Mid-Life Crisis (WIP)

Two Birds on a Wire

        I scraped both knees falling for him, Charlie. Tumbled down a flight of stairs for him. That little girl with copper eyes and a bruised smile came rushing back. It's thirteen year old me scuttling up in thrifty fashion attire just lusting for a taste of love. Rosy sunkissed cheeks, black slip-dress, my funeral, grade eight band concert, our funeral. That was the last day I really talked to him,  everything I had left of him felt dull. Black and white, teen romance gone sour. He left like nothing but a whisper in the past although I so desperately wanted him in my future... He simply wouldn't tag along. I blinked my eyes twice, they were thick with a coat of gritty gravel. My hair felt gelled as I ran my fingertips through it much like his. His hair was unkempt and messy, I could simply never fix it, he never really let me fix it. Sniffing twice at the solitary air I caught a fringe of my own despair, it hung before my head like a black raincloud that promised even more rain. The thoughts stopped, but for how long could they stay put? I barely even thought twice about all the memories I had left, they shed off me like a snakeskin each time I had a little cry. The little cries made the waters grow more shallow, but I was still stuck in the middle of a huge ass ocean. The crux of my head began to pound again, a memory shell-shocking me to my bed. 

     Dammit, not a panic attack. Not now. So close to holding everything again, tut tut. Tell me, Chloe, that you hate him with every fibre of you!

          I'm so stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! It's all scribbled on the walls, the walls that teeter and threaten to close in on me. I'm an inch from everything in my room but at the same time, it all feels so far away. I can't move, I'm petrified rock! Fuck! My head starts spinning, if it wasn't for my eyelids impeding my vision every few seconds I'd be laying on the floor. No tears erupt from my eyes, I guess my brain hasn't had enough of its self-torture. Why do I feel like this? I almost mummer out loud through my ears. Hot steam drenches my chilly lips as I sigh up a lung, wish I could throw it all up.

       "I hate this," I say monotoned. I evened up to my crawling head, taking fistfuls of my hair and shaking it up until it truly was scrambled, scrambled like eggs. I could throw up, but I don't, somehow keeping my guts in as I dry heave over my trash bin. I'm spiralling, freefalling off the bridge I built up into the marinas trench. Why aren't I on pills? Finally, something impedes my breakdown, hope flickering in my baggy eyes. Phone. The little buzz and blue flicker made my whole body jump as if I was hit with a 20-volt stun gun. I thrust my hand into the library, snatching the phone.

        "Shit, Conner." I stumbled and spilled out onto the floor in my human burrito, I swear the contents of my brain spilled out right there. I don't smile, but I also don't frown, just pick at my lips and go on wishing I had a shotgun. I crawled back up, jelly-legged. With the mattress being my best friend it was hard not to worm my way back, especially when I knew I was gonna get kicks from my little "phone-a-friend". The truth is, I was in limbo. Stick to stuck-up-Charlie or go have freedom with someone who'd really care like Conner, I was in stupid denial, closer to a dumbass than anything. Conner was the guy you'd expect would talk and joke so much your guts would hurt, the perfect guy in my standards, damn I'm easily amused. Matter of fact, he was that guy. I didn't have to scrape anything falling for him, it was a trust-fall. Hell, I didn't know him too well... but that would definitely change. Showcase. My head denied the showcase, going with the old "hey" with an abundance of y's sure left me asking why. Was the smiley face a mistake too? Three days into texting him, three days... could I spill the milk now? Admit I'm crazy? The old, 

       "How are you doing?" Always gave me chills. I pull back, breath out love and admit to my lie. I couldn't make a facade, he was a sweet guy... right? A simple, 

"Wish I could be better." made even me worried... Perfect. Minutes go by, watching the little dots with dropping patience as he typed what I thought would be a paragraph by now. I'm making a mistake, can't quit the pounding in my brain. Message received, heart dropped. I'm due for another dry heave. 

