“You didn’t hurt me, you can’t hurt someone who feels nothing.” I was so sure that once the harsh words left my mouth the fresh air would give them life and truth, convincing us both.
“Really.” But it seemed the words were frightened by his defeated reaction and scrambled back into my mouth, shoving my reply to the side where it wedged in my throat. “What?”
What’s that even supposed to mean, anyway? Who is he to tell me that I don’t mean what I say?
Because he knows you better than anyone else. True, subconscious.
Maybe I shouldn’t just give up on him; there was a reason I allowed him so close to me in the first place… Maybe I’ve just forgotten what it is. Maybe once I’m back in his company and contained inside the safety of the perimeter of the Hospital I’ll remember what his fingertips brushing the hair off my face and behind my ear offers.
I sit up with sudden certainty and my phone screen comes to life as I click the home button. I tap into a new message before I start to question this decision.
Me: Hey Harry, I’m sorry xx
No I’m not, why should I be. Delete.
Me: Explain, Harry.
But I don’t want to sound too demanding; I don’t want to cause any more conflict. Delete.
Me: Harry? I want to talk about some stuff .x
I reread the sentence over and imagine how he’d react when he reads it. I feel confident with this one, and as my thumb hovers over the send button, I quickly delete the kiss.
I can’t forgive him that quickly.
Three o’clock in the morning and Harry still hasn’t replied. Is he asleep? Surely not. Surely the events of tonight are rioting through his mind like they are in mine. Surely he’s still up because the party refused to ever end. Surely.
But what if he’s seen it and he’s just ignoring me. He can’t be, he was the one begging for my forgiveness between that bathroom door earlier.
If I wade through this dwelling for much longer I’ll lose the rest of my broken sanity. The constant confusion is taking up all the space in this large room and I feel so suffocated.
I slip out of the covers and drag off the thin, red cotton blanket draped over the end of the bed and cocoon myself beneath it.
Tippy toeing out to the kitchen I switch on the light and search for something to occupy my attention for another four hours until morning light appears. I sigh and move to the ranch door, swiping the lock down and using all my strength to open the heavy glass door.
As soon as it’s wide enough for me to squeeze through, I step outside onto the concrete tiled terrace. It’s a warmer night for Washington, but the wind still blows relentlessly and I wrap the blanket providing slight cordiality around my bare arms tighter.
There are a couple of old fashioned styled deck chairs and a table in the corner but I ignore them and lean against the cold glass barrier and look out to the darkened streets. I’m high up, I suppose, but not high enough as I look up to the many stories above. I want to be at the top, tempted by the night birds to fly without a care amongst the stars with them.