This Is Torturous

My whole body ached from lack of sleep and nutrition. There was a constant headache behind my eyes and a wooziness around my head. It was hard to get my eyes to focus and even more difficult for my mind. Every time I stood, I got light headed and had to stop until it settled down. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't eat. This wasn't new, though.

My doubts and fears were slowly but surely starting to deteriorate my body. I didn't want to feel like this. There was nothing more I liked than sleep and food. But because of my issues taking over my every thought, I couldn't do anything. This, again, wasn't new.

When I touched down in Nashville that Friday afternoon, I was more than ready to collapse. The whole plane ride there I was either doodling in my sketchpad, listening to Eisley on my iPod, or trying to write down everything I was feeling, which didn't end up working that well. I was never good at getting ahold of my emotions and writing everything down, so anything I wrote was a mess and got off topic often.

Grandma Clementine was standing in her marvelous glory, wearing the Winter Kate velvet cardigan I got her for Christmas under a heavier peacoat and a pair of cowboy boots on her feet. “What the hell happened to you?” Was the first thing out of her mouth when I approached her at baggage claim.

I couldn't even laugh. All I could do was squeeze my tired eyes and press my palm to my pounding head, “I'm going through a bit of a crisis.”

Her gray eyes that matched mine grew pitiful as she frowned, “Let's get your bag and head home. I'll fix you something to eat once we get there and you can tell me what's bothering you.”

Gram wasn't pushing me to talk. We were sitting at the small table in her kitchen and she wasn't prodding me with questions. I wanted to tell her, but all I could do was look out the large bay window at the rain that started to fall on our ride home.

It fell into the pool and into the flower garden beyond it. The pattering against the cement of the backyard had me in a daze. The sound of it brought me a kind of peace I hadn't felt in a long time – since before the new year.

“We haven't gotten much rain this season.” Gram stated, stirring a spoon in a mug of coffee in front of her on the table. “The year I moved out here, we got so much rain, I didn't know what to do with myself. Being in Arizona for so long really screwed me up with what to do.” I cracked a small smile, listening to her go on about the weather.

My eyes were fixed on the bowl of fruit in front of me. Grapes, cantaloupe, watermelon, and peaches. Gram always knew my favorites. “How's the fruit?” She questioned, noticing how intensely I was staring at it.

I'd only managed to stick a grape and a few pieces of cantaloupe into my mouth, “It's good.” I smiled weakly at her.

Her hand came down to squeeze my left. Feeling the ring I had slipped back on my finger, she pulled away, “I heard that boy proposed, but I wouldn't believe it because I thought my granddaughter would have called to tell me.”

Curling my fingers into my palm, I pulled my hand off the table and brought it down into my lap, “I haven't exactly been putting it on display for everyone to see and know.”

Her eyebrow creased together in confusion, “Why not? When your grandfather proposed to me, I'd tell anyone who'd listen. He had to almost take the ring from me so I'd shut up.” I snorted; that sounded like something my grandpa would do.

My dad's father, Clarke L'Amour died in 2006 of a brain aneurism. It was out of no where, like most aneurisms, and shook our family pretty badly. Grandma Clem was torn up so bad that she had to move out of the house they shared. She vowed to stay until I graduated then took off to Tennessee. She'd been fine, for the most part, ever since.

This was it, though. I could feel my darkest thoughts rising up my throat.

You might as well let someone know everything that's going on before it all ends so they're not completely taken by surprise.

With a heavy sigh, I brought both of my hands up to rest my head in them, “John proposed at midnight on New Years. We were sitting in the backyard of our friend's house with all of our friends. When the countdown started, he said my name. I was on his lap, so I looked over my shoulder and all I saw was the ring. Just a second before everyone yelled “one”, he asked me to marry him.”

Pausing, I dropped my hands onto the table and took in a sharp breath at the memory, “I couldn't wrap my head around it, so I kept asking him if he was serious. When he reassured me, I said yes without a second thought. I was so excited and happy. I love him, so why shouldn't I?”

