half of my heart // hs ON HOLD

one

Nicotine flooded my faded dreams, the only piece of light spotted against my soul, my chest crushing against the cold winter night. The chain rustled against my neck, the clasp icy against the back of my head, small strands of loose curls blanketing the simple metal. With my feet hanging over the edge, I stared at the gentle water, the soul of our love, the dimples peeking through the ripples, my life holding on by a thread, and I thought of him.

679 Days Before

Ireland was cold, sour, bubbly, that kind of feeling that made your eyes automatically sleepy, your soul wide awake but your bones a bag of sleep. It wasn't the kind of vacation where the second you step off the plane, you fling your sunglasses off, flip your hair, and scream in excitement. It was more of a cold coffee drinking, hot chocolate sipping, depression filled four months.

My rear was numb, sitting down for hours on end made my bones turn to jello, never satisfied, but never enough ambition to even try to get up. The stool under me even gave up on me. Thirty minutes later and I was still sipping on the same ole' hot chocolate from every other coffee shop I've ever been to. An hour and a half and I was on my second. Before anyone told me to slow down or my throat might actually ascend into hell, I was tipping the cup to the ceiling, emptying my third chocolatey drink that wasn't actually even good, the burn just made me feel like my heart wasn't the only thing in pain.

I was never the one to be fond of company, and the existence of the living thing that had absorbed my atmosphere and was now situated two seats to my left began to make my skin crawl with the annoyance that made my lungs scream out with agony.

I stared ahead, my eyes burning two delicate holes into the way too thin but never too thick enough glass window, my skin melting under the soul two spaces beside me, eyes setting on the side of my cold blooded cheek.

I kept my negativity to myself, but my sour attitude was bond to shows it's true colors soon, a matter of fact, I feel it boiling over now.

I coiled my neck to the left, my eyes taking a nap on the creature beside me, who had no shame to stare right back. Grey eyes danced along the ring of fire as my breath was sucked into my lungs, tucked into the sheets, and locked into a deep chamber of missing air.

I glanced at the time and contemplated whether or not it would be the right time to leave now or not. A chuckle seemed to escape bleeding lips and I shuddered as the stool screeched beneath his body.

Rusting beneath his knuckles, fingertips let go of burning leather, the black blending into my soul as coffee stained pages fluttered across the laminated table.

The second my eyes returned to the space to my left, it was empty, the room was so thin I could breathe and it would snap in two. Almost as if he were never there, as if it was just my fucked up mind adding vivid imaginations.

I scanned the book sitting in front of me, its cover taunting me to open it, but how could I? How could someone just accept an invitation to something like that, its bullshit, some creepy ass man just sliding a rusty old leather book in front of me and fluttering back into his hell hole- not right.

But who do you think I am and where do you think this story is going? So yes, in case you were wondering, I opened that damn book, and yes I flipped off the woman beside me who flinched when I muttered one of my all time personal favorite phrases, 'what the fuck'.

There in bold ink was the eight letter name that I wish I could just give to Satan, he would look better in it than I do. Veronica Flynn Atkinson. That god awful name written for the devil, he himself and only him.

I flipped through the first ten pages in less than three seconds and found myself utterly bored, my brain seeking into the energy being recited behind my back from the whole shop as ice slid like wheels on a car across the tiled floors, my fingers slamming the cover into place, shoving the book or whatever the hell that is, a good three spaces on my game board.