I'm really sorry it's been so long. I hope you guys are still reading. I know this update is kind of short but I wanted to get things started. I plan on updating more frequently. Hope you guys like it. Thanks.
Sand started to slide into my converse, but the irritation was forgettable, as were the goosebumps cascading down my arms and legs. A jacket wouldn't have helped though. Turns out the beach wouldn't either. It was like some masochistic intervention that brought me here and no matter how hard I tried to focus on the crashing waves I could still hear her voice. It was magnified, as if she couldn't stand the thought of being wiped away by something so monotonous.
"It can be our place."
"The beach? I don't think we can own the beach, Ash." A gentle smile to match gentle words.
"Want me to buy it for you?" Eyes closed, the infamous smirk
I'm still not sure if she was serious. As luck - fate? - would have it, she probably did buy it and I would once again be encompassed by her impulses.
You taste even better in the sand.
I think every grain of sand could count as a memory.
"We'll build a house one the beach and -"
"We'll talk walks together - hand in hand - every night!"
"And go skinny dipping."
Too much. I felt like I was being buried alive. I used to love this feeling: the head rush, the sweaty palms. But it's different now. It's so different now. Because I actually feel like I can't breathe, it's no longer holding-my-breath, it's that suffocating sensation again. The waves are so brutally loud I think I'm drowning. But then my eyes snap open and I remember I'm on shore. I remember everything and I know I need to leave.
I'm the only one home. It's not an unlikely occurrence anymore. Two people are out and less than half of the occupants are home. I'm a less than half.
I'm not sure what I should do. Going upstairs, starting my homework, it all seems too normal, routine. This is like a nightmare and I'm the only one aware of it, but then I think that's not true. I think she's spent most of her life trying to wake up.
Could she sleep at night? Was she in a cell? I don't think she was in a cell.
I cracked the window residing above my desk open. Even inside the room everything was so gray today, but I didn't turn the light on. I didn't want to pretend. Kicking my shoes off I laid on my bed. I had to reply everything. Her walking in. Her voice. Her clothes. Her hair. Each time I thought about it, my stomach flipped and was then followed by a sense of shame. Two years blocking everything out and now I'm feeling it all at once. The choking sensation was back and before I could panic my body knew how to cure it. By autopilot my fingers reached for the cool aluminum, before I took both buds in shaking fingers, slipping them into my ears.
Hold.
Select playlist.
Play.
I've been watching your world from afar
I've been trying to be where you are
I've been secretly falling apart, unseen
A sigh of relief and I could focus again. I could figure out what I'm supposed to do. But I couldn't plan for the unpredictable. I couldn't plan for her. Absently I stroked my finger over the label. Shutting the ipod off, I tentatively sat up and laid it beside me. Rubbing my palms on my jeans I bit my lip before standing up.
The silence was worse.
My hand reached for the knob. I was shaking. The hallway was dark. Cool metal rested abruptly against my hand. I just stood there before gently opening the door, like if it made too much sound I could break something. The room was dark, black compared to the hallway and I stood almost in shock in the doorway. Time was frozen in here and if I exhaled I might ruin that. Slowly edging my way in I made sure not the shut the door completely. My feet shuffled across the carpet and I continued to hold my breathe until they caught something, a hoodie on the ground and I lurched to a stop. I didn't want to ruin anything so I needed to make sure I was focused enough to move around, so I didn't mess up again. Eventually my feet began a slow shuffle. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness and I could start to make out familiar objects, but they all felt misplaced. Trophies lined the dresser, clothes were on a desk chair. Pictures. I moved over to the bed and tied not to moved anything. I wish he could kick me out. Throw the pillow at me, miss and hit the door instead. But instead it stayed absolutely quite so I just buried my face into the edge of the pillow and cried.
