In Her Head
In her head
“I thought you have left me.”
She is sitting at the edge of the terrace, leaning against the wooden pillar that holds the whole construction up. It's unfinished, the wood is raw and unpolished and uncomfortable to sit at, but she doesn't really care. She doesn't feel the roughness of the material anyway, even though all she is wearing is a pair of light blue jeans shorts. Her dark hair is falling on her shoulders and in her face in soft waves, contrasting to her pale skin that hasn't seen the sun for a long time.
She doesn't speak for the longest while as if she didn't hear anything, as if she was alone in the garden; just her and the sunshine and the buzzing of a bee and the light summer breeze. A paradise, after spending so much time in the dim hospital room that smelled off desinfection and death, the garden seems like a paradise to her.
“I can't leave you,” she whispers in the reply eventually, keeping her eyes closed instead of looking in the direction of the voice. It's coming from behind her, and when it speaks up again, it's closer – as if someone was whispering in her ear. As if someone was kneeling on the rough wood, leaning to her, cheek pressed against the satin-like strands and lips hovering next to her ear, breathing out the quiet words.
“I know you can't. But I got scared.”
She opens her eyes; they are the same dark brown colour as her hair.
“You didn't. You know I would never leave you.” A pause, she reconsiders her words. “You'd never let me go,” she corrects herself, still speaking so quietly. But she is heard just fine.
“I would be very sad without you. You know that, Em.”
She closes her eyes again. “You are lying.”
Her voice is emotionless, but the other voice isn't. There is a wave of anger and frustration heard when it snaps: “You know nothing!”
“I know enough to know you are lying. Sad? You don't have a clue about what it's like to be sad.”
The following few minutes none of them speaks. She tilts her head towards the sun, her eyelids fluttering slightly, but never moving up. The brown freckles covering her cheeks are contrasting to the pale skin, and the black cotton of her T-shirt feels hot against her skin, absorbing the warmth of the sun like a sponge. She doesn't mind that, though, she is glad she can feel the warmth on her chest and stomach. Her legs are cold.
When the voice breaks the silence, it's calm and composed once again. “Emily. Emily, listen to me.”
“I am listening,” she replies after a long while. It doesn't matter how long it takes her to reply, the voice is always there to hear the answer.
“Emily, you know I love you. So much... too much. But you are right. I would not be sad without you...” There is a dramatic pause, but she doesn't pay attention to it, feeling no need to hear what will continue; she can guess easily. “I'd be desperate. I'd never be able to exist without you, Emily. And you can't forget that.”
Her eyes are closed much tighter now and suddenly she is not so emotionless either, not anymore. Even though she knew what words would be said, she is still thrown off the balance, her composure disappearing with a snap of fingers. “No,” she whispers.
“Yes, oh, yes. I can't exist without you. That's why I will never let you go. Never, Emily.” The emphasis of the word is perfectly calculated.
“No,” she repeats, her voice is cracking under the emotions. Her hands in her lap are curled in fists, and she is shaking her head, feeling the wood behind her head with every move, her hair getting messed up and the soft strands tangling in the knots. She is reliving it again, the last moments, the screeching of the brakes, the honk of the car that was approaching them from the opposite direction, and the last words exchanged; it's her fault, her own fault. “No, no...”
“I love you Emily, I love you. I always will and I always will be there... with you, in your body, in your head, forever and always–”
“Emily?”
She opens her eyes quickly, relaxing her fists and forcing a smile on her lips. She is getting better at it; at the beginning she was always brought to tears and she was a mess for all too long time afterwards, but now she can calm down quicker than she thought was possible, if necessary. By the time the man who called her name walks to her, she is acting as if nothing happened. “William,” she says softly, not a trace of the emotions she felt just a minute ago audible. “Let's go inside,” she pleads.
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Alright, if that's what you want,” he replies, straightening up again. He turns around, reaching for the wheelchair parked in the shadow of the apple tree that grows nearby. He pulls it up to the terrace, and then steps to her. He picks her up gently, easily as if she weighted nothing, and she wraps her arms around his neck, her legs dangling deadly as he carries her to the wheelchair.
“He will never love you as much as I do, Emily, never.”
She doesn't react to the voice this time, and he doesn't either. When she turns her head towards the garden again, there is no one there.
There never was.
The voice she hears and talks to and argues with ever since the car accident, it all happens just in her head. The voice that sounds all too much like her lover who died in the accident, the voice she pretends she doesn't hear when someone else is around, when she is not alone, that voice exists just in her head.
