Click.
The feeling ticks in the middle of my chest, and spreads in a wave through my entire body.
It washes over me in the space between three seconds. First reaching for my neck and thighs, then spilling into my eyes and knees, onto my hair and toes. Like the tide, reaching its bubbling fingers over dry land, cold and warm and tingly. It's an echo, a promise. A secret, whispered into my ear, to keep for the future.
It's soft. It's staggering. It makes my body dissipate as my mind awakens, as if for the first time. It's something ancient. But new, untouched. A sixth sense, a new pair of eyes. For the first time, upon seeing his.
A lightness takes the place of the tension in every straining muscle in my body. An ease settles into my lungs. And breath comes easy.
He is as unmoving as I am, his entire body rigid, rooted into the wood of his porch. Not even a light breeze disturbs his blonde, wavy locks of hair. Somewhere far beyond, beyond us, disconnected voices echo into a fade. As does everything else at the blink of his dark, bottomless eyes.
Even from across the distance, I can see their color. Like burnt gold; like a black, starless sky, painted over with honey.
And I remember. At the twitch of his round lips into a whisper of a smile, I remember his name. It comes back to me in echos, in waves, in soft gusts of wind.
"Sky!" a man says, far away. "Come meet our neighbors!"
The string which was lifting the weight of my body snaps, and I land back down in a difficult breath. I return to myself, as soon as his eyes leave mine and look towards the parents still behind me.
When his body turns away from mine, I pivot to face the door, unable to glance back. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I was, what I was doing...
Door. Locked. Key.
The light tapping of his footsteps are still sounding when a miniature epiphany rises to me: I quickly peel the welcome mat from off the porch, snatch the key, and unlock the door. I have a foot past the threshold as soon as the lock gives in. And the instant I'm inside, my palms are upon the door; I glimpse one last flash of the people outside before frantically pushing it closed.
As I lean my back against the door, I barely care about the loud slam still resounding in the entrance room. I barely notice the air conditioning kissing my skin with its coolness. I can't seem to think of anything; my mind is blank, empty. Like a dumb, white sheet of paper. But in that emptiness resonates a color... a name.
Shoving them aside, and once again filling my head with thoughts of painkillers and hours of sleep, I push my body off the door, the mahogany groaning in answer.
The cool air greets me silently as I walk to the kitchen. The mere thought of the medicine cabinet is enough to make my migraine return. Or maybe I just forgot it was there. But a couple of pills will be useful, especially with the soreness of my muscles, especially with the ache in my back. It'll be even better if I can snatch some melatonin from my mom's room, and sleep through the afternoon until tomorrow.
As soon as I open the cabinet, I know exactly where the ibuprofen will be. And sure enough, there it is: at the top left corner of the pill bottle basket, next to vitamins and calcium, heartburn chewables and sore throat relievers.
I uncap the large bottle and tilt it sideways, placing the opening at my cupped palm; my hand must still be jittery, because I shake out half the contents of the bottle into my hand. I set down the bottle, using my other hand to catch the little capsules falling from the little mountain in my palm.
The sight alone is enough to make me pause right there, standing still in front of the open dish cupboard. So many pills, all at once...
It could be a happy accident, a voice within me says, if you just shrugged it off and swallowed them all. It could be easy.
Leaving all but two in my palm, I curl my hand into a passage for the pills as they tumble back into the bottle. Only because I can't image why shrugging off so many pills would make sense, and also because I know the worst an ibuprofen overdose can do is brain damage, liver failure, and other extremely uncomfortable situations. To say the least.
Yet still, the image lingers, as I walk up the stairs to my mom's room. The image of a handful of pills, as I search for and find melatonin. And as I drift to sleep, hoping for a dreamless void.
And it doesn't surprise me anymore; the reoccurring image, and the numbness that follows.
YOU ARE READING
Asunder
Teen Fiction"Promise me. Promise me you'll never beg someone to stay when they're already gone." Tangled up a million knots, Kingsley has lost faith in happiness. Her heavy heart struggles to continue to beat, and she is slowing down. It seems to her that the w...
