Sleep is useless for the busy.
Fifteen minutes I sleep, wake up, get my bag and begin.
Fifteen minutes is all that's needed. Enough to recharge, enough to end the haze, to stop the dizziness.
I lied to them. I know.
Purposely.
Sleep has come often, only two days before. Much more than usual, much more than I should be. Yesterday I had not slept. Too much work, too much to do. All the last minute things, all the plans needed to be canceled, the meetings and partners that had to be contacted... No time.
No rest.
No sleep.
The fatigue doesn't touch me.
I don't feel it.
I don't care.
I am nothing.
Everything I do is for him, father. I'm a good girl.
Good girls don't complain.
They don't get tired, don't pass out.
Good girls don't let themselves get in the way.
I lied. I know. I don't regret.
I am not tired. No, I'm an insomniac, workaholic, masochist. Don't care about myself, about my health.
Pointless.
But they don't need me. They are complete; seven perfectly, seven happily. Eight is too much, eight is too crowded. I cannot be there.
I must not be there.
Work has to be done. Yes, I don't mind. I don't care that I'm not included.
I don't feel heartache, petty things like jealousy or sadness. I don't have feelings anymore.
Heartless...
A monster. Yes, repeat it, over and over.
That's who you are, Sen.
A monster.
Heartless.
A creation of the darkest things of the master's mind.
That's all you are. Ignore your desires, your wants, focus only on daddy and the mad maker. Don't ask questions, don't disobey. Don't do anything or face the wrath of them both.
Don't disappoint, more than anything.
No, don't you dare disappoint, Sen.
Stockinged feet walk around the room a few times. Nothing to do, nowhere to go...
My phone.
Pale hands pick up the new phone of the pink color, careful not to break it, careful not to throw it. The red light blinks, blinks, blinks. Over and over, a shining LED indicating the worst.
I click a button, see the black screen light up. Fifty four missed messages, twelve missed calls, four voice-mails and twenty three Blackberry Messages.
I sigh as I hold a button, see the screen return to black, turn the phone over and remove the battery.
No. No work. No nothing.
End the habits, end the fear of forgetting. End the constant working, the paranoia of losing money, of failing, of disappointing.
Don't.
No, don't forget. You can't forget, Sen. Forget and fail. Forget and disappoint.
Never disappoint.
Reinsert the battery, flip over the phone, scroll through the messages and reply to them all. Listen to the voice mail, look at the callers, phone them back and confirm new dates for the meetings. Send the files, okay the plans, forget your normal life.
The plan plays in my head.
I do not act.
It screams in my head, the black, indecisiveness of the Blackberry screen mocking.
I do not think, only act.
It flies, hits the wall, shatters again.
I fall down, the yelling in my head so loud, the pain increasing as I realize what I am.
A failure. A disappointment. Falling into the pressure, caving to the expectations.
Tears well, fall, don't stop. I try to silence my screams, try to stop my mindless calls of nothingness as I curl on the floor.
What am I...?
A monster.
Repeat.
A monster.
Again.
A monster.
Feel it, deep down, the sting it brings to know that.
Heartless.
Feel it, the way it infiltrates your blood and burns.
A failure.
Feel the ache of a vanishing organ.
Heartless.
Tears fall harder, harder, hands grasping onto my hair as my knees touch my head, body curled like a child, a cat, a failure.
It's there that I cry until my mind begs for mercy, my body slowly, slowly succumbing to the desires I am not allowed to fulfill.
Sleep...
I curse at myself before the wave of unconsciousness hits again.