Chapter 12
He lowers my hand quickly, I can already sense his fear-- fear that any minute Elizabeth will come in and catch him with me. Granted, it isn't *that* incriminating of a situation-- but actual physical status is not the not the problem here.
We've opened up something between us that's way too deep to see with the naked eye. But it feels like we're wearing it on our skin.
I had to read The Scarlett Letter for English class once. Hated the damn thing. I remember the girls giggling behind me-- talking about the "affair" like they were ten years old again-- trying a dirty word at the tips of their tongues..... I simply rolled my eyes and scoffed at their immaturity then. To me it was just a stupid book. Another reading assignment of many-- probably intended to instill some sort of moral or lesson in us....
Words come true-- pages, and pages, binding and lettertype-- it's like every syllable has resurfaced somewhere deep inside me-- Scarlett red visions burning into me from the inside out.
And suddenly-- I can't breathe.
"I love you--"
A cry is torn violently from my throat, and my eyes fly open. The sound is pathetic and weak, yet somehow strong and I immediately shake in response.
It takes all my strength to turn my gaze to him, and when I do, his eyes are wide with panic.
I'm still not breathing.
The air sucks in and out of my throat with no purpose. I find my body rising by it's own accord-- my gasps changing to coughs like I've surfaced from a swim in the river with cement boots.
"My god Emily!"
He's standing now-- wanting to touch me, but at the same time not wanting to-- His hands are tense in front of him held up like a screen between the two of us. My sight turns fully to him, and we lock eyes.
And this time I think it's he who's without breath.
I know I could save this picture in my mind-- add it to the rusty mental photo album and save it for a day when I have enough tears to do it justice. Take it to the roof and set it aloft-- and maybe me too.
Maybe someday I'll fly.
But today-- today I'm not flying-- I'm falling. I've slipped and fallen off that proverbial cliff. Do people who jump to their death still flail their arms? Is there still something in them that makes them believe their limbs might just change into wings and they fly away from whatever pain has brought them falling in the first place?
God, give me wings.....
I blink my eyes, and the tears that had been resting on the brink of my lower eyelid fall with a splash onto my lovely state-issue hospital gown.
"Why have you done this to me?"
I barely hear my own words, but I see them register on Lucky's face. His expression changes from horror to hurt, and for a second, I feel like dirt. But the little voice rises up in me-- the painful twisted gut, that I've come to hate so much aches, and I remember the anger. The anger that has spoken without my consent-- and now it's waiting for him to reply.
"What--"
I can see the emotions that are rolling in him making it impossible to form an intelligible answer-- I know the feeling all too well. Like you're so full of feelings there's no room for thought or voice or even air.....
He tries again, shaking his head frustratedly.
"Why--"
"I heard you. I always heard you."
This time I cut him off. There's nothing he could say that would pacify me anyway-- and the breath pushing my words out doesn't allow me any control. My mind runs a mile behind my voice, and when I finally catch up, I freeze in horror. I guess this is what they call releasing the flood gates....
I can feel the fear in the room, hanging heavy and cold like fog on an late autumn day.
"What?"
His voice is flat, dead...... terrified and exhilarated.
"Why did you say it?"
I watch him with as much of a cool demeanor as I can command. If I let myself realize how close I truly am to hysteria I'll lose it..... A second passes, and I see him mirroring me.... but he's losing his battle-- the hopelessness is slowly rolling over him. Then he realizes it--
He's lost.
"I DON'T KNOW OKAY!"
For some reason this explosion infuriates me and I can feel the emotion blaze and burst in my stomach.
"YES YOU DO! YOU HAVE TO! What, did you say it for kicks and giggles?! For a little extra drama?! What?! WHAT?! 'Cause you can't just do this to me! You can't just blow in here and turn me around and around and leave! You can't!"
When I finally stop I'm breathless, and I look up at him, defeated. Lucky turns his head away-- and I can make out the shining paths of tears on his cheeks.
"I can't--"
His voice breaks and he turns fully away from me, walking across the room to focus his gaze out my small window. I hear him take a deep breath, and I feel my body mimicking his own actions. I feel so..... cold.
"Lucky--"
It hurts to say his name.
"Lucky, I'm really scared okay? And really confused... and so.... tired. I just-- I felt something... and I know I shouldn't, and I know I can't-- but I need to know-- I need to know what to do-- I need you to tell me I'm wrong......"
I stop, raw. I feel sick-- ill all over. His head bows slightly, hanging on his shoulders.
Dear god, give me wings.
