Flat. All the world flat as glass when I chance to raise my eyes. Our eyes meet and she looks so miserable, her eyes dark holes of sadness. It hollers and scrapes at my insides, at the base of my throat. But I can't speak, I've shut down all pathways of communication between us. My solution is to pretend she doesn't exist, stare straight ahead as though I am paralyzed. It is no disguise.
She looks at me, but what should I do? It only sends a volt of electric blue to my heart. Nothing. I am a Frankenstein monster who does not respond to your Gothic electricity.
(I miss the way she looked at me
Back when the world was new.)
I won't look her in the eye, I don't want to see all the pain I've caused. I am a coward and must hide like a coward--it is what we cowards do. The tension shakes me apart and I can feel my face burning... it undoes me. I wish I were anywhere, wish I were unaware. Wish I were unconscious at the bottom of the ocean somehwere. Drifting along in a miserable current, crawling where I belong with the blind creatures of the deep. Despicable...
We discussed this once, the inevitability of our break-up, and she said, "Emily, let's face it. You'll move on faster than me." I protested, denied it, but she stopped me. "You've never had any shortage of people vying for your attention, your affections."
But I still hate the endings of things. All endings.
I prefer to be the victim, it is a role I relish. I have perfected my Marilyn tears, my Fay Wray scream. I cannot be the perpetrator; what made me think I could wield that axe? Victims are generally given more healing time, more sympathy. I will have to make my own. But no matter, I will heal nonetheless.
I hurt everyone! I break every heart I touch! Misery sprouts like pale mushrooms in my destructive wake.
My skin crawls, I hate myself, and by extension I hate everyone else. All conversation, all attempts, sicken me, make me retch. I am wretched. They call me Ishtar, Ishtar. I get drunk. I send the world away and feast on the numbing blackness.
I bite my lips in my sleep, wake up to the taste of blood. I offer one-word explanations for the way things ended up.
I am as solitary as a scar...