No one ever tells you how incredibly boring it can all become to lose your own humanity. Becoming some monstrosity was not my ideal, but I did it to survive, and I continue to be one for my own entertainment I suppose. The more light I have had to contrast against the dark lately, even if it has been artificial, has made me realize just how much I do not want to die. I don't love suffering particularly, well my own suffering. I suppose I survive a bit off of the suffering of others at this point. That is something that one might feel ought to bother me, but I am beyond all that at this point. I simply could not be bothered to care. Nobody ever cared when I–ugh, I can't even listen to myself think. If I'm not careful I'll have another attack today, and I don't particularly need that nor desire it. It's such an inconvenience. The ache it carves in my chest leaves me ravenous.
Hunger. That's another point of inconvenience. I hate this frailty that comes with needing to sustain myself. Of course I would have to either way, but the pull between Watcher and Lonely is so depleting. I feel like I have to do so much work every day to not feel tired. I just wonder when I will be free. My whole life I will be trapped. I have had choices at points with many unfavorable outcomes, but even now, I want something more. I need more than this. I don't want to only just live day to day, existing and drifting, trying to hold myself together in this fragile existence. The one thing I do not miss about the past is how delicate humanity is. I recognize that my flaws are wide and sharp, but they could be worse…I could be going through puberty again!
I lie awake in bed at night, and the fabric of my bedsheets are not kind to me. The empty space between waking and sleeping is so consumingly painful and boring. I wonder what others think as they fall asleep. What does Elias do? Does he imagine scenarios? Does he think of the future? Someone like him is always thinking all the time. It must be tiring.
Speaking of tiring, Elias is such a challenging person to be around, he really takes it out of me. That man works me so hard. I get that he wants me to be stronger, that I am worth more to him the more that I can do, but–Okay, I'm complaining! I'm complaining and all that, but thinking is hard. And Elias wants you on, like all the time, figuring things out, working. Though I did it with resentment boiling within me, when I was with my mother I did not think, I did what I was told. There is strength certainly in what Elias has been teaching me, but I never expected finding my own voice would be so trying.
It is not enough to do the work, to make the observations, I also have to carve a spot out for my own existence everywhere. In this way, what I do now is so perpendicular to what I was before. Then, I gouged out places and hid myself and others away. I tore the light away from all of us, and now I find myself struggling to catch it between my fingers.
I like the way he says my name. Maybe I am just imagining the way his voice lifts when he speaks to me, or maybe it's what he wants me to hear. It does sweeten some of his sharper blows at times, and he can be, well rough, for lack of a better term. I broke down in his office the other day, and it pains me to think of the moment. My eyes sting even now. Fuck, I shouldn't do this. I hate crying before I fall asleep. When that happens, you wake with the crust around your eyes, and have to dig yourself out of the grogginess. I visibly notice my eyes as being more puffy the next day too. I just would rather not cry at all.
It's so stupid. What did he say to me again? I was meeting with him in his office to go over my notes on my most recent focus. He had welcomed me into his office as usual, urged me to sit down, and then started a pot of tea. I was flipping through the papers I had brought up when he said, "You've been quite ambitious with your latest project."
Ha. Ambitious. I can feel it sinking back in, the tendrils of insecurity I felt in that moment. He looks at me with a focused eye, and the spotlight magnifies all my worst parts. I realize now that he had not meant any harm at all in that moment, but my composure failed as a wave of fear got the better of me.
Mind racing, I tried to string together a response, but my words failed me. A series of thoughts engulfed me in his office: I should have spent more time on it before coming here. What if the work isn't good enough? What if I disappoint him? Am I wasting his time? Did I waste time and effort?
A warm cup of tea graced my fingers, scalding to the touch. The cold slips away. I had shifted back from him, directing my eyes away from him. As if he wouldn't notice. Am I an idiot? I can't help but wonder if I even have a place here in this world.
"Are you alright, Helen?" Am I alright? He tries to cut through my spiral.
"Sorry," I blurted out, fuck, he hates sorry, "I'm just tired. Long day."
His response caught me off guard. "Your place is here," he said.
