catharsis.

a conversation with fear.

I loathe these appointments.

I never arrange to meet him on purpose, but I always find myself at his dinner table nonetheless.

he looks the same as always; slicked hair, scar-like mouth, eye sockets empty in his gaunt skull.

he bows low, a mocking grin on his face. "have a seat."

I sit.

the banquet table looks like it's set for twenty, but I know better. there'll be no one here but him and I; no one else to curb his torment.

he sweeps his hand across the table. "help yourself."

I don't. everything is painted in shadows and shades of grey. the food is stale as if they are remnants from a forgotten feast from long ago, and cobwebs fill the empty wine glasses.

he shrugs at my stiffness, and not letting it perturb him, seats himself and begins to eat.

"it's him again, isn't it?" he says, spearing a limp slice of old meat with his fork.

I don't reply. Just watch him open his skull-like maw as he enjoys his meal. my appetite worsens.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"there's really no point in lying, my dear," he drawls, giving me a small smile. "we've known each other far too long for that."

I close my eyes.

he wipes at the side of his mouth with a napkin. "you already know he's going to leave."

I flinch. "don't."

"he left once," the man continues. he turns his empty eye sockets towards me. "what makes you think he won't do it again?"

I swallow. squeeze my eyes shut. try to bring to mind reason, logic, truth –

"that wasn't him leaving," I say, but the words taste dull on my tongue. "it wasn't. you're twisting this."

the man smiles. the motion splits his face in two from ear-to-ear, his mouth looking like a long, black scar. "am I?"

he knows.

he sets his fork down a little too harshly on the table. my eyes follow the gesture. he's frustrated.

"when, stupid girl, will you learn?" he says. exasperated, like he's talking to a toddler. "time and time again I tell you, but you never listen. you keep hoping. keep loving. and what does it get you?" he throws the napkin down on the table. it knocks over a grime-covered bowl. "nothing. absolutely nothing but pain, and heartbreak, and shadow. don't you get it? the world is unpredictable. love is unpredictable. nothing is set in stone. nothing is eternal. you cannot trust anything, anyone, but fear." he slams both palms on the table, leaning forward as he clutches the moth-eaten tablecloth in both fists. I wince. "why I tell you these things, why I do all this, is just so I can protect you, you naive ingrate. you are better off mine, and you are better off alone."

silence. his heavy breaths. my racing heartbeat.

the seconds tick tick tick by.

"you're not trying to protect me," I say. soft, soft like a hidden secret. "you're trying to stop me from living."

his tall, lanky body stiffens. I meet his empty, empty stare, that gaze as wide and yawning as the abyss.

and he laughs.

laughs like a roaring wave. laughs like a triumphant king with riches aplenty. laughs so hard that the entire room shakes.

and then he stops. abruptly, like hitting pause on a record. he moves slowly, as if he feels all the creaks in his joints, and slowly stalks over to me on long, thin limbs.

he towers over me. bends over and leans his brow right against mine. the abyss stares straight into me, and I stare right back.

curtain call.

"you forget, my dear," he whispers in my ear, "that there is always some bit of truth to be found in fear."

he vanishes like a wisp of black smoke, and so does the banquet table. I wake up where I am supposed to be, in a bed next to a wide, wide window, with summer sunlight spilling through.

everything is normal.

everything is okay.

but the taste of Fear still stays.