Sealed In » Laurmani

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I should've given up on love a long time ago.

It was a thought that crossed my mind around the same time that Christmas rolled around - what was normally known to me as our infamous time of the year. The time where we went with your family to cut down trees as a ploy for us to sneak to the most secretive spot and kiss the cold away. Or the dinner parties at my house every year where the mistletoe sat in the same spot between the kitchen and the living room, the place you always caught me, and sunk your lips to mine. There wasn't any moment I could really remember of you that didn't involve a source of intimacy, and I don't know who to blame for it. No one was there to tell me that this wasn't the way relationships were meant to go.

But that's all been left to be buried now. Mea culpa, I should've known better.

Christmastime meant huge parties at university to accept the fact that everyone was getting the hell out for the holidays, and even I couldn't avoid the turmoil. I guess that explains why I've been sitting in front of this damn mirror for so long.

The stretch marks you left surrounded my hips and trailed down to my thighs, and at first, I remember when I thought it was all a superstition. I would scrunch up my face at my grandmother's warnings and the shakes of my mother's head when I was nine and they started accumulating. Growing up, there were so many random phrases thrown around like, 'step on a crack, break your mother's back' that either scared me shitless as a kid, or were just plain stupid. But I wasn't a kid anymore, and the idea of getting a stretch mark each time I experienced heartbreak just seemed so dramatic the older I got.

But then you came into my life, and it was like you ignited this fire.

My father was something else; he hit, he screamed, and he slammed things. But you didn't do any of those things. For months, you let me believe you were someone I could love. We went on dates, we hung out all the time, we were always on the phone, it was like we couldn't get enough of each other. It became so much at one point that even my parents became suspicious. My stepfather would tell me that you seemed too attached, that calling me 24/7 wasn't normal, and that you would hurt me. Instead of listening, I remember being so offended, saying "Why won't anyone just let me be happy?" Looking back now, it was like I had happiness out of fear. Almost like if I didn't appreciate this moment, I wouldn't have another like it. Like no one would love me if it wasn't you.

Isn't it amazing how even in melancholy, we can't give up our ego?

I released the tension on the hem of the sweater in my hands, allowing it to fall past my underwear once again. I'd been getting dressed in the dark for months now, but sometimes I could see the imprint from the light that flooded in the hallway. It's like I couldn't escape this skin even if I tried, nevermind this life.

I jumped a mile in the air at the shrill ring of my phone, the vibrations against the desk making it sound ten times more urgent each time. Aaliyah was the only person to ever call me anymore, so I knew answering with my eyes closed didn't equal sudden death. I reached over and pressed the speaker button.

"Hey."

She breathed a sigh, as if she could unload a day's worth of work through the receiver of my phone. "When will nursing school stop being hard? I'm only one semester in and I feel like shaving my head just to give me one less thing to worry about in the morning."

I could feel the faintest of smiles dance across my lips.

"I don't think I'm qualified to answer that."