‹ Prequel: Best Thing In Town
Another Sentimental Argument
Eleven
I swim through awful thoughts of turning around, visions of screaming, and my own salty hot tears all the way back to my apartment building. My head is hollow, only with the ocassional sloshing of boiling water words that bubble in my brain. With tight fists, my knuckles are stretched their thinnest. I push the limits and do not loosen my muscles, for anything.
Climbing the stairs with lead feet is the worst part of this journey so far, I think. I'm afraid my knees are going to bulge and then snap underneath me, leaving me crooked between steps. By some sort of twisted miracle, I reach my floor and I can only reason to think that the anger heavy on my back was my body's motivation not to crumble.
I feel like a breathing boulder. Jagged, heavy, dark.
I have to rest before I fall off the cliff. My sweaty, swore hands are the first pieces of skin to reach the cold wall behind me. They press gingerly, guiding my back to the wall. I slide down through thick air and do not release my muscles from my death grip until I am sure I won't cause a rock slide.
All at once, my muscles melt into a pool of simmering rage and in my eyes all I see are green glowing circles with red edges.
Although the light above me is pale and pathetic, hanging limply by a thin cord, I feel as though it is giving me a sunburn. It's weak light piercing against the skin on my arms. I then remember my rage and his voice and of everything I've ever done wrong, and I think a sunburn would be nothing compared to the slow burn of guilty anguish that sits like hot coal on top of me.
My hands weigh a ton and they find a way to my face. Beneath both eyelids, my fingertips can feel a slow steady pulse. My hands sizzle when I see him in my mind.
I see Billie smiling at me and his dazed kisses landing sloppily on my cheek. Then I see his dangerous eyes that always wrap around my throat until breathing becomes close to impossible. And his sharp mouth that is spewing out (true) words that sit on my lungs until I suffocate.
I force my eyes open and cradle my lungs until I begin to breathe regularly again. Like most things, it doesn't last long.
Because there he is. Making the long journey up the stairs to reach the top. Unlike me, he glides dreamlike over them all until he is standing in front of me.
I stare at his kneecaps because it's the only part of him I can see without lifting my eyes. It takes me a few long seconds before I look Billie in the eyes and before that moment, I become far too familiar with Billie Joe's kneecaps.
Cautiously, as the boulder girl, I shakily stand up in front of him without any guarantee of toppling back over. I steady myself with aching palms against the wall, against my spine.
When I see him, it hurts. My muscles do not cry, but look on upon the situation and just frown with glossy eyes. They ache, but they must hold me up. Hold me up until he is gone.
He isn't saying anything to me. The ghost says nothing to the rock. He stands there in the bleached light wavering with the stale air. I block all signs of light and cast shadows on the dirty floor.
I close my eyes and see all the words I want to be said. 'Hit me,' I thought. 'Hit me with everything you have. Anything to make me feel like less of a dead weight.' The thoughts stroll over my brain, back and forth, up and down, again and again. I forget Billie is there.
Just as I am sure I will suffocate, I open my eyes only to see Billie's closing. The air becomes cold, chilling, when I see him leaning into me. To an onlooker, an inch between our lips. To me, infinite.
I stare at his eyelids until my vision goes blurry. I try to blink it away but before I have the chance to open my eyes again, his lips burn against my own.
With eyes closed and lips blazing, everything is ignited between us.
I am the cigarette between his lips. The cigarette that was lit just when I was sure my life was over for the night.
Soon, he takes his fire away from me and we just look at each other. His eyes beat against mine slowly, wearily, steadily. In the long moment of silence, I forget that mouths are also used for talking.
"I'm sorry." His eyes clench shut. "For being an asshole." They open again. "But at least I came back."
Burning.
Then I watch as he leaves me and I fall to ashes.
Climbing the stairs with lead feet is the worst part of this journey so far, I think. I'm afraid my knees are going to bulge and then snap underneath me, leaving me crooked between steps. By some sort of twisted miracle, I reach my floor and I can only reason to think that the anger heavy on my back was my body's motivation not to crumble.
I feel like a breathing boulder. Jagged, heavy, dark.
I have to rest before I fall off the cliff. My sweaty, swore hands are the first pieces of skin to reach the cold wall behind me. They press gingerly, guiding my back to the wall. I slide down through thick air and do not release my muscles from my death grip until I am sure I won't cause a rock slide.
All at once, my muscles melt into a pool of simmering rage and in my eyes all I see are green glowing circles with red edges.
Although the light above me is pale and pathetic, hanging limply by a thin cord, I feel as though it is giving me a sunburn. It's weak light piercing against the skin on my arms. I then remember my rage and his voice and of everything I've ever done wrong, and I think a sunburn would be nothing compared to the slow burn of guilty anguish that sits like hot coal on top of me.
My hands weigh a ton and they find a way to my face. Beneath both eyelids, my fingertips can feel a slow steady pulse. My hands sizzle when I see him in my mind.
I see Billie smiling at me and his dazed kisses landing sloppily on my cheek. Then I see his dangerous eyes that always wrap around my throat until breathing becomes close to impossible. And his sharp mouth that is spewing out (true) words that sit on my lungs until I suffocate.
I force my eyes open and cradle my lungs until I begin to breathe regularly again. Like most things, it doesn't last long.
Because there he is. Making the long journey up the stairs to reach the top. Unlike me, he glides dreamlike over them all until he is standing in front of me.
I stare at his kneecaps because it's the only part of him I can see without lifting my eyes. It takes me a few long seconds before I look Billie in the eyes and before that moment, I become far too familiar with Billie Joe's kneecaps.
Cautiously, as the boulder girl, I shakily stand up in front of him without any guarantee of toppling back over. I steady myself with aching palms against the wall, against my spine.
When I see him, it hurts. My muscles do not cry, but look on upon the situation and just frown with glossy eyes. They ache, but they must hold me up. Hold me up until he is gone.
He isn't saying anything to me. The ghost says nothing to the rock. He stands there in the bleached light wavering with the stale air. I block all signs of light and cast shadows on the dirty floor.
I close my eyes and see all the words I want to be said. 'Hit me,' I thought. 'Hit me with everything you have. Anything to make me feel like less of a dead weight.' The thoughts stroll over my brain, back and forth, up and down, again and again. I forget Billie is there.
Just as I am sure I will suffocate, I open my eyes only to see Billie's closing. The air becomes cold, chilling, when I see him leaning into me. To an onlooker, an inch between our lips. To me, infinite.
I stare at his eyelids until my vision goes blurry. I try to blink it away but before I have the chance to open my eyes again, his lips burn against my own.
With eyes closed and lips blazing, everything is ignited between us.
I am the cigarette between his lips. The cigarette that was lit just when I was sure my life was over for the night.
Soon, he takes his fire away from me and we just look at each other. His eyes beat against mine slowly, wearily, steadily. In the long moment of silence, I forget that mouths are also used for talking.
"I'm sorry." His eyes clench shut. "For being an asshole." They open again. "But at least I came back."
Burning.
Then I watch as he leaves me and I fall to ashes.