I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down, and half in love with what we were about to do.
She was aware of the energy around her, but would not allow it to penetrate her very own self without her consent.
She was nothing but a vision trick under the warning light.
She was alive.
We had a cup of tea. She looked like a decaying person. The open sores on her skin. The sour lips. The bruises. The syringe marks. The frisson. The visible heartache.
She was so young. So damaged.
She suffered from a form of self-extinction. The one where you wake up and feel like you didn’t live the previous day at all. I don’t know where it came from. Her genes? Her predisposition? One thing I knew for sure, was that she was destroying herself.
The hardest part was hearing the hope in her voice.
She was vexed.
Blind faith though, was something she believed in with all of her heart, but not at the expense of tasting every last bite of the journey with a clear and open palette.
She was lost in thought.
I was lost in her.
A particular debilitation where it felt like her very life essence was washing away.
A person with zero substance, simply existing.
A living zombie. An inanimate object.
She was numb.
But those evenings when she used to be with me, she was different. She wanted to sleep. I just tried to implicitly help unravel her restraints while I couldn’t do it myself, already being too shackled in my embrace. So I introduced her to my disclosure.
Heroin opened her up. It shone this intense light, blinding her from every single meaningful thing in her life.
All consuming. Ever brightening.
She said it was like the greatest feeling in the world, and I couldn’t agree more. When you experience it, you will search for it for the rest of your life. It was like seeing God. You will abandon your family for it. She had, many times over.
She was jaded.
This made it hard to hear the quiver in her voice. The will to live. But I could sense it, at least in this moment. She had five hard days of withdrawal agony before she could begin the Naltrexone. She had tried this before.
Many attempts. Many failures.
Yet, all she needed was one success.
And there I was. Trying to put her to sleep.
She was energy, she was heaven and dreams and everything untouched by the rotten mind of mine.
She finally turned her eyes and attention to me, making a visible effort to read through my stubborn frigidity. Usually she’d also look at me with the same stale eyes, projecting her misery on mine, reflecting her rue onto me, and resonating my ideas of pilgrimage into oblivion.
But under influence, she was an avid spectator.
Aren’t we all waiting to be read by someone, praying that they’ll tell us that we make sense?
She was a kiss that had traveled a billion light years from the eyes of an extinct species to rest upon my parched lips as I twisted my nights away beneath sheets drenched in sweat.
I closed my eyes, thinking that there is nothing like an embrace after an absence, nothing like fitting my face into the curve of her neck and filling my lungs with the scent of her.
She was a poem.
Her smile was not to be confused with arrogance, but being an inch closer to rejection again, put her rather tightened muscle at ease. She was now free to live, for she understood the form of sleepwalking she participated in was not living.
For now, all she could do is wait, withdraw, and hold onto her thin strand. It felt ever brightening. At least in this moment.
She was a hymn as old as time.
Someone will always look for an edge. Even if they put their heart and soul into something and find the edge, they won’t stop there. They’ll just move to the next edge.
And to bear the obligation of the repercussions that may arise out of things I acquaint people with, is something I have incessantly tried escaping from.
She was mine.
And I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. And I know she knows.
She pulled out the knife from her chest and smiled. “Was that supposed to hurt?”
Though her eyes zest with confidence and did remain steady. The words jerked out of her mouth, like a natural reflex. She looked at me again, trying to comprehend the sense in my existence like she always did, and eased a smile out.
She was dead.