Read A Song

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

Song : Do I Wanna Know?
Singer(s) : Arctic Monkeys
Requested by : @zombiesandcomedies
I have no idea what this is, why this is or how this is or why am I using such awkwardly phrased questions.

'Love isn't always beautiful. It's an intense and powerful emotion with an ability to change a person for the better or for worse. Like anything, it comes with its own set of risks.'

'Falling in love is the easy part. Falling out of it, well, it hurts, but wounds heal leaving behind nothing but faint scars of fond memories. When one does fall out of love, it's when both, the heart and the mind, has accepted that whatever was there earlier doesn't exist anymore.'

'But problems arise when the mind has understood that your loved one, in your case, she, is gone but the heart just won't acknowledge it. You need to let go, convince your body in a peaceful manner that what has happened has happened, the past cannot be altered. Until you do that, I'm afraid there's nothing much I can do. It is something that must be achieved by the person alone. A goal to whose path only you have the access to.'

That's what my therapist told me over the phone today morning. He has given up on my case is what he intended to say from the very beginning but being a therapist, he dragged it on and made it into a philosophical lecture which factually speaking, is incorrect.

Well, I can't say that I'm surprised, I actually expected him to quit long back. I've been his patient for seven long years by now and with negligible improvements (that's what he wrote in his notepad during our previous session), his reputation for being one of the best therapists across all of America was in danger.

I never expected him to make me better. Not quite sure why my parents did, maybe they just didn't want a hopeless and depressed romantic as a son.

I remember, within the very first month of my therapy with me just out of high school, he had diagnosed me with Schizoid Personality Disorder, Schizotypal Personality Disorders among others. Honestly, I pour out my heart to him, not by choice though but because my parents threatened me to, and he decorates me with labels.

But I can't really blame him, can I? People, in general, love putting labels on everyone and everything. From characters to people, categorising them into labels is so much easier than actually trying to understand them. To the society, I am labeled as that rich loner guy that stutters and does nothing for a living, the one who is a burden to their parents, the one who can never be anything successful.

But I couldn't care less. These people can go fuck themselves. There's one and only one person who's opinion on me truly matters because unlike others, she understands me. I know she does. She sees beauty in everything, no matter how broken. She's just perfect like that.

I loved her the second our eyes had met. Call it love at first sight or the effect cupid's arrow, her face was all that flashed before my eyes each time they opened. Her luscious, brown locks, those brown eyes and her petite figure. I was madly in love with her and there was no denying it. I dreamt of her confessing her love to me. But, for starters, I didn't even know whether or not she returned my feelings. I was too much of a pussy to ask her that.

But now I do. A couple years ago, I confessed my love to her and she gladly returned my feelings. She said she felt that pull too, the first time she saw me. But her shyness got the best of her and she tried to suppress them. However, now that she has understood that I love her back, we're dating.

The very thought of her makes my body ache with longing to see her again. I take a deep breath and try to calm my anxious mind, consoling myself with the idea that I'll meet her again tonight. I meet her every night, it's a routine.

Which is about three hours away.

Can I wait?

I can't.

With that thought, I spring up from my bed and snatch my headphones off my ears, which've been playing "Do I wanna know?" by Arctic Monkeys on repeat for the past hour, not just anxious now but rather desperate to see her. She's my drug, my addiction. Some may say it's unhealthy, but I cannot think of anything else that makes me happier than her presence. And well, happiness is the key to a healthy mind, hence, a healthy body.

Breathing anxiously, I walk hastily to the opposite wall of my room. A tiny, almost invisible button lies engraved on it. I press it repeatedly for I've ran out of patience to see her. The wall separates itself into two, revealing a room behind.

My parents had this hidden room made for me using their big, fat credit cards. Earlier, the contents of this room where in my bathroom, but my parents felt that was unsafe and that they would lose their reputation if anyone found out. They had attempted to dispose of it. I remember that day vividly.

"Leave her alone! Don't touch her!" I scream as I witness the second most horrific scene I've ever seen in my life.

Her funeral being the first.

And now, that I had found her again, my parents were destroying her by throwing away all that makes her.

They had just returned from one of their monthly long business trips and unfortunately, I didn't hear the front door open. Considering it's a three storey mansion, my mistake is justifiable. They had walked in on me while I had decided to spend some time with her.

"Son, this is madness! Have you lost your mind?" My dad screams back, his eyes filled with anger. "Collecting...pictures of a girl? Clothes? What is wrong with you?"

They don't understand. They never did and never will. Why can't they see that she's important to me?

"There's nothing wrong with what I've done," I seethe with anger. Being couple inches taller than him, I feel dominant, a feeling foreign around my father. "I've recreated what God took away from me."

My dad, who was infuriated before, now just stands still in shock, his eyed as wide as saucers. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I've left him speechless.

"We've lost him," my mom, who's been sobbing from the minute she saw me with her. "Our son's mad."

Not one of my best days.

But then again, ever since my parents proclaimed me as unhinged, none of my days have been good, excluding the times that I'm with her. They've kept me locked in here, so no one finds out about my so-called "mental illness".

I couldn't care less what they think.

Walking into the room and taking a long look at all the pictures that I could find, steal or draw of her, all those clothes, cosmetics, all her favourite movies, her laptop, her everything, I smile as she pulls me in for a kiss.

The song is more of the backstory part rather than the present so...yeah, I suck at coordinating my stories with the actual song.