My Dinosaur Life

“ Sometimes quicksand has a massive appeal to me.”

(Her)

I’m drowning.

Slowly.

It always happens slowly.

It starts with the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and then everything looks black.

The worst part is the sensation of needing to breathe, but not being able to feel the air in my lungs, even though I know it has to be there, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to think, right?

Feeling as if my lungs are being squeezed when I know for a fact they’re not.

The second worst part is when I panic and want to move my limbs but can’t.

And the thing is, I know I must be dreaming again, but I can’t wake up.

I can never wake up.

Sometimes it’s quicksand, most times it’s water.

I have this recurring nightmare.

I’m drowning.

I always drown slowly.

Sometimes, I know he’s there, holding me under, holding me down.

Usually, I’m drowning alone.

Slowly, and alone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Will you just shut the fuck up about him already?!” I growl angrily about them. My fingers clench around the neck of the beer bottle I’m holding.

I want to be somewhere else.

They laugh, and at this moment, I really hate my bandmates and pretty much everyone on this tour that has ever said anything against him.

I know they’re all wasted because we have a day off tomorrow, and that’s why they’re saying things like this, but it hurts all the same.

“You’re not even good for each other,” Chelsea remarks. “You’re just going to break up with him again, and you know it,” she slurs.

“Yeah? Well at least my boyfriend doesn’t fuck around behind my back,” I snidely remark. She blanches at my comment but I’m so pissed I can’t even manage a smirk.

I only say it because I hate her that much in this second.

“Right. That’s your job, isn’t it?” she replies, glaring.

My face matches hers, blood draining from my face, because she’s right.

My pulse races in embarrassment and rushes blood back to my cheeks just as quickly as it had drained.

My hands start to shake and my fingers tremble uncontrollably.

My grip goes loose.

I let the bottle fall where I’m standing, and it gives a satisfying crunch as it collides with the cement, spraying booze and pretty green shards at my feet.

I whip around and quickly walk away, because my vision’s blurring more and more with each step.

“An-” I hear her begin, and I know she’s seen the tears.

Her tone is apologetic, full of regret.

I don’t know why it is; she’s completely right, after all, and I crossed the line first.

She only told the truth.

I suppose that’s why it hurts so much.

I just barely feel tiny pricks of the pretty green glass shards in my feet as my flip-flops smack sharply against the concrete, digging deeper into my sticky skin as I make my way back to our bus.

I wish I was someone else.

My hands start to shake again when I’m finally inside, and I’m craving a cigarette for the first time in months, but I force myself to settle for the tequila on the counter, for a little help.

I take a lonely shot hoping that everyone goes on with their mini-barbeque outside without me.

The shot glass overflows and I spill a little while pouring, and I sputter and cough as it burns down my throat, but I welcome it at the same time.

And I take a double-shot of rum while I’m at it.

My throat feels warm and pleasant once the flaming sensation subsides.

My fingers fumble over the buttons of my phone after I lock myself in the back lounge.

It rings four and a half times before he picks up.

But that’s only if my drunken math is to be trusted at this point.

“Annie?” he says, sounding as if he’d been asleep, which makes me realize how late it must be.

I start to cry all over again at the sound of his voice, because I don’t know what else to do.

“Are you alright? Did something happen? Where are-”

“I’m…s-sorry,” I sob pathetically, collapsing on the couch.

“It’s okay,” he says soothingly, even though he most likely has no idea what I’m talking about.

“So sorry…f-for every…thing,” I continue. “For…what I did to you…”

“I already forgave you,” he replies quietly, now sounding more alert as he realizes what I’m talking about.

“I re-regret it so much…you don’t- even k-know,” I stumble over my words. There’s silence on the line, save for my labored breathing and occasional hitching sobs.

“I forgive you,” he repeats, but it only slightly calms me down. He waits for my breathing to steady before he speaks again. “Maybe you should sleep, Annie,” he suggests, stifling a yawn that comes anyway.

“No!” I interrupt, starting to panic again. “I don’t want to drown. Don’t make me. Don’t drown me, Justin!” I plead with him.

I know I don’t make any sense.

“Ssh. You’re not drowning,” he states calmly. “Close your eyes. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

“Stay…” I start to ask him, but my eyelids are heavy.

I hear him breathing on the other end.

My consciousness starts to slip away from me just as I start to hear him snore.

I’m sinking.

I’m drowning.

But the thing is-

If we’re drowning together...then, well...

It’s kind of appealing.