Gram was listening intently, sipping her coffee every once in a while. I was struggling with how to put all of my feelings and thoughts into words, “I was in my happy bubble for a while until Mom said something about how young I am. It was just a comment in passing, but it got me thinking. I'm only twenty-two, about to be twenty-three. That's so young to be married.”

“Winter got married younger than that.” She pointed out.

“But Winter has been with Jordan forever.”

“I got married when I was eighteen. Your mom when she was twenty.”

I shook my head, growing frustrated, “That's not the point. I'm saying I think I'm too young.”

“So you don't want to get married to John?”

“I do. I do want to get married to him, but not now. We're young. He's got the band. I have the store. I've been thinking about a degree in something fashion related. I feel like it's not the right time. Plus, his fans found out about me, so I've been getting all of this hate mail. My head is my worst enemy right now because I'm believing them when they tell me I'm not good enough for John, which is so true; he wants to marry me, yet here I am not wanting to get married. He deserves someone that won't doubt their relationship like I am. I can't even talk to him right now without almost having an anxiety attack, which are coming back at full force, by the way. I love him, I really do. I miss him and I want to see him, but I know I'll just have a panic attack like I have been lately.” I was rambling, but she was keeping up somehow.

“Sparrow, you and John are meant to be. I knew it the moment I saw you two together at Christmas when you weren't even together. I know it, your parents know it, your sisters know it, John knows it because he proposed to you. You're just scared of commitment.” It was scary how well my grandma knew me when we hardly ever talked. “You've dated a lot of assholes in your life and you're only going on twenty-three. I don't think there had been a decent guy before you met John.”

I nodded, wiping at my watery eyes, “I do have this voice at the back of my head telling me to leave before he hurts me like the rest of them.”

Gram nodded with a sad smile, “I understand that you're scared about committing to someone for the rest of your life because of those guys. They all seemed to leave, too, right? Erika dying – leaving you – didn't really help you out, did it?” I shook my head,” “John's gone all the time, too. A lot of people in your life have left you. John loves you more than he probably loves himself, though. Things will be okay. What you need to do is tell him you're not ready for marriage just yet. Just be together. You're living together, that's enough for right now.”

I nodded, feeling a small weight off my shoulders. It wasn't entirely gone, so I still felt miserable, but I only hoped I could get through it.

“Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest? We'll go get something to eat when you wake up.”

I was running. I was dreaming that I was running through an airport. Having been wounded in a car crash right outside, I was looking around for some help. I was on my way somewhere John didn't want me to go when a car rear ended me, sending me flying against the steering wheel. In a result of the crash, my foot ached and caused me to limp as I walked.

The atmosphere of the airport was hostile and suffocating. I found the policeman that helped me outside and asked him what to do as I looked around at the people walking around with handguns. “Run; you're next.” Feeling nothing but panic, I turned and took off through the terminal.

The man was chasing after me, but I was too fast for him even with my hurt foot. Turning left, I ran up to a girl sitting at an information desk. “Please, I need a phone! There's someone trying to kill me.” I heaved, breathless.

Her face showed concern and worry with a hint of confusion, like she had no idea there were tons of people running around the airport with handguns. “Okay, here, Sweetie.” She handed me her own personal cell phone and I grabbed it. With a glance over my shoulder, I saw the man catching up to me. I took off running again.

As I ran, I dialed John's number. As soon as he answered, I cried into the phone, “I'm being chased by a man with a gun. They're trying to kill me.” I heard an intake of breath on his end, “Come pick me up!” I cried desperately.

“I'm already on my way out the door.” He was crying almost as hard as I was, “I don't know if I'll make it in time, though.”

I rounded another corner, sprinting despite the pain in my foot, “Where are you?” I sobbed.

“I'm at Christina's.” Real life me had no idea who Christina was, but dream me seemed to know her and knew that her house was far. “Just find somewhere to hide.” I pushed my way through a swinging door, not knowing where it would take me, “I love you.” He cried just as I stopped to catch my breath. It was like he knew I wasn't going to make it.

