Cherry Wine

epilogue

"The floor seemed wonderfully
solid. It was comforting to
know I had fallen
and
could
fall
no
further."
                 ~ Sylvia Plath

January 18, 2022

I woke up reeking of death.

In my dreams, I was free. Everything was in my reach and I wasn't hurting anymore. In my dream, I could feel it. I was bleeding, but the pain was euphoric. Death was so close.

And then I woke up.

Everything was the same. Noah was sleeping peacefully next to me, his arm slung around me, possessive and suffocating.

The air was chilly. I removed myself from his grip and stared at the wall. I frowned when I saw that there was a speck of dried blood on it, from when Noah had smashed my head on the wall. It was during our third year anniversary. I had to get that cleaned. I had to get that cleaned. I had to get that cleaned.

But I sat on the bed for some more time, simply staring. For hours or mere minutes, I didn't know. Time was an unfamiliar concept now. Nothing was solid, nothing was grounding. My past, present and future merged and writhed and warped together and everything was so hazy and chaotic. My head hurt just thinking about it.

When I looked at Noah, the pressure in my chest grew. It grew and grew and grew, till I was nothing but a void, an endless abyss. It's that feeling you get when you are done crying a river, that numbing emptiness spreading everywhere and no matter how much you try, it refuses to leave. You're not sad, you're not angry. You are empty. And that's just so much worse.

He looked just the same as he did when I first saw him. Or maybe he didn't. I didn't know. I didn't know anything except that gnawing emptiness in my chest.

"I love you," I found myself whispering. As soon as those words left my mouth, I felt filthy and cheap. Like a liar, a thief, a low-life. Because I didn't know what love was, did I? I knew what passion meant. I knew what pain and guilt felt like. I knew what gratitude and shame was. But love? I didn't know what that meant and maybe I never did. And even if I did know, it wasn't enough.

It was never enough for him.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to stand.

A wave of dizziness hit me as soon as my foot touched the ground. I couldn't even bring myself to groan. Too tiring. Everything was so fucking tiring.

I grabbed my brush and squirted some paste on it. I brushed my teeth robotically, staring at my reflection. Green smoke filled up my empty chest and I finally felt something: hatred.

Lifeless eyes, hollowed out cheeks and protuding bones. I shouldn't be alive. And yet here I was, looking at myself with hatred so acidic that it burnt my insides, doing something that I didn't want to do.

I should've died that day. That seizure should've killed me. But it didn't. 'Its a miracle that she's alive,' the doctor had said. But I wasn't surprised all that much. I was used to it by that time. Dancing on the line between life and death wasn't new to me.

He cried so much when I was in the hospital. And he yelled and he hit me when I got home. Then he said he loved me and kissed my tears away, said he needed me. He knew how to kill me and rip me back to life again. So of course I didn't die. He would never let anything like that happen to me.

I stepped inside the bathtub.

Slather, rinse, cry. Slather, rinse, wash.

My phone pinged with a notification. Mom's and Elena's name glowed in the darkness of the bathroom. It has been 6 months since I last talked to mom. I couldn't remember the last time I talked to Elena.