15. Chapter 15 #3
I wished for an exposed nail in the floorboard.
Something sharp I could ram through my fingernails.
I wanted to make my hurt physical. I deserved it.
After all, I was nothing. I flopped around like a gasping fish in a pool of my own bodily fluids, wailing until my eyes were strained and my tears had dried.
I wanted this hurt to go away, but it never did. It never fucking did.
Sharp, stabbing pain attacked my head. I cried too hard for too long. Groaning, I hugged myself and whimpered into an uncomfortable sleep.
***
Knocking startled me awake. Crying myself to sleep was a routine I was quite used to. My tears, vomit, and snot had mostly dried. My skin felt heavy and stiff. I carefully touched a hand to my forehead. My headache had dulled.
Bleary-eyed, I slowly sat up as my brain adjusted to my surroundings. City lights accented by falling snow filtered through my blinds. I had no idea what time it was. The pounding at my door continued. With a groan, I struggled up to my feet.
I dragged myself to the front door and yanked it open to Summoner standing there. His cheeks were pink from the cold. Flecks of snow melted across his shoulders. His eyes met mine and my chest tightened. There was a tender softness in the green that hid a bit of hurt.
“… Sweetheart?”
His voice destroyed me. A hammer to shatter my glass heart.
I fell against his chest. His arms circled me.
The expensive fabric of his coat was soft and damp.
Again, sobs racked my body, but Summoner’s sturdy frame kept me upright.
Carefully, he shuffled us to my bedroom and turned on my bedside lamp.
My bedroom was just the back part of the studio, sectioned off with Japanese folding screens. A space beneath him, just like I was.
Why are you here?
Don’t you know I’m nothing?
Summoner eased me onto the bed, where I instantly crumpled onto my side. Through my cloudy tears, I watched him slide off his coat and place it on the back of my desk chair. He kicked off his shoes and turned toward me.
“Where do you keep your pajamas?” he asked.
I pointed towards the pile of clothes at the foot of my bed.
He retrieved a mismatched tank top and a pair of sleep shorts.
Summoner’s face remained passive as he pulled me to sit up.
Embarrassment didn’t even shine through as he eased off my nasty clothes and dressed me.
I curled up against my mountain of pillows as Summoner turned off the light.
Snowy threads of moonlight stretched a shadow across the wall.
The springs of my bed creaked as Summoner climbed onto the bed beside me.
He pulled me close and circled me safely in his toned arms.
“I’m here, Poppy. I’m here.”
My breath caught in my throat. He didn’t have to be here.
His son had cut me out of his life. He was free of me, yet here he was.
I didn’t understand it. His hand caressed the length of my back.
Up and down. Being this close to someone who wanted nothing in return was soothing.
I pressed my face against his chest and wished it was possible to feel his warmth everywhere.
You’re pathetic.
He’s laughing at you.
I winced at the bile my mind tossed at me. I was my own worst enemy. Depression had molded my brain into the perfect weapon to hurt me.
“… Summoner?” I forced his name from a raw throat.
“Hmmmm?” the low vibration in his chest radiated to my cheek.
“… I…I…I know it’s stupid, but could you talk? I want to hear you. The quiet lets in my… my thoughts…”
“I understand that. Damned silence.”
His chest rose and fell steadily as he collected his thoughts.
“…Did you know I was born in the shadow of a coal mine?”
I closed my eyes. The question was rhetorical, of course.
His voice floated around the room, filling my ears, providing a perfect distraction from my own mental self-harm.
His dulcet tones became my personal audiobook.
He painted a picture in bits and pieces about his life.
A disjointed upbringing with very reserved parents who were not ones for affection.
A complicated relationship with the church and feeling no connection to a God.
His mother was a flighty woman who floated effortlessly through hobbies and ideas.
His father worked himself to death every day in the dark and frightening mine.
A life he and his siblings did not want.
For him, much like me, music became a savior, a means of escape.
His story intertwined with mine more than I could have imagined.
“I wished I had a mom. What’s it like?” I whispered.
“Hmmm. Some are worth more than others, but whatever the relationship, we end up missing them.”
“You still miss your mom?”
He nodded, and I wondered what it was like to miss an actual person and not vague imaginings.
Sleep came in chunks. I easily drifted off to wake later to him still murmuring. Sometimes, a gentle singing woke me. Other times, I woke to his gentle caress along my back. I was safe. I didn’t deserve him.