He lowers my hand quickly, I can already sense his fear-- fear that any minute Elizabeth will come in and catch him with me. Granted, it isn't *that* incriminating of a situation-- but actual physical status is not the not the problem here.
We've opened up something between us that's way too deep to see with the naked eye. But it feels like we're wearing it on our skin.
I had to read The Scarlett Letter for English class once. Hated the damn thing. I remember the girls giggling behind me-- talking about the "affair" like they were ten years old again-- trying a dirty word at the tips of their tongues..... I simply rolled my eyes and scoffed at their immaturity then. To me it was just a stupid book. Another reading assignment of many-- probably intended to instill some sort of moral or lesson in us....
Words come true-- pages, and pages, binding and lettertype-- it's like every syllable has resurfaced somewhere deep inside me-- Scarlett red visions burning into me from the inside out.
And suddenly-- I can't breathe.
"I love you--"
A cry is torn violently from my throat, and my eyes fly open. The sound is pathetic and weak, yet somehow strong and I immediately shake in response.
It takes all my strength to turn my gaze to him, and when I do, his eyes are wide with panic.
I'm still not breathing.
The air sucks in and out of my throat with no purpose. I find my body rising by it's own accord-- my gasps changing to coughs like I've surfaced from a swim in the river with cement boots.
"My god Emily!"
He's standing now-- wanting to touch me, but at the same time not wanting to-- His hands are tense in front of him held up like a screen between the two of us. My sight turns fully to him, and we lock eyes.
And this time I think it's he who's without breath.
I know I could save this picture in my mind-- add it to the rusty mental photo album and save it for a day when I have enough tears to do it justice. Take it to the roof and set it aloft-- and maybe me too.
Maybe someday I'll fly.
But today-- today I'm not flying-- I'm falling. I've slipped and fallen off that proverbial cliff. Do people who jump to their death still flail their arms? Is there still something in them that makes them believe their limbs might just change into wings and they fly away from whatever pain has brought them falling in the first place?
God, give me wings.....
I blink my eyes, and the tears that had been resting on the brink of my lower eyelid fall with a splash onto my lovely state-issue hospital gown.
"Why have you done this to me?"
I barely hear my own words, but I see them register on Lucky's face. His expression changes from horror to hurt, and for a second, I feel like dirt. But the little voice rises up in me-- the painful twisted gut, that I've come to hate so much aches, and I remember the anger. The anger that has spoken without my consent-- and now it's waiting for him to reply.
"What--"
I can see the emotions that are rolling in him making it impossible to form an intelligible answer-- I know the feeling all too well. Like you're so full of feelings there's no room for thought or voice or even air.....
He tries again, shaking his head frustratedly.
"Why--"
"I heard you. I always heard you."
This time I cut him off. There's nothing he could say that would pacify me anyway-- and the breath pushing my words out doesn't allow me any control. My mind runs a mile behind my voice, and when I finally catch up, I freeze in horror. I guess this is what they call releasing the flood gates....
I can feel the fear in the room, hanging heavy and cold like fog on an late autumn day.
"What?"
His voice is flat, dead...... terrified and exhilarated.
"Why did you say it?"
I watch him with as much of a cool demeanor as I can command. If I let myself realize how close I truly am to hysteria I'll lose it..... A second passes, and I see him mirroring me.... but he's losing his battle-- the hopelessness is slowly rolling over him. Then he realizes it--
He's lost.
"I DON'T KNOW OKAY!"
For some reason this explosion infuriates me and I can feel the emotion blaze and burst in my stomach.
"YES YOU DO! YOU HAVE TO! What, did you say it for kicks and giggles?! For a little extra drama?! What?! WHAT?! 'Cause you can't just do this to me! You can't just blow in here and turn me around and around and leave! You can't!"
When I finally stop I'm breathless, and I look up at him, defeated. Lucky turns his head away-- and I can make out the shining paths of tears on his cheeks.
"I can't--"
His voice breaks and he turns fully away from me, walking across the room to focus his gaze out my small window. I hear him take a deep breath, and I feel my body mimicking his own actions. I feel so..... cold.
"Lucky--"
It hurts to say his name.
"Lucky, I'm really scared okay? And really confused... and so.... tired. I just-- I felt something... and I know I shouldn't, and I know I can't-- but I need to know-- I need to know what to do-- I need you to tell me I'm wrong......"
I stop, raw. I feel sick-- ill all over. His head bows slightly, hanging on his shoulders.
Dear god, give me wings.