take care } a justice series
Nov 18, 2017 4:12:59 GMT -5
Post by arx. on Nov 18, 2017 4:12:59 GMT -5
JUSTICE FRAY
I always thought that I loved parties. The pounding music, the flashing lights, the crowds of people dancing and pressing together, smiles galore and lips locking in drunken hazes—it's what I always told myself to justify all of the drinking. Raise a glass to the sky with a devilish grin and claim, "It's just part of the fun!" But now that I'm sitting here without out an ounce of alcohol in my system, I finding myself glancing at the clock every five minutes to find out when it's acceptable to leave. Apparently it was always just the alcohol.
I've turned so many drinks away. So many-- propositions from so many girls. And as another approaches me, I've already got the same words—"Ah, I'm sorry, I can't."—ready on the tip of my tongue. Except this time I change my mind halfway through the sentence.
"Sorry, but, uh," I say, rubbing at the back of my head. "I think I'm gonna head home."
I had hoped I'd feel relieved when I stepped out the door, but instead I'm only met with more-- I sigh. I'm not even sure what I'm feeling really. Like suffocation? Like a thousand blades digging slowly into my chest? Like I'm trapped in darkness, like I'll never see the sun again? Like I'm lost?
I heave air into my lungs, the chill in the air making me pull my coat collar up to my ears, shove my hands in my pockets, and hide my chin within my jacket. I kick at the dust on the road as I walk, mind wandering from one nightmare to the next. Except the fear doesn't strike as close to my heart as it used to. After 4 years it's finally getting easier to hide the fact that I'm seeing ghosts.
But it's hard. All of this was so much easier when I wasn't sober. I couldn't possibly count how many times I've considered just taking a sip, just finishing one bottle to take the edge off, one glass of wine just to make everything warm enough and light enough to fall asleep. I bet it'd only take one shot to keep the memories at bay. Just enough to help me forget, to make me numb, to get that look in their eyes out of my head.
I stop. Count to ten, breathe. But my fists are clenched tight, my eyes squeezed shut, my feet planting themselves firmly against the ground. It's all okay. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe, just breathe. But I still feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, twenty-three voices coaxing me to peek further and further over the edge, forty-six hands pulling at my clothes so that I fall forward into oblivion. Breathe, just--
Come on.
And I can feel her fingers in my hair. Softly tugging through the knots, dancing over my scalp, following my hairline so gentle and so sweet. It's bittersweet, but it's enough to help my fists unfurl and my jaw relax. And she's pulling me away from the edge, hand wrapped around mine. And though her voice is the softest, just a whisper among a thousand screaming souls, it's seems to block out all the rest.
I open my eyes and move forward again, different memories lingering in my mind as I feel her palms against my chest, her lips pressed to mine, hair tickling my cheeks. I can taste the wine on her lips, so sweet in the moment, but such a bitter taste now. The memory is tainted. I ruined it. It's my own fault that this memory hurts now. But maybe-
I don't know, maybe I can fix it?
I've turned so many drinks away. So many-- propositions from so many girls. And as another approaches me, I've already got the same words—"Ah, I'm sorry, I can't."—ready on the tip of my tongue. Except this time I change my mind halfway through the sentence.
"Sorry, but, uh," I say, rubbing at the back of my head. "I think I'm gonna head home."
I had hoped I'd feel relieved when I stepped out the door, but instead I'm only met with more-- I sigh. I'm not even sure what I'm feeling really. Like suffocation? Like a thousand blades digging slowly into my chest? Like I'm trapped in darkness, like I'll never see the sun again? Like I'm lost?
I heave air into my lungs, the chill in the air making me pull my coat collar up to my ears, shove my hands in my pockets, and hide my chin within my jacket. I kick at the dust on the road as I walk, mind wandering from one nightmare to the next. Except the fear doesn't strike as close to my heart as it used to. After 4 years it's finally getting easier to hide the fact that I'm seeing ghosts.
But it's hard. All of this was so much easier when I wasn't sober. I couldn't possibly count how many times I've considered just taking a sip, just finishing one bottle to take the edge off, one glass of wine just to make everything warm enough and light enough to fall asleep. I bet it'd only take one shot to keep the memories at bay. Just enough to help me forget, to make me numb, to get that look in their eyes out of my head.
I stop. Count to ten, breathe. But my fists are clenched tight, my eyes squeezed shut, my feet planting themselves firmly against the ground. It's all okay. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe, just breathe. But I still feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, twenty-three voices coaxing me to peek further and further over the edge, forty-six hands pulling at my clothes so that I fall forward into oblivion. Breathe, just--
Come on.
And I can feel her fingers in my hair. Softly tugging through the knots, dancing over my scalp, following my hairline so gentle and so sweet. It's bittersweet, but it's enough to help my fists unfurl and my jaw relax. And she's pulling me away from the edge, hand wrapped around mine. And though her voice is the softest, just a whisper among a thousand screaming souls, it's seems to block out all the rest.
I open my eyes and move forward again, different memories lingering in my mind as I feel her palms against my chest, her lips pressed to mine, hair tickling my cheeks. I can taste the wine on her lips, so sweet in the moment, but such a bitter taste now. The memory is tainted. I ruined it. It's my own fault that this memory hurts now. But maybe-
I don't know, maybe I can fix it?