      "Oh, are you okay?" He does care, makes me feel Looney for the guy, makes me regret loving someone before who felt dick all. Brain stump, tell him I'm crazily depressed even though he knows? My fingers hit send even before I read what I really said... Shit, okay commit.

         "No, not really. Emotions in my mind are animals out of cages in a zoo haha. You know how I am, depressed, anxious, all the in-betweens. I'm a lot."

         Regretting to add another "haha" made me scuttle deep into the covers. He'll be worried... Oh god, I worried him. Easier than talking, yes. Easier than deciphering the meaning of it all in a text, no. I shrunk, wanting to die or just disappear.

..."That's not good"

      Shit, counter. My fingers refused. I busted out all the cards. What I said was slimy, gushy, god I suddenly wanted his cold hands against the mush of mine. I chewed the side of my mouth as I read the message I delivered, bullets to the head. My teeth were knawing slivers through my hand by the time I reached the end of the message. I didn't want to talk about it, but somehow that became head topic, my horrid mind duality. Something in me got too comfortable maybe the fact that he slid into the direct messages first through the number my friend gave, you guessed it, the number was mine. He relieved me as his words came rushing in like a shield to the bullets, he understood... But wanted me to elaborate. I did, my brain pouring out. How did I manage to explain to someone who didn't feel depression and anxiety in the same rodeo? I'm glad he didn't, I couldn't see him suffering the same horrid fate I do each day. I put the phone down. Down. Let it settle into the mattress, don't pick it up. I'm dreaming. He answered, oh god. Everything is a streamline of tears, I fell, flew, then broke with grace. I couldn't tell him I was crying, an ugly smile scrambled under my crinkled nose.

             "I'm so damn miserable, but I feel like I can trust you."

      How could I trust him? My breath became methane gas to my nostrils, a gentle layer of haze slithering along my corneas. Did I deserve to feel this? Care, the word spooked me. I get it people care about me but this made the crazy reality go haywire, it made my adrenaline skyrocket. I was balancing on a tightrope. My friends were below me, their arms outstretched to catch me if I fell. Then there was someone before me, at my hand. Conner, we're perched like two birds on the wire. His hand gripped mine, leading me forward, my legs of jelly only holding us back. I could just shuffle my feet off the edge... Or shuffle towards him. I couldn't let go whatever the hell I did, I was frozen. My normal would be to grasp whatever I could but why should I? I still considered the fall. I fantasized that I could fly away with Connor if I just lifted a foot over the edge. Did he bare wings? Or was he too convinced that I did? 

Were two introverts getting along splendidly, actually having a conversation surprised me, we clicked with flurries of dumb questions. My unhealthy, happy head slowly crawled up the ladder to the high, him being a drug the longer we chatted in keystrokes. I couldn't stop, I lived my dream of simply learning more about him... Maybe more about myself, maybe he knew too much about me. My mind lingered on the card to the right of me. The word friendship was in cursive, spiralling up the side and sprouting out a rose. Blue and red pen lines everything so splendidly, the rose popped to a pretty violet. That was the friendship card I made for him two weeks back in limbo, it expelled the way I really tied him to my fingertip. I didn't just want his friendship, I wanted to love, maybe try even his? The fine dotted line was severing me and Charlie apart. My lips were sealed, speaking terms with Charlie were nada. The quickening skip of my heart was deafening my ears. Conner did make me the happiest damned girl on the planet, but why did I feel so corrupt? Guilt ate at me. Could I really like him? No, surely not. Deny. Deny... Deny it! Goddamnit! Hand... He held my hand the first time we met, why did I want that again? His damned smile shot me down, I loved being shot down by it. He smiled... At me! A call was in order, but I had to get out of the house, escape more than just my brain, escape the hell-hole I dug myself in over Charlie. I promised I wouldn't dig my grave, but somehow I did... again, but here Comes Conner the gravedigger to pull me back up.