustrated me and I lashed out at them. I told them to be normal and be themselves. They don't have to keep their hands off each other just because I might feel sad and lonely. That's just stupid. So now, thankfully, they're back to their clingy self.

I take a deep breath and open the door to reveal a beaming Suzanna.

"Hey, Zanna." I smile lightly as I greet and hug her gently.

She, on the contrary, hugs me tightly and plants a kiss on my cheek. "Hey, idiot. How've you been?"

"Same old, same old."

"Well.." She puts her bag on the couch and stands with her hands on her hips. "We're gonna change that. Today, I'm not your annoying friend. But today, I'm your therapist."

I look blankly at her. "Huh?"

She smiles softly. "We're gonna talk about Cassandra today."

My chest tightens at the sound of her name and I feel something break inside me again.