That's when I noticed the old woman with no skin on the bottom half of her face, holding an old man hostage. There was a black handgun pointing at him from her hand. She snarled, “Two homicides are better than one.”

Jumping awake with a gasp, I lied there in bed, chest beating erratically. Go figure the one time I fell asleep for longer than an hour, I had a horrible nightmare.

Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes, trying to get the dream out of my memory. The TV in the corner was playing an infomercial for a nonstick pan called Orgreenic, but all I could hear was the rain still falling. It pattered against the window in a soothing way.

What time was it? The clock on the bedside table read “4:23”. I slept for ten hours. I felt like I could sleep for another thirty-six. That wasn't going to happen, though. My mind was still screwed up from the dream that I couldn't even think about sleeping for fear that I would go back to it. Instead, I flipped through the guide on the TV before I found a marathon of I Love Lucy on the Hallmark Channel.

After a few episodes, I got up to relieve my full bladder, not being able to hold it any longer. It was six in the morning now and I longed for something to do. It was so early and I couldn't exactly hop in a car and take off, seeing as I wasn't home in Arizona. Gram would be up in an hour or two, always being an early riser.

Padding down the stairs and into the dimly lit kitchen, I searched the cupboards for a glass to fill with ice water. The rain hadn't let up. I watched it fall against the windows in what seemed like buckets. I hadn't experienced a rain like that in a while – since the night John confessed his love for me in the middle of the desert after my car ran out of gas driving back to the city.

With a light sigh, I placed my half empty glass on the counter. My mind was back on John. The dream still had me shook up and hearing his broken, defeated voice only made it worse. What did it all mean? I was asking him to save me, but he was too far away. I guessed that's what I wanted him to do now. I wanted him to save me from myself without me actually realizing it.

This wasn't going to happen; he was in Europe and I in Tennessee. I wanted to talk to him. My mind really needed to make up its mind. One second I can't stomach the thought of talking to him and the next it's all I can think about doing. I wanted him to help me, but knew I couldn't tell him all of my doubts. He would surely not take it well and realize how horrible of a human I was.

It had to have been hours I was standing there in the kitchen. At one point, I pulled out the bowl of fruit I failed to finish the day before and popped every piece into my mouth at slow intervals. The sun rose and my grandma glided into the kitchen in her robe.

“Sparrow?” She asked hesitantly, seeing me in a form of distress.

My head popped up and my sunken eyes looked at her, “Hmm?”

She looked scared and concerned for me, “How long have you been up?”

My eyes moved o the clock on the stove, seeing it was a bit after 7:30. “Since 4:30.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh, wow. Have you been down here this whole time?”

I shook my head, picking up a piece of watermelon, “I came down at about six.” I popped the fruit into my mouth and chewed.

“You must be hungry. Let me make you something to eat.” Her feet took her to the fridge, but I stopped her before she could take anything out.

“No, I'm fine. I just ate this whole bowl of fruit.” I picked up the tupperware as I spoke.

“Bird,”

I ignored the pure concern and sadness in her voice as I turned to the sink to place the bowl in the stainless steel, “Really, Gram, I'm fine.” I shot her a small closed-mouth grin and picked up the glass of water I had refilled about five minutes before she made her appearance. “I'm going to go take a shower.” I informed her before my feet carried me out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

I couldn't help but check my phone for messages from John as soon as I passed through the threshold of the guest room I was staying in. The way I was being so bipolar made my head spin. I was saddened to see the last message from him was the response to the one I sent him when was at Clover's for dinner. It was a simple “okay. I love you.” and it made me feel guilty all over again.

Get over yourself, Sparrow. Just suck it up and get married! Nothing bad is going to come from it!

I repeated this as I showered and dressed for the day in a pair of mint colored skinny jeans and a white sweater with an inch of black before the elastic on the bottom. I didn't bother with my hair except for blowdrying my bangs into place then continuing on with the rest.

The shower made me feel a little better, but I was still completely exhausted. On top of that, I was nauseous. I wasn't sure if it was from lack of food or if my immune system had given up on me. With the way I was treating my body, I wouldn't doubt it.