reality of love

04

"If you're feeling tight around the chest, try to go outside for air, maybe it'll help." I remember my therapist say as I start hyperventilating. I quickly get a jumper from my closet and put it on.

One, two, three, four, five.

I walk hastily down the stairs and unlock my door.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

I get out, lock and close the door then tried to breathe in the air, but failed, feeling like something is blocking it from coming in. I try again and again, but fail each time.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

I break down and dig my nails into my skin, trying to distract myself from it. I try to breathe in again but the same thing happens.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

I put my hands on my head start pressing it, feeling the tears dripping on my chest and trickle down my chest. "Breath in" I hear my therapist say in my head "and out." I keep on repeating that until I finally get it.

Breathe in and out, come you can do this. I try to hype myself up. I continue to focus on the breathing and fifteen minutes later, I get it. Tears still falling from my face, I cover my eyes and went back to focusing on counting to four this time.

One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.

I was finished crying but I realize that I had locked myself out. Why am I such a failure at life? I think and feel the tears build up. I punch the door and fall to the floor. The tears falling down my face again. It's cold, I'm crying and this jumper isn't doing shit to warm me up. I cry even more, feeling pain coming from my arm. I look down to see it bleeding because of me. "The only thing you shouldn't do while crying is hurt yourself even more." My therapist scolds me after I told her that I dig down on my skin.

"You okay?" A voice ask from above me. The person grabs my hand that I use to hurt myself with and intertwine our fingers. "Don't hurt yourself." I look up to the person, it was a he. He had blue and green eyes with little specks of gold in it. Thick, rosy pink lips and smells of detergent and lemons. It was my neighbor.

He waits for me to calm down, which almost took me an hour before he asked me what was wrong.

"I'm locked out," I whisper.

He picks me up bridal style and brings me to his house. As per usual, he has trouble putting the key in the lock. He does it after four tries and grumbles "fucking finally" to himself. He carries me up to the second floor and brings me inside, from what it looks like his room. He puts me down on his bed and he sits down next to me. Silence came afterwards, so I took the time to look around of his room.

It was neat and minimalistic. It had a small bookshelf, a table for his lampshade together with an open book and a bed. Everything was dark coloured except for his bookshelf. His bed frame was black, together with his covers, blanket and pillows. His lampshade was a dark grey and his table for it was black. The bookshelf was clearly made out of birch wood. His books were a mixture of all colours except yellow.

"It's not much," He says while shrugging. "Do you want food?" He ask and stands up, wiping the imaginary dirt of his hand on his pants.

"You don't ha-"

He cuts me off by saying, "From the grumbling of your stomach while you were crying, you need food."  And leaves to get food.

I look at the window he normally sits on at night. There were cigarette butts together with ashes and burnt mark on the left side. The right side was clean, unlike the left. I guess he sits there. I turn to the bookshelf and saw a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a book that was torn up, it looked old.

He comes back with a tray of chicken soup and bread. He puts it on the bed carefully and walks to his bedside table. He puts the lampshade and the book on the floor and drags the table in front of me. He picks up the tray and places it on the table.

"Thanks," I pick up a piece of bread and dip it into the soup. I bite into the soaked bread and swallow it without chewing because of how soft it was.

He picks up bread and gets the fork besides the soup. He looks for a chicken cube, he finds up seconds after and dips the bread into the soup. He puts the chicken in his mouth first before biting into the bread.

******

When we were done eating he picks up the tray and puts it back into the dishwasher. He comes back inside and goes back to sitting next to me.

I was expecting that he would ask about why I was crying but he didn't, which surprised me.

"Do you wanna sleep here?" He ask me instead.

I nod and lay on back, "Thank you," I say quietly but he doesn't hear. "Thank you," I say louder than the last time.

He looks at me, "It's nothing."

I lay properly on the bed and he stands up. He walks out and closes the door.

When he came back, his hair was wet and he was wearing different clothing than before. He walks to the bookshelf and gets the battered book next to the cigs. He picks up a pack of cigarettes and opens it. He takes out one and get the lighter beside it. He lights it up and takes a huge inhale from it before exhaling some through his mouth and some through his nose. He walks to the window and sat on it. He opens the book and just stares at it. I could tell he wasn't reading because he never flipped the pages.

After a while, I start to feel sleepy. I cover myself with the blanket and stared at his back. He turns around when he notices me staring and quickly, I close my eyes to pretend that I was sleeping.

He walks over and lays on the bed, covering himself with the blanket too. He shifts in his bed, looking for a comfortable spot. He finds in later and sleeps.

I sleep after, feeling relaxed from his presence. I slept and I slept good. It was the first time I slept like this since eleven years.