{Cookie} The First Few Hours
She stared at her phone, willing it to ring. It had been long past when he should have checked back at her, to tell her it was all a joke, he was just away for a bit buying milk. Or bread. One or the other.
Both of them were on the grocery list on the refrigerator. She looked at the yoghurt in her hand, warm now and a bit sticky from being clutched. She should have returned it to the fridge. But -- this stupid strawberry yoghurt. She wanted to squash it. Kill it. Eliminate it from time.
If objects could be at the wrong place at the wrong time, this had been it. She had long before shredded the note that said 'truth or dare? ;)'. The pieces were lying haphazardly on the kitchen floor, wet little paper pieces of regret and turmoil. Two larger pieces were still connected to the scotch tape that had bound it to the bottom of the tub of strawberry yoghurt.
Maybe he doesn't even care enough to call.
But that couldn't be true. Then again, she had been afraid this would happen. Afraid about trusting someone who wouldn't care. But surely, if he was safe, he would tell her, right? Anger briefly flared. How dare him. It had been an argument, but they had always made up shortly afterwards. Anger touched her often, but it burned out as fast. Just like it did now, anger turned quickly to confusion, then morphed as swiftly to despair.
She licked her lips and her eyes turned towards the red cup of stationery; pens, pencils, rulers, a penknife. It was an old habit. An abhorrent habit. But it was dependable, and somehow it worked. Maybe not yet.
Shouldn't have let myself feel.
But it had felt so good. She had felt complete -- and he had been with her every step of the way. Every moment. Through her madness, her inconsistency, he had smiled. She could still remember the ruffle and kiss he had given her this morning as they had stumbled out of bed, sleep-addled.
It was unbelievable to think he might be gone for good. But if that was the case, if he had finally had enough, who was she to blame him? Unexpectedly, she felt a stab of pain right through her heart, and removed a hesitant hand from the tub of yoghurt to press against her chest. Strange. She had never thought she would feel like this. For him. She wanted to trust him, but with her being so flawed, who was she to say he wouldn't be happier off without her?
How? Am I that hateful?
Sometimes she thought she was. At the almost-sudden revelation, that he might have been suffering all this while and never told her, she sobbed. With the first little sob, the floodgates to the tears were flung wide open, and torrents came upon her. She tried to keep them inside, but they wanted out. She breathed hard and fast, thinking hysterically that this was something like dying, she couldn't get enough air, maybe it wouldn't be quite so bad. If he weren't here...
But no, all she was doing was hyperventilating. She made a quick decision, setting the yoghurt aside to grab the penknife. The room was lit by grey twilight, and she could barely see what she was doing through the film of tears. But she heard the reassuring click, click, click of the penknife. Almost by memory, she drew it across the top of her left hand, in line with her wrist, a small line running horizontally. Not enough. She made a vertical line, then another. With every line she made, she could feel herself calming down, inexplicably. It made no sense, and yet, by the fifth line, she had stopped crying. She was calm.
All that was left was the bitter taste of despair, and the thickness of tears in her throat.
Sitting here, she felt so lonely. The time ticked past, unmarked by the simple clock in the kitchen. She couldn't bear the ticking, never could, so she had leapt up and removed the batteries savagely from the offensive device in the first hour. Now it was stuck at 3pm. She had no idea what time it was, how much time had passed.
In the distance, the strident ambulance wail retreated, becoming fainter and fainter until it was a memory in a memory of the lady sitting, dazed, at the kitchen table. She stared at the tub of yoghurt in front of her as the sun sank and the kitchen became captive to the shadows waiting to consume it.
A/N: In a way, this is linked to the cookie I wrote way back in 2006 - Dependence. Yet I don't really see my character there being as unhinged as this girl. She ought to be a bit...happier. But guilt and uncertainty, especially about yourself, drives people nuts. So have a piece about someone going nuts. <.> Note: If you don't read Dependence first, you'll probably think she's even more nuts. XD In my opinion, this is rather raw (which it's meant to be), and I do like Dependence more.
