Chapter 40
Mireya
Play - You Get Me So High by The Neighbourhood
Bleeding soul
Drinks and drinks after drinks.
That’s how we spend the first hour getting ready for Hayzel’s birthday.
I finished training two hours ago and took a quick shower before lying on my bed with Blue.
I missed him today. He’s been doing all types of adorable things since I came back and it made me want to stay there with him all night long. But the moment this thought appeared, Hayzel came back with Ethan and bags filled with alcohol.
I knew I’d end up like this.
Overthinking and floating between calm and anxiety.
Blue is sleeping next to me, and Hayzel is talking about how she really misses having a boyfriend.
I don’t think it’s a bad trait. I think she always wanted to feel loved. To physically feel like she matters to a man. Because she never had one in her life. Her parents died in a car accident when she was younger. That’s when she started living with her grandma.
Edna always tried to make sure she would fulfill every role. The mom, the father, the grandmother. She was her only family. But you can’t take off that need for a girl to have a male validation in any way possible.
For my best friend it’s romantic.
I think about it like this, half angry, half wanting to hug her till she stops. Because that’s how it was taught to her. Reading attention as proof she’s not alone.
I want to tell her she deserves someone who does the small, boring things, someone who fixes the heater, shows up at three a.m if she doesn’t feel well, someone who would remember things about her that most people would forget.
But I also know how easy it is to mistake a sweet word for safety. So I sit with the ache and the impatience, whispering “roots, not fireworks” under my breath, and hoping she learns the difference before the bandage wears thin.
“How about you, Reya? Are you not interested in finding someone?” She asks, turning her head to me.
Someone?
"I want a soul, Hayzel"
"What do you mean?"
"I don’t want a body or a mind, I want a soul.”
I’m so drunk, it’s not even funny. It’s scary. I know what happens when I feel like this. Alcohol has a weird twist on me. I don’t feel happier or sadder, I just feel in the worst way possible. I feel loneliness the most, like I’m the only soul out here searching for its soulmate.
It’s so stupid. It’s really stupid. Because I am fucked. I don’t even know how to be myself most of the time because I was never enough for the people I always had to impress.
But I do want a soul.
Having a body is easy.
I spent years believing that was all anyone wanted from me. Bodies are simple, you just have to let someone come close enough, convince yourself that being touched is the same thing as being chosen, and for a few minutes you feel less alone. Then they leave and you’re left with your own skin again.
Growing up, I collected strangers and mistook intimacy with love so many times that I spent years confusing the two. I wanted the five minutes of attention and care it gave me. The shame always came after. Having a soul is the impossible part.
I want someone who’s interested in who I am, without judging my choices. I’ve done horrible things for love. I swallowed myself quietly, letting people use me because rocking the boat meant scaring the ones I love.
I let them act like I didn’t deserve empathy.
That was my trade, my voice for their calm.
I feel dumb, I do.
“You want a soul?”
“I do, but I’m not worth it.”
I hate saying how I feel. I wish I could be free of feeling, I mean. When feeling gets stolen from you before you even learn how, you never get the manual. I learned it when I was crying over Mom’s death, and Dad shrugged, saying, “Stop being dramatic.”
That’s how you learn doubt instead of emotion.
Liking things, wanting things… It's so hard when you can’t have them.
I do like Mister Caldwell in a weird way. He’s simple and cold, he folds his hands, he waits for me to give my opinion, and doesn't finish my sentences. He feels like an escape most of the time.
Gosh I’m spiraling.
Sometimes I wonder if I’d be different growing up somewhere else.
Would I be normal?
Being drunk helps though. It blunts the edges. As sad and devastating as that sounds, it does help thinking about how I feel. I just want to feel and find a soul.
Is that too much to ask? Do I sound dumb and drunk?
Yes, you do.
Hayzel’s voice brings me back to the present, “You want a soul but you’re not even sure yourself that you deserve it?”
“A broken glass doesn't hold light right? It spills her into the shadows.” She looks at me confused and all I can do is laugh, “We’re probably too drunk already.”
“Hey, don’t shut off now. Why would you say that?”
A small and lonely tear falls down my cheek as I smile, “Because no soul would risk a ruined thing to love.”
Maybe if someone looked at me like I was worth drowning in the sadness behind my eyes, I’d feel less empty.
“And you still want a soul?”
"Yeah, I don’t need a lover. I need a soul, Hayzel. A soul."
Just as she was about to answer me, the door opens and Ethan comes in, dressed as a pirate.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re already drunk and sad? The party hasn’t even started yet!”
“You always have the worst timing, it’s crazy,” I said, getting up and trying my best to forget what I’d been thinking just before this fake pirate’s magical intervention.
“Come on, let’s get moving,” he says, closing the door behind him. “I’ll give you 30 minutes to finish smearing yourselves with blood.”
Blue looks at me with incomprehension, and Hayzel laughs at the sight. “How dare this stupid man disturb your sleep, Blue?”
In response he closes his eyes and hides his face with his paw. I leave a small kiss on the top of his head and let him rest. Then I turn back to the bathroom and look at my reflection. Hayzel is behind me rearranging her hair when our eyes collide in the mirror.
“Are you excited to have some fun tonight?” I ask her as I douse myself with fake blood. Tonight, Hayzel and I were vampires.
“The advantage of being born on Halloween is that I can dress however I want and trick my brain into thinking everyone outside is celebrating my birthday.”
I laugh as she gestures for me to come closer and help her fasten her necklace. “You’re right to think that, and if they say otherwise, I’ll take care of them.”
She turns around, smiling warmly, and takes me in her arms. “You know that no matter what, you already have my soul,” she says.
I don’t know what to say. My arms hang limply at my sides, and for the first time in years of friendship, they rise and pull her close.
“Happy birthday again.”