Beautiful/Terrible
Dreaming
I woke up many times that night. I kept having this dream that I was committing suicide. Hanging myself. And every time I felt the snap of my neck I woke up, drenched in sweat and thirsting for simplicity.
I felt the rough texture of the rope, slightly frayed and worn through the years of sitting in the shed. I was in the bathroom. I felt the cool pink tile beneath my feet and I wiggled my toes in discomfort. I reached out and ran my hand along the cold pink counter and closed my eyes. Everything was calm. I stepped forward and knew what I had to do. I looked up at the pipe that run along the ceiling by the shower. A little thin, but it looked like it could support my weight. I stepped onto the ledge of the claw-foot bathtub and gathered the rope in my hands. I breathed in and closed my eyes. Opened them. I tied the rope to the pipe and my neck, and stepped forward into the basin of the tub, toes not quite touching. I struggled for a moment and felt my neck crack, then snap.
I wake up.
This happens the whole night. Dreams. I hate them- some inner self untamed and tortured, begging for release that I cannot take. Dreaming. Dreams. Snap.
The final time I wake up in tears and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m afraid or because I wished it was real. My first instinct is to see Allen, and so I do. I dial his number into my phone from memory as I open my window and climb out, sitting on the edge, feet dangling into the windy night.
“Hello?” I hear Allen husky voice ring out as he picks up the line, “Leda? Are you okay?”
“No?”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
I hung up. I put my phone in my bra and climbed down the chimney. I land harshly on the hard grass and swear. I snap my head back up to check for lights. Nobody heard me. As usual. I wait in the cold for Allen to arrive, and when he does I run into the car and we sit there in silence for a moment before I tell him, “Drive.”
He does.
I feel the vibrations and bumps of the car as the wheels make way across starry skies, and I stare into the eyes of the car. I feel sad because the paint is chipping and so I chip it some more with an outstretched hand. Good. I see lights wash over that chipped paint time after time in shades of red and white, and I close my eyes to see shades of blue. I roll slightly as the car stops and I open my eyes again to meet Allen’s transfixed ones. Transfixed on me.
“What are you staring at?” I ask him.
“The mole above your lip. That mole is a beautiful spec of stardust on the beautiful girl that I love and that is something that I cannot believe. And so I’m staring at you with no regret.”
I blushed which was not something I did often but flattery was not something I heard often. I sat up and put my hand on his head. I felt the stubble create rippling sensations. I touched his hollow cheek. I felt the stubble creating rippling sensations. I touched his lips and drifted upwards. I felt the stubble create rippling sensations.
“I am so incredibly infatuated with you,” he told me. And I believed him.
He left the car and I followed suit, and we were in his driveway. We walked with little distance between us. I closed the miniscule gap and clung onto his lanky arm. That arm provided heat for me that I fed on like an animal, never letting go. I sucked in his essence with every breath, and in those breaths I received the simplicity that I had been craving ever since I had that fucking dream. Over. And over.
“Thank you,” I whispered quietly. Whether he heard me or not was not what was important.
We stopped at the front door and I stared at the color. Blood red. Allen opened it- it was unlocked. We didn’t bother being quiet, his parents loved me and were super easy-going. They never asked questions and basically just adored me. Thank god. I heard them call out a hello to me as we hustled up the stairs, hand in hand now. We went into his room and shut the door.
The lights were off but we liked it that way, and we silently maneuvered through the room like angels, effortlessly serving one purpose. Allen pulled back the sheets and we both got into the full-sized bed I called my home. The cuddled, facing each other, our legs interlocking at the knee. I breathed in his scent; he smelt like cigarettes and aftershave and teenage boy and I was in love with it. And so I breathed it in like cocaine, like it was oxygen for my lungs. And in my lungs water flooded from the tears that would not be let out, and so I clung onto him until I was asleep but this time I wasn’t dreaming, because nothing could be more dreamy than him.
I woke up to severe shaking around me; Allen was trying to get out of the bed without waking me. I looked at him and he looked back.
“Sorry,” he said. He grimaced.
I climbed out of the bed after him and looked down at my attire- tank top, pajama pants, no bra. I immediately went to cover my chest and Allen looked the other way embarrassedly. He walked over to his closet and gave me a black sweater for me to wear that hung loosely.
It was in this state that I slipped on my slippers and went out the front door, walking home without a goodbye. Fuck. Sometimes I do weird things that I shouldn’t and I don’t know why. I end up hurting people. I looked back at that pale yellow house and wondered if I should go back just to say goodbye. That would be embarrassing, so I decided against it.
I kept walking for about a half hour until I got to my house, five minutes before school was supposed to start. I hadn’t locked my bedroom door so my parents had probably already discovered my absence, so I didn’t bother going up the chimney. Instead, I opted to confidently walk into the front door, a risky decision but I honestly didn’t care.
When I opened the door I made it nearly two steps before being sourly confronted by my father.
“Where have you been?” he asked sternly.
“I woke up really early and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I went for a walk.”
“In slippers?” He asked. I glared into his eyes, silently daring him to press. He relented, and went away. I ran upstairs, and started getting ready.
One hour later and only 55 minutes late for class, I was convinced that I was at least semi-successful considering I looked great. My green hair was pulled into a fishtail braid, the dye slightly worn now but that was okay. I flicked my tongue over my medusa piercing and grimaced at the slight sting. I had only gotten it pierced two days ago and it was a little sensitive. Confidence in my appearance was something that, unlike the majority of the teenage population, I did not lack, no matter how fucked up the rest of me was.