Both of them were on the grocery list on the refrigerator. She looked at the yoghurt in her hand, warm now and a bit sticky from being clutched. She should have returned it to the fridge. But -- this stupid strawberry yoghurt. She wanted to squash it. Kill it. Eliminate it from time.
If objects could be at the wrong place at the wrong time, this had been it. She had long before shredded the note that said 'truth or dare? ;)'. The pieces were lying haphazardly on the kitchen floor, wet little paper pieces of regret and turmoil. Two larger pieces were still connected to the scotch tape that had bound it to the bottom of the tub of strawberry yoghurt.
Maybe he doesn't even care enough to call.
But that couldn't be true. Then again, she had been afraid this would happen. Afraid about trusting someone who wouldn't care. But surely, if he was safe, he would tell her, right? Anger briefly flared. How dare him. It had been an argument, but they had always made up shortly afterwards. Anger touched her often, but it burned out as fast. Just like it did now, anger turned quickly to confusion, then morphed as swiftly to despair.
She licked her lips and her eyes turned towards the red cup of stationery; pens, pencils, rulers, a penknife. It was an old habit. An abhorrent habit. But it was dependable, and somehow it worked. Maybe not yet.
Shouldn't have let myself feel.
But it had felt so good. She had felt complete -- and he had been with her every step of the way. Every moment. Through her madness, her inconsistency, he had smiled. She could still remember the ruffle and kiss he had given her this morning as they had stumbled out of bed, sleep-addled.
It was unbelievable to think he might be gone for good. But if that was the case, if he had finally had enough, who was she to blame him? Unexpectedly, she felt a stab of pain right through her heart, and removed a hesitant hand from the tub of yoghurt to press against her chest. Strange. She had never thought she would feel like this. For him. She wanted to trust him, but with her being so flawed, who was she to say he wouldn't be happier off without her?
How? Am I that hateful?
Sometimes she thought she was. At the almost-sudden revelation, that he might have been suffering all this while and never told her, she sobbed. With the first little sob, the floodgates to the tears were flung wide open, and torrents came upon her. She tried to keep them inside, but they wanted out. She breathed hard and fast, thinking hysterically that this was something like dying, she couldn't get enough air, maybe it wouldn't be quite so bad. If he weren't here...
But no, all she was doing was hyperventilating. She made a quick decision, setting the yoghurt aside to grab the penknife. The room was lit by grey twilight, and she could barely see what she was doing through the film of tears. But she heard the reassuring click, click, click of the penknife. Almost by memory, she drew it across the top of her left hand, in line with her wrist, a small line running horizontally. Not enough. She made a vertical line, then another. With every line she made, she could feel herself calming down, inexplicably. It made no sense, and yet, by the fifth line, she had stopped crying. She was calm.
All that was left was the bitter taste of despair, and the thickness of tears in her throat.
Sitting here, she felt so lonely. The time ticked past, unmarked by the simple clock in the kitchen. She couldn't bear the ticking, never could, so she had leapt up and removed the batteries savagely from the offensive device in the first hour. Now it was stuck at 3pm. She had no idea what time it was, how much time had passed.
In the distance, the strident ambulance wail retreated, becoming fainter and fainter until it was a memory in a memory of the lady sitting, dazed, at the kitchen table. She stared at the tub of yoghurt in front of her as the sun sank and the kitchen became captive to the shadows waiting to consume it.
A/N: In a way, this is linked to the cookie I wrote way back in 2006 - Dependence. Yet I don't really see my character there being as unhinged as this girl. She ought to be a bit...happier. But guilt and uncertainty, especially about yourself, drives people nuts. So have a piece about someone going nuts. <.> Note: If you don't read Dependence first, you'll probably think she's even more nuts. XD In my opinion, this is rather raw (which it's meant to be), and I do like Dependence more.