"Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby edgey and dull, and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul. At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head...only you...can cool my desire."
A gentle breeze swept in through the open window of Olivia's bedroom, causing her skin to goosebump at the mild chill. She rolled over on her side away from the darkness of the world outside, fingers of her right hand clenched tightly within the bedsheet. She squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly unable to breathe as the memories of a seemingly perfect morning replayed in her head.
A dull ache followed and brought Olivia upright, body jerking away from the bed as her feet thudded against the hardwood floor below. Her legs carried her into the kitchen down a short length of hallway, right arm already raised towards the tall, square object that represented the refridgerator. Trembling fingers grasped at the handle of the lower compartment, free hand snaking past to take hold of a perfectly chilled, glass bottle, filled with a clear liquid.
"...don't..." Olivia's fearful tone was drowned out by the suddenly far too loud hum of the refridgerator. It battled with the silence that threatened to overwhelm the kitchen, just as her crumbling resolve struggled against the temptation of her weakness.
Minutes ticked by, though it seemed as if hours had been spent simply staring down at the bottle in her hand. It shook now and again with the tremors running through the woman's body and it took her a moment to realized she'd started crying. Tears streamed down both cheeks as silent sobs stole the air from her lungs. Her chest hurt and her heart pained sharply each time the memories flickered to life.
Memories she wanted locked away for the rest of her god forsaken life. Olivia uttered a strangled cry before uncapping the bottle of vodka clumsily, tilting her head back as the liquid followed and burned away the last remanents of heartache lingering in her heart. It seared away the memories like acid eating away a box of photographs. Each one melting and fizzling into a mass of unrecognizable color that could no longer do the woman any harm.
(B. Springsteen 'I'm on Fire')