That Ship Has Sailed

Reader's Decision

There are 2 people in this scene. You choose who is who. Comment before you read!

I'm flying. There's nothing around me and no thoughts in my brain. I'm weightless and, in many ways, nonexistent. I see shapes and colors, but for now, nothing hurts.

I'm floating. The colors are spreading through the abyss. I'm able to see them. They're dark and light and coming fast. I'm aware of my hands now. I see them, reaching for the colors.

I'm falling. The colors are chasing me. The shapes are more defined and I feel my weight now, like bricks being added onto me one by one at an alarming rate. Then, it's over. I open my eyes and see the wall. The floor. The chairs and tables. It's all back and the pain in my head eminates the laughter of the voice in my head.

"You're back," it tells me, "Reality always wins."

I rub my eyes and squeeze the arm of my chair in my hand until I hear it rip beneath my fingernails and feel my hand shaking. I remove my hand, taking the other from my eyes to scratch my head. I dig away at my hair, trying to reach the confines of my mind so I may attack the voice and make it stop.

Blood drips down my face and still I scratch. I'm almost there. I just have to get through the flesh. I'm almost there.

Suddenly, my hands are grasped tightly. I don't know what's going on. My mind is still hazy and I'm unsure of who has ahold of me, but judging by the force and strength, they mean business.

I fight. I was almost there. I'd almost silenced the voice. They stopped me.

I lash out with my blood stained hands, fresh flesh still under my fingernails from where I'd been digging. I hear loud noises and I punch at them, though they still ring in my ears. I don't speak, I only yell and punch.

Then, I'm stuck. I can't move. It's not like before, I still feel heavy and the voice still mocks me, but I'm unable to move. I feel myself being moved, but I cannot control what is happening to my body.

The voice that was yelling becomes softer now, but I still cannot make out any legible sounds.

I stop caring. I don't fight. I just lie there. I close my eyes, the bright light piercing through my retinas and making my head pound with each beat of my heart. My head feels hot, then, cold. Very cold. It's wet now, but I don't know why. I choke. I sputter. I'm drowning and then I'm not. An apology reaches my conscious mind and I recognize the voice. It's kinder than usual. Softer. Gentler.

The movements of my body are not voluntary, but they are gentle now. My head begins to feel relief. The cold turns to cool and I feel it being wrapped. It's tight, but not too much so. I'm sitting now. Lounging maybe. Something heavy is lain on top of me. I can't move, though I try. Then, something touches my lips. I part them to investigate and something warm slips past them. A liquid. Some chunks. Broth, maybe. I keep it in my mouth to taste it. It's beef or chicken. Perhaps both or perhaps neither. It's delicious. I open my mouth, eager for more.

After a few more bites, my head feels less pain and I'm able to open my eyes. I see more clearly now, though it's darker. I turn my head, following the source of the spoon that is feeding me. It's held by a hand. The hand is attached to an arm. The arm, to a shoulder and the shoulder, to a body. The body holds a head on top, as bodies normally do. The head has a face with gentle lines around it's kind eyes and a look of concern drawing it's eyebrows together in the middle. Looking into the grey eyes, I recognize the face. I close my eyes again, shame and disgrace filling my body.

I clear my throat, deciding to try my voice out.

"I've done it again, haven't I?"

"Yes," the voice says, "Yes you have, but it's fine. I came back. I always come back."

"Quite right," I reply, "You're the only thing I can rely on."

The body doesn't speak again, but brings the spoon to my mouth again. I take a few more bites, then shame makes me stop opening my mouth.

I hear the body get up and leave. The door remains open behind them, presumably so they can hear if I start to do something I shouldn't, like remove the hat from my head.

My body is too weak to move, so I lie there, eventually turning onto my side, the light from the hallway disrupting my desire to sleep.

Later, though I don't know how much, I hear the door creak and then shut. It's very dark now. I feel hot and cold all at once and my head pounds again. Then, everything stops as I feel the covers open beside me. I open my eyes and search through the darkness. The bed depresses beside me and the body lies down. I stare with wide eyes as the body closes the covers behind them, turning to look at me. Their hand reaches to my face and rests against my cheek. It's cold against the heat of my face, but it is a welcome feeling.

I close my eyes again.

"You don't have to keep doing that to yourself."

I open my eyes to look at the grey ones. They are sad.

"It's an alternative to other things," I reply, my hoarse voice soft in the quiet room.

"But as long as I'm here, you don't need to keep doing it. Let me help you."

I stare into the grey eyes and I know what the body wants. I can sense it. Feel it. I move my head forward, though it throbs and they move theirs, effortlessly.

I open my mouth slightly and attach my lips to their waiting ones. I pause. Let it linger. Allow them to feel peace of mind. Then I pull away.

I turn over in my bed and hear the body sigh. Their arm wraps around me and I let it. I close my eyes again and let sleep overtake my tired body. Sleep works, temporarily. When I wake, I don't know what I'll do. For now. Sleep.