No matter how incredibly insane I was, at least I was not delusional.
However, I was still dreaming of the day that I would call myself sane.
I felt the rough texture of the rope, slightly frayed and worn through the years of sitting in the shed. I was in the bathroom. I felt the cool pink tile beneath my feet and I wiggled my toes in discomfort. I reached out and ran my hand along the cold pink counter and closed my eyes. Everything was calm. I stepped forward and knew what I had to do. I looked up at the pipe that run along the ceiling by the shower. A little thin, but it looked like it could support my weight. I stepped onto the ledge of the claw-foot bathtub and gathered the rope in my hands. I breathed in and closed my eyes. Opened them. I tied the rope to the pipe and my neck, and stepped forward into the basin of the tub, toes not quite touching. I struggled for a moment and felt my neck crack, then snap.
I wake up.
This happens the whole night. Dreams. I hate them- some inner self untamed and tortured, begging for release that I cannot take. Dreaming. Dreams. Snap.
The final time I wake up in tears and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m afraid or because I wished it was real. My first instinct is to see Allen, and so I do. I dial his number into my phone from memory as I open my window and climb out, sitting on the edge, feet dangling into the windy night.
“Hello?” I hear Allen husky voice ring out as he picks up the line, “Leda? Are you okay?”
“No?”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
I hung up. I put my phone in my bra and climbed down the chimney. I land harshly on the hard grass and swear. I snap my head back up to check for lights. Nobody heard me. As usual. I wait in the cold for Allen to arrive, and when he does I run into the car and we sit there in silence for a moment before I tell him, “Drive.”
He does.
I feel the vibrations and bumps of the car as the wheels make way across starry skies, and I stare into the eyes of the car. I feel sad because the paint is chipping and so I chip it some more with an outstretched hand. Good. I see lights wash over that chipped paint time after time in shades of red and white, and I close my eyes to see shades of blue. I roll slightly as the car stops and I open my eyes again to meet Allen’s transfixed ones. Transfixed on me.
“What are you staring at?” I ask him.
“The mole above your lip. That mole is a beautiful spec of stardust on the beautiful girl that I love and that is something that I cannot believe. And so I’m staring at you with no regret.”
I blushed which was not something I did often but flattery was not something I heard often. I sat up and put my hand on his head. I felt the stubble create rippling sensations. I touched his hollow cheek. I felt the stubble creating rippling sensations. I touched his lips and drifted upwards. I felt the stubble create rippling sensations.
“I am so incredibly infatuated with you,” he told me. And I believed him.
He left the car and I followed suit, and we were in his driveway. We walked with little distance between us. I closed the miniscule gap and clung onto his lanky arm. That arm provided heat for me that I fed on like an animal, never letting go. I sucked in his essence with every breath, and in those breaths I received the simplicity that I had been craving ever since I had that fucking dream. Over. And over.
“Thank you,” I whispered quietly. Whether he heard me or not was not what was important.
We stopped at the front door and I stared at the color. Blood red. Allen opened it- it was unlocked. We didn’t bother being quiet, his parents loved me and were super easy-going. They never asked questions and basically just adored me. Thank god. I heard them call out a hello to me as we hustled up the stairs, hand in hand now. We went into his room and shut the door.
The lights were off but we liked it that way, and we silently maneuvered through the room like angels, effortlessly serving one purpose. Allen pulled back the sheets and we both got into the full-sized bed I called my home. The cuddled, facing each other, our legs interlocking at the knee. I breathed in his scent; he smelt like cigarettes and aftershave and teenage boy and I was in love with it. And so I breathed it in like cocaine, like it was oxygen for my lungs. And in my lungs water flooded from the tears that would not be let out, and so I clung onto him until I was asleep but this time I wasn’t dreaming, because nothing could be more dreamy than him.
I woke up to severe shaking around me; Allen was trying to get out of the bed without waking me. I looked at him and he looked back.
“Sorry,” he said. He grimaced.
I climbed out of the bed after him and looked down at my attire- tank top, pajama pants, no bra. I immediately went to cover my chest and Allen looked the other way embarrassedly. He walked over to his closet and gave me a black sweater for me to wear that hung loosely.
It was in this state that I slipped on my slippers and went out the front door, walking home without a goodbye. Fuck. Sometimes I do weird things that I shouldn’t and I don’t know why. I end up hurting people. I looked back at that pale yellow house and wondered if I should go back just to say goodbye. That would be embarrassing, so I decided against it.
I kept walking for about a half hour until I got to my house, five minutes before school was supposed to start. I hadn’t locked my bedroom door so my parents had probably already discovered my absence, so I didn’t bother going up the chimney. Instead, I opted to confidently walk into the front door, a risky decision but I honestly didn’t care.
When I opened the door I made it nearly two steps before being sourly confronted by my father.
“Where have you been?” he asked sternly.
“I woke up really early and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I went for a walk.”
“In slippers?” He asked. I glared into his eyes, silently daring him to press. He relented, and went away. I ran upstairs, and started getting ready.
One hour later and only 55 minutes late for class, I was convinced that I was at least semi-successful considering I looked great. My green hair was pulled into a fishtail braid, the dye slightly worn now but that was okay. I flicked my tongue over my medusa piercing and grimaced at the slight sting. I had only gotten it pierced two days ago and it was a little sensitive. Confidence in my appearance was something that, unlike the majority of the teenage population, I did not lack, no matter how fucked up the rest of me was.
No matter how incredibly insane I was, at least I was not delusional.
However, I was still dreaming of the day that I would call myself sane.