Worthwhile

iv.

Clio;

My brain,  resembling a long hall enclosed with windowless walls, stretched the three letter word for quiet some time then as though bouncing on a surface, it reverberated in my head.

Ely. . .

The name is irrelevant but I held on to it like how it clung to me, afraid to be forgotten. The stupid boy revealed his name. I met his gaze and though small, his coffee-brown eyes were piercing; soul-searching. I averted mine, hesitant that he will look through the part that I dare not anyone see. The effort was futile though as he already mapped his way to figure me out.

"What's your story?"

His tone was gentle, silvery as though the notes flowed freely but with amity; it was a question that is violating, but as the words escaped from his lips they were oddly soothing. I turned my gaze back, drifting from his unmade hair; brown curls fell, resembling the waves of the ocean, to the delicate traits etched on his face; the only thing that was out of place is the familiar pain wrapping his whimsical look, then I met his, once again.

"If you don't want to shake my hand, you can just say so."

I dipped my head a bit and saw that he was extending his arms. I didn't notice it until now. "It's not that I don't want to, I just think it's germy." I croaked, tilting my head back in place.

"Oh," he noted in understanding. "You're OC?"

"An OC mess," I quipped.

After sometime of being enveloped in silence, Ely awkwardly spoke again and offered if I wanted to sit. I think he was just trying to lure me away from the ledge as he led me round the back.

An old wooden bench leaned against the wall as the entrance was sitting on the center of this rooftop. We settled on it comfortably without making any sound. Bringing my arms across my chest for warmth, I stared at the clear sky above.

How do you save a person who doesn't want to get saved?  I mused.

From the moment I decided to go out of my way to save this boy beside me, my cluttered head took the form of a blank canvas, I was lost on what to do. When I finally came face to face with him, I was afraid that whatever I say will drive him further to his death—my sudden intrusion was already enough to drive him mad— so I did what I was good at; to remain impassive. I was a master of masking everything I feel so it was a piece of cake.

I honestly do not know how this night will turn out but I'm glad that at this moment, we're still here, trying to make sense the insanity of it all. And also, I'm glad that he didn't take my throwing-away-of-celibacy seriously. I was ready to run off if he ever showed the slightest interest of taking my clothes off.

It was a stupid thing for me to say. I bit my lower lip to stop myself from smiling.

"Is it serious?" He asked, breaking the stillness between us. "Your OCD, I mean."

"I've mild OCD, BD-1 and Panic Disorder, and as you may have noticed already, I suffer from Anorexia Nervosa." The words flowed out of my mouth as though they have been waiting to be spilled all along.

"Geez, the things Google tell you."

I immediately turned my head towards him as my heartbeat quickened its pulse and heat crept up my neck. I wanted to scream at him that I was not making things up and they're medical diagnosis from my Shrink but I couldn't.

After all, who would be proud to admit that they're mentally ill?

I shrank back, feeling small on my seat. Crazy, attention-seeker... the stigma that people cast were too loud in my head. The words felt as though they were chains around my neck, strangling me. My breath hitched and I could feel the tightening of my chest.

"Shit, are you okay?" Worried, he got up from his seat and crouched in front of me. I was still trying to stabilize myself as I grasped for air. I heard him cursed again and again unsure of what to do. He stood, but before he could take a step, I pulled his hand. I felt dizzy.

"Stay," I said between heavy breaths. And he did. Gently, he began to stroke my back with his free hand and I closed my eyes. I rested my head on his belly, trying to take in his gentleness while I was calming myself. I resolved not to submit to any panic or depressive episode tonight. I was bent on not ruining my pre-death list.

I am not sure how many minutes ticked by but we stayed like that until my panic attack have steadied. He sat back on the bench but this time, closer to me without letting go of my hand.

"It's true," I said. "My mild OCD, my type I Bipolar Disorder, my Panic Disorder and my being anorexic. I know it sounds too much but that's what my doctor said; to put it simply my head is fucked up."

I felt his light squeeze on my hand; a gesture of reassurance, regret, apology. "For a moment there, I thought of dragging you with me to the ledge to end everything already but I can't." I said with my eyes fixed on the vastness of the sky, wishing it'd come down and take me whole.

"We'd be like Romeo and Juliet, then." He tried to joke to lighten up the mood. I squeezed his hand back.

"Romeo and Juliet were lovers," I started with my tone barely audible. "We are but strangers tangled by chance to meet tonight. We are two teenagers; suicidals, waiting for the perfect moment to kiss death with hello." I paused, letting the silence linger for a few moments than I intended.

I spun my head to meet him in the eyes. "Ely...we are not a love story."

——

❝ I can't unfeel your pain
    I can't undo what's done
I can't uncry your tears
I can't rewind the time
I can't unsay what's said
In your crazy life
But if I could I would
So when you feel like
You can't take another round
Of being broken
My arms are open❞
— The Script

I reached a thousand words for this after staring at my phone for four painful hours. It seems like a filler but i  hope this isn't too shabby for an update T_T

written raw (21.11.17// 9:03 pm)