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I COULDN'T SLEEP.
My room hummed like some kind of living thing, the night sky was visible through the gaps between the curtains covering the sliding door, and a cool breeze weaved between the blades of my ceiling fan, caressing my skin. On a normal day, all of that was more than enough to lull me into a gentle sleep. But not today. Today, they all seemed loud.
I didn't even know what exactly was keeping me up. All I knew was that I was restless, turning every few minutes, fluffing and re-fluffing my pillow in an attempt to get comfortable, streaming Nuclear Fusion with my AirPods connected, hoping one of the band's songs would inspire me enough to fall asleep. They all did, but they simultaneously kept me wide awake. I'd tried everything—watching pointless videos on TikTok and Instagram and YouTube; trying and failing to do pushups; dancing; picking out what I'd wear the next day; impulsive Etsy shopping; taking pictures of my socked feet with my Nikon; taking selfies. Nothing was working.
I drew in a breath that was surprisingly shaky, and the moment I noticed, tears filled my eyes. Because it was happening again.
Sometimes I experienced this thing I thought was a form of anxiety. It mostly happened after I'd retired for the day, but one in five times, it struck out of nowhere in the mornings or afternoons. It had been a while, but it was always accompanied by noise in my head, intensified sounds, an odd pressure on my chest, restlessness, heat, and moodiness. Like my heat flashes, it didn't have a specific trigger. It just hit, every sensation heightened until I was brought to tears, then it went away. Job done. Mission accomplished. When I sensed as if my pillow was harder than usual, I suspected it was it, but at the same time, I hoped not. It had been so long, and I thought I was doing better.
I tightened my fists around my sheets, until I could feel my nails puncturing the flesh of my palms. It hurt. It really did, but it provided a distraction from the near-deafening volume throbbing right beneath my skull. I gritted my teeth, too, staring at my ceiling, desperately trying to visualize shapes on it. I pretended like I didn't notice I was trembling.
I drew in another breath. Let it out slowly. My vision got blurry.
After a moment of just lying there, I reached towards my bedside drawer and pulled out the top one, rifling through it for something. Something sharp enough to pleasurably hurt but blunt enough to not draw blood. I could've used one of my AirPods, but I didn't want to risk breaking it. The first time I did this, I was in sophomore year. The circumstances surrounding it were similar to this one, but far more muted, barely vibrating under my skin. I'd been in AP English, and listening to Mrs. Bukowski continuously drone on about literary devices was making me feel like screaming. Her voice was too loud, her words too jumbled, too vague, and after trying and failing several times to get my body to relax, I excused myself to the bathroom, where I'd retrieved my pencil from my backpack and pressed the lead into the middle of my palm until blood seeped out of the hole I'd created and tears rolled down my face.
I didn't know what it was, couldn't tell why I did it, and I'd been too scared to tell my mom, so I pushed it to the back of my mind. The next time I would do it, it was second week of junior year. I'd gone a little too far then and had had to hide my left palm for days, while simultaneously running it beneath hot water every night. I'd been riddled with guilt, I couldn't look myself in the mirror, and I'd sworn off it. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't do it ever again.
Then Takoda left.
I hurt myself a total of two times, two days in a row.
Now, here I was again, about to fall back into it.
Thankfully, I didn't find anything that met my requirements, so I pushed the drawer back into place and lay back. I took nothing less than two breaths before I took my phone and opened my and Robin's thread.
Hey, you awake?
I waited, knowing that she'd text within five minutes if she was, but my bedside clock went from 00:56 to 1:05, and my text still sat unread. I fought back the tears threatening to come forward, regulating my breathing for a few seconds and cleaning sweat off my neck, before trying someone else.
The last text Takoda had sent me was, Have I forgotten what thirst trap means? I'd left him on read, a little disoriented by my sister's text. I stared at it for a moment, then scrolled back to past conversations, watching as hesitant replies aged in reverse, until the text bubbles were fat with photos and emojis and GIFs and memes and links and videos and recollections of our days. With I love yous.
Hey person, I'd texted one day.
Hey human, he'd texted back.
My period came last night, and now I'm cramping and craving spicy food and cuddles 😩
On a scale of 1 to 100, how spicy?
Like a 75 🤧
Twenty minutes later, he'd sent me a photo of two bags of takeout food and accompanied it with the text, Secured. Get dressed and meet me at the usual? :)
Before I realized it, I was smiling at the memory of the both of us in his bed, his warmth against my back, one hand gently massaging my aching lower abdomen beneath my baggy tee, the other lightly running through my hair as we talked about something I couldn't remember now, empty takeout plates a few feet away.
I typed Hey before I could discourage myself from doing it, but just as I was about to hit send, I thought about it, asking myself why him. Why Takoda? My parents were just down the hall from me, and I could get to them in less than two minutes if I wanted. Besides, Takoda never put his phone on silent, and if he happened to hear the notification from his sleep, he'd be too nice to ignore it. Did I really want to wake him up for this? Because he was the only one who'd seen my scars?
With all that in mind, I backspaced my text and went back to my home screen, opening Spotify to continue listening to californian mornings from my sister's album. It was one of two songs featuring Takoda, and it set the perfect mood for the moment. Coco and Takoda had heartbreaking voices, and the effortless way their tones balanced each other out created a relaxing concoction. I could relax. I could at least try.
About ten minutes later, after the song was long over, I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I made sure the water was hot before taking my clothes off and standing beneath it, trying not to wince when the droplets met my skin, turning me raw.
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this chapter came out of nowhere months ago, and i'm so glad it did. it's deep and raw and bare, and i love that "ice queen" cleo is so vulnerable in it. it really says a lot about how one is perceived vs how they really are, and if there's anything i subconsciously wanted to bring out of this, it's that <3
