the darker side of Maeby
A few minutes later I'm dressed in my usual nightwear; an old t-shirt and some boxer briefs. I remove the clip from my hair and my shoulder-length waves fall in a brunette cascade around my face. I look at the clock and it's pretty late, the streetlights aren't even on anymore.
It hits me then that I haven't eaten much today. Damn. Luckily I find some bananas and heavy cream in the kitchen. I cut a few slices of the fruit and put them in the bowl. I pour in the heavy cream and add a little sugar like my mom used to do for me as a kid. I was real skinny then and this dish (which had no official name) was one of the only things I would stomach.
I'm standing there against the counter and I feel something fuzzy wrap around my legs. I look down and there's my cat Tibbs wanting some attention. Just like me, the goddamn thing was a whore for affection.
I put the empty bowl in the dishwasher and go over into the living room. My laptop's sitting on the coffee table in front of the TV. I plop down on the couch and grab it, placing it in my lap. I touch the mouse pad which makes the screensaver disappear and a Word document sits before me; whatever manuscript I had left off on earlier was still there.
Yeah. I'm an editor. If you're an up-and-coming writer/playwright, or an old pro needing some assistance, I'm your gal. I review and edit stuff people write so it can be published. Not a very glamorous job but what's to be expected of a somewhat goraphobic college drop-out? Besides, my fees are pretty decent and they keep me going.
I sit there and scroll through the pages, noting grammatical errors and such. Finally I finish and save the revised document. I e-mail it back to the owner with a fee amount. I shut the laptop down and peel myself from the sofa. The inevitable has come; now I have to sleep.
I walk into the bedroom and crawl across the bed to "my" side. I tried sleeping in the middle for a while but it felt too awkward. At least if I stay on my side I can pretend like you're working late and won't be home 'til after I'm asleep. No matter how often I tell myself how pathetic that is, I still sleep on the same side of our bed every night.
I pull a pillow from the other side over and lay it vertically beside me. My head rests on top of it and an arm goes around. It doesn't smell like you anymore, but I remember the scent anyway. I close my eyes and the feeling of the pillow's linen fades. It's replaced by the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. Your warm soft skin against my cheek. My face tenses and I feel warm tears well in my eyes. They fall from closed lids and I shudder a breath, a sop escapes. I'm crying for the millionth time and inwardly cursing myself to stop.
"You goddamn fool, it's been a decade and you're still falling apart over him. Where's your head? Where's your sense? Why can't you just accept the end and his absence? He's gone. You drove him away. You wanted him gone."
No I didn't. I sob and shudder and my body shakes. I'm gulping for air because I'm trying to keep quiet. Even though I'm alone I don't want to be too loud. I cover my mouth with one hand a stroke the pillow with the other. If only you were here, If only you were here. I repeat this over and over. In my head at first but then it becomes barely audible whispers.
I'm crying so hard and so softly that I can feel my face redden from lack of proper breathing. I don't know how long this goes on for, but eventually I feel myself tire. My head lays again, this time on a wet surface. A trail of my tears remains on my cheeks and I don't wipe it away. I fall into a deep sleep and dream of you. I dream of seeing you again and telling you everything. Why I did what I did and how I wish I didn't. How much I want you back and need you.
To think all this misery is a result of what I thought would be best. Like if he was happy it would be okay if I wasn't. I realize now that I was so fucking wrong about us. I should've listened to you and everyone else. I should've just put those thoughts out of my head. I should've believed you; your eyes, your mouth, your words, your touch.
I miss you and can't have you back. I can't have you because I haven't changed. Even with my epiphany I haven't really changed. I know I'd revert back to the way I was in no time flat. I can't put you through that again. I love you, I want you. I wish it were that simple. I wish you could understand. I'm aware of you even in dreams, I'm committed.
I wake up later with a startle. I don't know what jolted me so quickly out of sleep, but I was sitting up now. My eyes stung, my vision wasn't clear. I got up out of bed and rubbed my eyes. Back in the bathroom I'm staring at myself in the mirror. As the cold water runs I wet my hands and splash my face. Water drips from me and I drink a little from a cupped palm. My reflection disgust me. I stand there and glare, I hated it. It needed change but never would. It needed to be broken.
Before I know it my fist is going through the glass. It shatters and falls to the floor, some of it in the sink.My hand is bleeding andI'm in between crying and laughing. I'm shaking again almostinstantly. I look at the shards by my feet and I suddenly feel terror. Yet I'm compelled to pick up a piece and hold it in my hand. I stare at the cracked bit of glass and I see a partial reflection of me. My eyes widen.
I want to feel it cut. I want to see the blood rush from an open wound like that on my hand. I want to but I'm scared of the pain. I'm scared of the pain and the aftermath. Of disappearing and leaving you behind to find out what had become of me. I don't want to end up that way in your mind. I drop the piece in the sink and lower to the ground. I bring my knees to my chest and hug myself. I see daylight begin to shine through a window and I'm crying again.
What the fuck was I going to do?