My place is here. Here. A fat tear slides down the side of my face. Ugh, I am going to wake up with my eyes sealed shut. With Elias's words echoing in my mind, I succumb to the exhaustion gnawing at me. As I sink further into my bed, sleep overtakes me. But even as my eyelids flutter shut and I drift into the realm of dreams, a sense of unease lingers at the edges of my consciousness.
The transition from wakefulness to slumber is abrupt, like stepping off a cliff into an abyss of darkness. In the depths of my subconscious, fragmented images dance before my mind's eye—a shadowy figure lurking in the periphery, watching, waiting. I feel his gaze bore into me, an icy chill creeping up my spine, paralyzing me with fear. It's not right. Not the right person. Everything in me wants to turn and run, find some corner to hide in, but I don't do that anymore. I have to come face to face with it. Stupid Elias making me work, even in my nightmares. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I reach out wildly, the ground beneath me is unsteady as I race through the darkness towards it.
Eyes, so many eyes. None that I recognize.
Hot dark tea seeps down my chest, the pattern blooms over my blouse like a fresh wound. "Oh. That was my bad, Helen." His tone is apologetic, and eyes blink and narrow radiating around him as they look upon me, waiting for my reaction. Large colorful cut-out letters float and drift behind him, "Watch your step." Was that Jon? Why would he…
Everything blurs and twists, the shapes fly away, and I am tumbling, falling down an impossibly long set of stares. Every breath is a struggle, every heartbeat a drumming reminder of my vulnerability. I am trapped in this twisted nightmare, held captive by eyes that are all so wrong. And as the darkness envelops me, I can't help but wonder—will I ever escape the shadow of Jon's watchful gaze? Why is he watching me?
This is absolutely ridiculous. I used to trap people.
"Are you going to stay mad at me forever?" Shapes like trees and buildings and clouds blur by us. I am strapped into the dark seat of Elias's car.
Mad? The word reverberates in my mind, sending a searing feeling through my perceived dream self. Anger, resentment, hurt–all of these emotions swirl within me in a rising storm, threatening to take me under. The warmth of a cup of tea sinks into my fingers, but there isn't really anything there. I glance to Elias at my side as he takes a turn and checks his blindspot. Beneath all that there is a flicker of longing, a desperate yearning for connection and understanding.
Do I dare to defy the logic of this dream, to grasp at the fleeting illusion of companionship that Elias offers? Do I play along? I don't want it to change from here. If I could stay here in this car ride with him for the rest of the night, I would prefer that. "Where are we headed?"
"I have to make a quick stop if that's alright with you."
No, no, don't leave. Don't leave me. It's sickening that he would leave me in my dreams. It's a cruel truth. I don't think I'm worth the company that I desire. But even as I yearn to stay cocooned in this moment of intimacy, a nagging voice whispers doubts and insecurities in the recesses of my mind. Do I deserve his company? Am I worthy of his affection? The tendrils of self-doubt threaten to ensnare me. "No."
"No?"
"I don't want you to leave," I confess.
"Then come with me." His voice is soft and his eyes looking into mine so incredibly intoxicating. Even in my dreams, I can never look away from him. I reach for his outstretched hand–
I wake with sweat dripping down my back. My heart races with the remnants of adrenaline, the echo of Elias's voice still resonating in my ears. For a fleeting moment, I am caught between two worlds—tempted to reach out and grasp the illusion of companionship, yet painfully aware of the stark emptiness of my surroundings.
With a shaking hand, I wipe the sweat from my brow, the sensation grounding me in the present moment. The dream may have offered some warmth, but reality is unforgiving in its starkness. I am alone, haunted by the specter of my insecurities and fears.
But even as the doubt looms over me once more, I cling to the memory of Elias's outstretched hand, the promise of connection and understanding that it represents. In the darkness of my room, I find solace in the knowledge that, no matter how fleeting, the dream offered a glimpse of a reality where I am not alone—a reality where I am worthy of companionship.
With a deep breath, I push aside the lingering briars of doubt and resolve to face the day ahead with courage and determination. For even in the darkest of moments, there is a glimmer—a flicker of light that guides me forward.