Almost Lost It All

I miss you so much. There's no more light to lead me. I need a place of refuge, and you were my peace. So where do I find peace again? You were the strength that kept me standing up tall and the trust the let me hold onto everyone. My soul is dead now. I just want to talk to you. I just want to tell you how much I've always loved you. I'd give anything to look upon your face, into your eyes, and see you smile at me one more time. I'd love to know that you're with me. Because without you I'm so completely lost. Without you I don't know if I can go on. How am I supposed to accept this? You're no longer suffering but I'm dying. So where are you? Why aren't you here with me? How come I can't feel you? Can you tell me that I'm okay? Because I don't think I am. There's a constant storm inside of my body. I don't go anywhere without the weather colliding inside of my chest. It's all pain. It hurts to the point of surrender. I want to surrender. I'm just afraid you won't be waiting on the other side.

The ink in every word spreads among the page in small pools. The burning hot water soaks into the paper swiftly, erasing all of the thoughts of a broken girl. It doesn't make the pain wash away. I want to be able to disappear like those words. I want to be able to slip down the drain; become lost to the world forever. There's still a storm inside of my chest. No matter what I do I'm drowned by the hurricane that beats up my organs to get to my heart. I wish I could succumb completely to the weather.

I wonder if I could.

I slide down so my whole body, up to my chin, is under the bath water. I let the soggy papers of my past float among the surface. My tired eyes follow the flowing ink.

And would I be able to succumb to this pain? Because it's so strong that I'm swimming in sorrows instead of releasing them. My heart is no longer an intrument of survival, it's an instrument of torture. Each beat sends crippling messages throughout the rest of me. Can I succumb?

The blazing water edges up to my bottom lip and burns my chapped skin as I move down further. My eyes still keep up with the ripping pages. I'm all alone. There's no one else inside of Zack's wonderful home. Am I cruel enough to let them find me? Stone cold in the water, limp with letters to someone dead incasing my limbs, no more life swimming inside of my eyes.

No. I'm not.

But it hurts so much. Everything hurts. How did this happen to me? Everything in my life has become something to hurt me in some way. Even the ones who care are grinding me down to pity. Because I can't be happy for them. I can't find a way out of this deep, deep depression. I want to be free but I can't seem to get there. So should I waste anymore of their time trying to get me there?

I slide down lower so my mouth is under the water. My nose is just above the surface, not yet cutting off all access to air. I take my breathing slowly. I let the steam burn my nostrils. And it won't stop. Nothing will stop. I'm not shaking but I'm dying. The pain is overbearing now but my mind is numb to it. All I can do is feel. Feel everything horrible.

I hear noise off in the distance of the house and inhale deeply. I push myself up into a sitting position. My skin is burning with so much more than hot water. Fear, realization, sudden regret. The noise continues and shakes me from my stupor. It must be Zacky or Gena getting home. I grab the sinking papers that are falling apart to smoosh them into tiny balls. I throw them out of the bath tub, cursing my stupidity of looking upon something so painful again. I hit the handle which opens the drain. Now my hands begin to shake. The normal routine of hiding myself begins to settle inside of my brain. I feel the chance of an ending swirl down the drain as I turn on the water again. I turn the dial to freezing cold. I cup my hands as the ice cold water hits my fingers. I splash my face numerous times, letting my skin feel the sudden shock. It wakes me up.

--

I venture downstairs fully clothed and ready to pretend to be fine. As I pass through the big rooms I find no one. The fear that I might be alone once again knocks inside of my chest until I hear a shuffle from the garage. Tentative thoughts of talking to Zacky about how I'm feeling fills my head as I get to the garage door and open it. Instead of the person I was expecting, Brian is standing back, looking at an old motorcycle. I instantly recognize it as the '79 Shovelhead I bought him for his birthday a long, long time ago. Uneasiness pushes into my veins as I wonder why he still has it. And why he's looking at it now. After a few long moments of suffering in silence I make myself talk.

"You still have it." I murmur, loud enough for him to hear.

He looks up, surprised at the company. When he sees that it's me I feel an emotional guard lift up around him. I don't want to hate him for it, but I do.

"Yeah..." He says uncomfortably as he focuses on something on the bike.

The machine isn't his typical style. It's not a low-rider with long curved handlebars or flames across the body. But he loves it just as much as his flashy cycles. And at the time I bought it I wanted something I would enjoy, too. It was really a gift for both of us. He laughed when I told him that. We spent a lot of days and nights just riding on that bike. It's something I miss the most about us.

The burning question to ask why he kept it prickles at my skin but I pick something else to ask instead.

"Why is it here?" I ask.

Brian looks up at me with a bland expression. He shrugs. I silently admire the brightness his eyes hold and how strong his build is when he moves. He leans over slightly, dusting off the seat on the cycle.

"Well," he says, "I didn't really have enough room in my garage and Zack offered to store it in here for me. Plus," he pauses, visibly wondering if he should add the next sentence. He shakes his head slightly, "it was kind of too painful to have around all the time."

I don't know what to say to that. I drop my eyes to the concrete floor. I try to think of something appropriate to say but nothing at all comes to mind. Guilt begins to weigh heavily on my shoulders. As quietly as I can I begin to back out of the doorway, to leave him alone, when he makes me stop dead.

"You wanna go for a ride?" He asks.

What?

I look up at him, letting the shock take over my features. He just at me hopefully with his beautiful brown eyes. Somewhere inside of me a very small glint of hope shines. I lick my lips.

"Uhm.."

Should I? Should I let him take me in, only to throw me out again? Can I trust him?

"Sure," I say quietly, "just let me change."

He smiles. Against my will the glint of hope grows.

--

The machine roars to life as Brian kick starts the motor. I try hard to focus on everything else besides him. Every movement he makes, every flicker of hesitation he has makes me want to implode with longing. I swallow when he climbs onto the motor cycle and lifts it into a standing position, ready to go. He looks over at me expectantly.

I slide on my raybans. I'm relieved to be covering my eyes. There's no doubt that he'll be able to see all that I'm feeling. With gentle hands I take his shoulders. I swing my leg over the machine and situate myself onto the familiar back seat. Everything becomes overly evident to me now. My hands on his strong shoulders are shaking with such a passion to touch him everywhere else that I'm sure he can feel my fingers twitch. My legs are tense where I'm strattling his back. I want to cry with frustration, or fear, that we're this close again.

But a part of me doesn't believe it. I can't believe that we're this close. My mind can't wrap around the fact that this is happening. How did it happen?

We go slowly through the neighbourhood. A wanting rises up inside of me. Not the one to touch him but one to go fast. I want to go fast again. I want to feel free on this motorcycle like I always did before. As the driver turns onto to PCH I can't help it. I lean forward into him, my chest on his back and my lips at his ear.

"Please go fast," I say, "don't think I can't handle it."

Brian glances back at me but his eyes are hidden under his aviators so I don't can't read them. I see a small smile turn up his lips. I sit back again, aware of my closeness. The speed instantly picks up. Everything bad overtakes my body. I let it come because I know what will happen. And I'm right.

As we travel at a frightening speed I feel it all whip into the wind behind me. The pain flies through my tangling hair and falls into the whizzing road behind us. Sorrow breaks off of my skin in pieces and is left behind in the smoke of the tires. The free feeling of the wind incases my body with such delight that I almost smile. I almost feel a bit happy.

Hours pass at this speed. My head is completely empty. My body stirs with only light feelings. It's when the sun begins to set that I feel again. I don't know what I feel but it's overwhelming. And the wind takes care of the tears under my sunglasses.