Honesty

I stepped out onto Carrella's tiny roof, enjoying being up there in the crisp night air with only a JD and Coke as my company.

Sometimes, so suddenly that I could never pinpoint the why- the weight of these parties and everything would creep up on me and drag tears from my eyes, almost force me to my knees. I had to escape then, to silence, to solitude, where I could detach myself from it all.

I would lose myself in thought, forcing myself to imagine a beautiful ballgown. How the cut of the neckline would slope gently against the collarbone and breast; how the skirt would grow from the bodice. Imagining the materials, the decorations... I did this, every time, until I was calm.

Until I could breathe again.

I'd become adept at slipping away unnoticed.

At least, that's what I thought, that night on Carrella's roof.

But suddenly the door was swinging gently open and closed, and the familiar weight of a familiar hand with familiar fingers appeared at my hip.

Nothing was said. It was enough to just stand there in the gloom and watch the trees in front of us sway.

My unwarranted unease was drained off by those fingers, and in that moment he'd given me everything I had wanted.



That first night with Paul had anchored me, sharpened my vision, if only for a little bit.

The next few days were spent on the ground, away from that sickening roller coaster of emotions.

The next few days were easy. Not that I managed to resolve any of my problems, or even reach some petty enlightenment.

But three nights without tears - three nights of sound, solid sleep - they gave me hope.

And once I tasted it, I did not want to let go.