Just in her head.
She is sitting at the edge of the terrace, leaning against the wooden pillar that holds the whole construction up. It's unfinished, the wood is raw and unpolished and uncomfortable to sit at, but she doesn't really care. She doesn't feel the roughness of the material anyway, even though all she is wearing is a pair of light blue jeans shorts. Her dark hair is falling on her shoulders and in her face in soft waves, contrasting to her pale skin that hasn't seen the sun for a long time.
She doesn't speak for the longest while as if she didn't hear anything, as if she was alone in the garden; just her and the sunshine and the buzzing of a bee and the light summer breeze. A paradise, after spending so much time in the dim hospital room that smelled off desinfection and death, the garden seems like a paradise to her.
“I can't leave you,” she whispers in the reply eventually, keeping her eyes closed instead of looking in the direction of the voice. It's coming from behind her, and when it speaks up again, it's closer – as if someone was whispering in her ear. As if someone was kneeling on the rough wood, leaning to her, cheek pressed against the satin-like strands and lips hovering next to her ear, breathing out the quiet words.
“I know you can't. But I got scared.”
She opens her eyes; they are the same dark brown colour as her hair.
“You didn't. You know I would never leave you.” A pause, she reconsiders her words. “You'd never let me go,” she corrects herself, still speaking so quietly. But she is heard just fine.
“I would be very sad without you. You know that, Em.”
She closes her eyes again. “You are lying.”
Her voice is emotionless, but the other voice isn't. There is a wave of anger and frustration heard when it snaps: “You know nothing!”
“I know enough to know you are lying. Sad? You don't have a clue about what it's like to be sad.”
The following few minutes none of them speaks. She tilts her head towards the sun, her eyelids fluttering slightly, but never moving up. The brown freckles covering her cheeks are contrasting to the pale skin, and the black cotton of her T-shirt feels hot against her skin, absorbing the warmth of the sun like a sponge. She doesn't mind that, though, she is glad she can feel the warmth on her chest and stomach. Her legs are cold.
When the voice breaks the silence, it's calm and composed once again. “Emily. Emily, listen to me.”
“I am listening,” she replies after a long while. It doesn't matter how long it takes her to reply, the voice is always there to hear the answer.
“Emily, you know I love you. So much... too much. But you are right. I would not be sad without you...” There is a dramatic pause, but she doesn't pay attention to it, feeling no need to hear what will continue; she can guess easily. “I'd be desperate. I'd never be able to exist without you, Emily. And you can't forget that.”
Her eyes are closed much tighter now and suddenly she is not so emotionless either, not anymore. Even though she knew what words would be said, she is still thrown off the balance, her composure disappearing with a snap of fingers. “No,” she whispers.
“Yes, oh, yes. I can't exist without you. That's why I will never let you go. Never, Emily.” The emphasis of the word is perfectly calculated.
“No,” she repeats, her voice is cracking under the emotions. Her hands in her lap are curled in fists, and she is shaking her head, feeling the wood behind her head with every move, her hair getting messed up and the soft strands tangling in the knots. She is reliving it again, the last moments, the screeching of the brakes, the honk of the car that was approaching them from the opposite direction, and the last words exchanged; it's her fault, her own fault. “No, no...”
“I love you Emily, I love you. I always will and I always will be there... with you, in your body, in your head, forever and always–”
“Emily?”
She opens her eyes quickly, relaxing her fists and forcing a smile on her lips. She is getting better at it; at the beginning she was always brought to tears and she was a mess for all too long time afterwards, but now she can calm down quicker than she thought was possible, if necessary. By the time the man who called her name walks to her, she is acting as if nothing happened. “William,” she says softly, not a trace of the emotions she felt just a minute ago audible. “Let's go inside,” she pleads.
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Alright, if that's what you want,” he replies, straightening up again. He turns around, reaching for the wheelchair parked in the shadow of the apple tree that grows nearby. He pulls it up to the terrace, and then steps to her. He picks her up gently, easily as if she weighted nothing, and she wraps her arms around his neck, her legs dangling deadly as he carries her to the wheelchair.
“He will never love you as much as I do, Emily, never.”
She doesn't react to the voice this time, and he doesn't either. When she turns her head towards the garden again, there is no one there.
There never was.
The voice she hears and talks to and argues with ever since the car accident, it all happens just in her head. The voice that sounds all too much like her lover who died in the accident, the voice she pretends she doesn't hear when someone else is around, when she is not alone, that voice exists just in her head.
Just in her head.