She was still wide awake. She didn't feel as if her head was empty, as you usually do when you stay up all night. No. She felt fine. A little too fine. It worried her. Most things worry her anyway. Did she not feel things anymore? Was she becoming less and less human with each passing day? A robot perhaps? Then again, would that be too bad? Not being human? She wouldn't have to worry anymore.
She knew why she couldn't sleep at night. Her head won't let her. She was too weak to ignore her head. Her head was a king. She was simply a peasant. Go against the word of your king and you are dead.
She lay down in her bed. Her bed felt cold and unfamiliar. It wasn't even winter. Why is the bed cold? Or, am I cold? A robot? It worried her.
She got up from her bed. It was useless to even try to sleep. She couldn't do it for the past 5 nights. How was today any different? She began to walk around her apartment. It felt massive now with the absence of just one person. People make homes, homes don't make people he used to say. Turns out, he was right. He was always good with words. A poet. She on the other hand, useless. She couldn't even convince herself.
You are a ticking time bomb. Only you have the ability to disarm it. But you won't do it. Because you're weak and you love to torture yourself.
He was right. Benign masochism. Always good with words.
His words couldn't save him though. Sometimes even words don't work. Benign masochism he called my head. Said I love to torture myself. Said I loved to torture my own head.
He was partially right. Torturing him was equally enjoyable as well. Perhaps more. At least he kept talking until the end. I always did love listening to him talk. She didn't touch his tongue. She didn't dare to. Not until she had anything else left. She loved his tongue. She loved his tongue more than she'll ever love him. She's looking at it right now. It might not be as pink anymore. But she could still easily recognize his tongue from a sea of tongues. The pinkest of them all, the softest of them all, the best looking. And yet, the most lethal.
She went back to her bed. She reached for her side table drawer and found what she was looking for. Not more than thrice a week, the doctor said. She's never been a good listener anyway. It would be a shame to waste the whole bottle.
The clock read 6:13 a.m. The world was not in a blanket of darkness anymore. It was light. The sun had once again taken over the dark night sky. She felt sleepy in a long time. Her eyelids grew heavy. She tried to keep her eyes open for a while. All in vain. Each passing moment pushed her into a deep impenetrable trance. Her head was fighting with her body, she felt it.
For once, the head might be defeated.
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