The Art of Illusion

There was an electric twinge to the atmosphere of the house; it was like the remnants of our last argument here somehow lingered over me. Ellie had packed her bags and left much like you did. For different reasons though, I couldn't parent very well, which resulted in her having to be a stay-at-home Mom. She couldn't hack my mood swings, and the bitterness your departure left me with. Eventually, she fled for a better life, leaving me with only ghosts and memories of a better age to keep me company, in these isolated four walls...

Why wasn’t I able to push this depression away like usual? Locking the door I greeted the loneliness, like a routine I placed my key in the lock and twisted it, blocking me off from the world, leaving me in my own dark sanctuary. Setting the jangling pieces of metal down on the hallway cabinet I refrained from venturing further into the silence. My reflection caught me in the hall mirror. My face was pallid, haunted like a full moon on all hallows eve, my eyes were home to sullen shadows causing them to look sickly in the way the blue irises shone. Tousling my hair in a vain attempt to make myself appear a little more attractive, I walked through into the sitting room. For some unknown reason my hands were guided to the unit in the corner. It housed my most precious memories; in the form of two dark leather bound photo albums.

Kneeling before it’s oaken splendour, I opened the glass panelled doors, taking from it my secret guilty record of my endeavours. I began to rifle through the heavy pages, trying to find the photographs that meant the most to me. I bypassed those of childhood innocence, and teenage angst, until I came upon the ones of us in our late teens, in various nightclubs and daytime hangouts; mainly parks and the apartment… anywhere that seemed ‘normal’ for two friends to enjoy each other’s company. Touching the laminated pictures, I traced the outline of your smile longingly on one that was a special memory to me. One where I was actually in a good mood regarding our messed up relationship. Rocking back on my knees snippets of memories flooded back. Painful memories that burnt like liquid nitrogen; nostalgia was such a wretched, heart-breaking condition… But I couldn't stop the moving images as they played out in my mind.

I took a quick sip of the drink you were holding whilst you were busy entertaining a few friends we had accidentally run into on our venture out to the woods by the local park. It was lucky really that they caught us now instead of in the midst of the conversation I could sense brewing. One of the same conversations you always awkwardly brought up when we were alone and I was in a good mood. I didn’t want to hear it, living in blissful ignorance was much more my style. Sensing the pull on the straw of your juice carton you stared down at me.

“Why are you drinking from mine? Drink your own.” You drawled all the vowels playfully before swatting at my shoulder when I’d finished. A wave of cheekiness washed over me, as the sun warmed my back in an almost physicalisation of how I felt right now.

“Because it’s yours,” came my usual reply. Anything you had, I wanted. You were my obsession and anything you had I needed too. These were the little things that satisfied you, normally. I wish they were enough to really tell you how much I loved you. You rolled your eyes before smirking, turning back to entertain the friends I was rudely ignoring. They stood there, conversing with you for a few moments before I became bored with their presence. With them there I couldn’t hold you or kiss you the way I so desperately wanted to. Tugging on your sleeve I silently asked your permission to leave the situation, and as expected, you spitefully denied it. Staying put in a typical Ryan-esque playful punishment. Becoming ansty with company, I grabbed your wrist, dragging you away because if you were going to mock-ignore my politeness, I’d just do what I wanted in the first place. Fuck manners. Giggling, I stole you away by your wrist, waving a fast goodbye to the small gathering of people looking rather startled and confused.

I smiled, the memory was one of those perfect ones that you recalled in the highest definition. Even the diction of the other words spoken by you remained in my recollection. The sparkle in your eyes from the summer sun and the warmness it spread across my back, I still felt after all these years. It made me hurt, a deep resonance in my chest, but at the same time a bitter-sweet happiness wrapped me in its blind shroud. The void you left in my life could be filled for a short while by your memories. I was hoping doing this would help the great depression I felt earlier, vanish. Turning the page, I came to picture I’d taken of you without you noticing. I couldn't help but smile and laugh aloud at it, breaking the silence of my bleak and darkening sitting room.

Turning my back to the oak cabinet I sat with my spine flush against the glass, losing myself in the album as more memories flooded back to me.

The flash snapped in the semi-darkness of the music room at my new apartment. I hadn’t asked you to live with me just yet, in case people started to grow suspicious of us being so close. You whined before covering the lense of the camera with your hand.

“Why?” you asked drawing out the ‘y’. “There was no need Alan.” You added, before going back to pouring through the colour charts we’d gotten from the nearest D.I.Y store. You were helping me decorate the place, because I was hopeless with anything effeminate. I had barely any fashion sense, sticking to band tees, belts and skinnes, and when it came to colour schemes I was lost like a child in the middle of a mall, whose mother had accidentally abandoned him.

“There was every need; your concentration face is the most adorable thing in the world. That one’s going right next to me on my bedside table.” I stated, knowing how much this would get under your skin.

“Pfft, couldn’t you use a better picture at least?” You pleaded looking up from the glossy magazine spread in your lap. Your position opposite me at the bare composition worktop we'd put up, gave you ample opportunity to pull your infamous puppy look. Which you did. I pursed my lips petulantly; I wanted to refuse you, desperately. I loved pictures that are snapped without knowing, but unfortunately your pleading, sad eyes were getting the better of me. I sighed, rolling my eyes at you.

“Ugh. Fine. I hate the power you have over me.” I stated in annoyance. It’d fade soon because I could never stay angry at you long. Even if you had stopped me from doing what I wanted, in a weird sort of way, it was okay if you were the one stopping me. I could tolerate your interference because you were the only person I loved enough to excuse.

My emotions were beginning to swirl in an unfamiliar way, and soon my partly digested lunch was sloshing uneasily in my stomach. It stung, so much, and I’d never experienced longing to find you again with such intensity before. Biting my lip worriedly, I shut the book unable to look at you and I together for much longer. Tilting my head back against the glass I felt tears burn harshly once more beneath my eyelids.

I can’t do this without you anymore. However, I had no choice… right? There was no way to change what had been done… but at the same time I couldn’t bear the pain anymore either. You really were becoming the death of me. No wonder they call obsession unhealthy…