Chapter 12
Mireya
Play - Between the Bars By Elliott Smith
Lingering Nightmare
I love you still…
I love you still…
I love you still…
Sleep won't hold me still. I drift beneath it, floating between sleep and waking, turning from one side to the other as heat settles over my skin. My feet nudge the covers away, reaching for anything cold. A dead weight.
I wake up drenched in sweat. Fucking stupid nightmare.
Instinctively my finger traces the scar under my eye. Blue is sleeping peacefully near the window, and it's still dark outside.
I wish I could have slept longer, and when I see it's only 3 a.m. on my phone, I want to scream.
Why is it so difficult to just close my eyes and rest enough for my body to feel okay?
Classes haven't even started yet, and I can't even get more than three hours of sleep… I'm fucked.
I get up quickly, put on my jacket, grab my headphones and my old MP3 player.
The cord gets tangled in my trembling fingers, as if I'm still there, but I quickly stuff it in my pocket.
One hand reaches for a cigarette in the pack I'd hidden there, and I quietly leave the room so as not to wake Blue.
The stairs creak under my feet, but the dorm is silent.
No wonder, given the time.
Outside, the air from the top of the cliff hits my face violently, and for the first time since I woke up, I can finally take a deep breath without it suffocating me.
I walk, trying to find a quiet spot in this immense courtyard, and after a few minutes, I find myself on the edge of the cliff, which seems perfect for me to finish my night.
I'm so tired of being me.
I feel like I'll never get rid of this feeling, these memories, and what it makes me feel.
That… that’s still there… The scar. Dad. Mom…
It’s exhausting, to feel as if you don't have any control over your own mind.
I wonder if everyone has to learn how to live inside themselves, or if some people are simply born feeling at home.
It should be easy to feel safe inside your own skin, but why does mine always feel borrowed? like I'm still waiting for its real owner to come back and ask for it.
Why do I feel unsafe inside myself sometimes? Why does it feel like I’m split in two, the part that knows better and the part that spirals?
My nervous system is tired, and I want peace. And apparently nothing can make you feel like you’re doing yourself justice than lightening a cigarette and inhaling some nicotine while music drowns out everything else.
Okay… okay… breathe.
It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay, it's going to be okay.
But a part of me can't forget it. I’m still trembling, and it still hurts.
I take another drag and stare into the void, at the cliffs, the black sea.
I'm alone and no one knows. No one can know.
I close my eyes; I breathe in and breathe out.
Maybe I can ride the waves until it eases. I gaze at the emptiness in front of me, the cigarette burning between my fingers. Three hours before I have to return, three hours to breathe, for my heart to stop pounding so hard, for the memories to stop haunting me.
The music drowns out almost everything. The wind on my skin, the cold, the emptiness beneath my feet. I close my eyes and try to just stay here, for a moment, before I have to become normal again.