Knowing Me, Knowing You | (S/P)

Chapter 7

September 3rd.

Not even poets have measured how much the heart can take. If Zelda Fitzgerald were still alive, I'd very much like to write her a lengthy e-mail about just how much one person can take.

It starts when you have someone unexpectedly ripped off your life —so unanticipated that you feel everything around you collapse. It renders you anchorless, it leaves you with nothing else than an utter, almost suffocating desire to disappear into the nothing. Because there are a lot of things you didn't say and the realization that you will never be able to do so... bruises too deep until it leaves you numb.

I thought a year would be enough, that I would stop think about it every single day; that I would stop feeling so empty. But alas, I feel my eyes stinging as I cross the door to my English class. 

"Good morning class." Mr. Rowlins, Nathaniel, says as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the desk. "I hope you got to rest during the long weekend, because the upcoming weeks are going to be challenging..." I don't listen what else he says, unable to keep my mind from drifting away.

I wish I was at home, on my own, so could I let my feelings out freely. It seems that's the only thing I want to do these days, be alone. I am though; alone. I've been for a long time and I can't even fathom a way out. I have friends, I have people that make me laugh, that care about me; except the ones I need the most.

I don't care, I keep telling myself. It doesn't matter. It does –and I'm tired of it. Every time something good happens, something goes utterly wrong, like a friendly reminder that I can't enjoy life, that I don't deserve it.

I bury my face in my hands, getting that so familiar feeling constricting my throat. I can't allow myself to fall down here.

C.S. Lewis once said that grief feels a lot like fear. I think the worst part of it, is that no matter what you do to stop that fear, every corner of your body is swallowed by the meaningless, corrosive darkness, cramping yourself in. You learn —most of the times you can ignore it. But a memory, a sound, a scent, hinders your ability to forget and you realize, that you will never quite be able to comfort your fear-stricken heart.

When I look up again, Mr. Rowlins is looking straight at me, slightly frowning. He mouths an 'are you ok?' and after making sure he's indeed addressing me, I nod my head as in yes.

I look around and everyone seems busy working on their laptops and books and sheets over their desks. I don't bother asking what we're supposed to be working on; I wouldn't be able to concentrate. 

Instead, I take a book from my backpack and try to read another chapter, but I end up reading the same paragraph at least five times. Before I know it, the class is dismissed and everyone is leaving the lecture hall in a hurry. 

"Alex, can you stay a moment, please?" Mr. Rowlins calls from the front of the room, piling up some sheets on his desk. I dutifully collect my things and walk across the room until I'm in front of him.

"Hey, what's up?" I keep my tone casual, trying to conceal my brittle voice. 

"That's what I'm wondering." He looks at me, a hint of concern lingering on his voice. "Are you okay?"

How can he tell?

I simply nod my head, unable to articulate any word. I hate when people ask if you are okay, they just make everything worse without realizing it. And for a reason, the fact that it is him the person asking, makes my heart beat faster.