Delicious

The taste on his lips was delicious. The empty glass lay on the table. The rim was still warm from his mouth. He looked at her. His eyes wide and hungry. She tried to smile. She fingered the ends of her jumper nervously. She wanted to ask him what it was like. If it was as brilliant as they had planned. She had hardly expected the day to come. When they would be sat here. Side by side in the kitchen. Sun streaming in through the windows. Bouncing off the tainted pots and pans drying out on the side of the sink. An ordinary day outside. Extraordinary perhaps in here. Though she doubted what they were doing would change anyone's world but theirs.

He did not speak but she could see the liquid moving down his throat as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Her eyes flicked from his neck to his eyes but he was as unreadable as ever. She looked for signs from him. Reassurances maybe. But he let nothing away. His eyes glistened. He blinked every few seconds. Otherwise his body was still. Calm. Resolute. Perhaps that was more comforting than a smile. Perhaps he was all she needed. She feathered out the threads that had pulled away from her jumper. Drummed her fingers on her knee. Looked up into his face and smiled at him.

On the table lay a second glass. Full and waiting for her.

Dare

There are black circles on the ceiling. Damp spots where my breath has gathered. Old. Used oxygen going stale in the room around me. I lie in bed looking at them. How many days have they been gathering. Getting bigger. I wonder if I will stay until my tired breath paints the whole ceiling or if I will figure out a way to clean it up. I wiggle my toes. It is light outside but I don't want to get up. All failures begin with leaving the bed. I can't believe that I am still here. It feels as if it is against my will. My better judgement. It is part of the punishment. My life has stopped but time continues. I find it hard to understand that. That whilst the mould was growing people I knew got married, produced children, bought houses. Left. And I am stuck. Walking around this place in circles. It makes my head burst in anger. But I stuff down the screams that would help move me on. I smile at people. I am fine. All part of the punishment. Of not being real. I would do anything to make it stop. Just stop. The delivery trucks become tempting. A way out of the circle. A change in the pattern. But I think of the driver. Of how he would stare at his ceiling in the middle of the night. I know where each electricity pole is too. I glance at the yellow sign. I wonder how. There are streams hidden by fences and trees that my unhappiness could just disappear in. Hills. Sea. There is always a place where this can end. Perhaps knowing there is a choice helps me get out of bed. Takes me to the supermarket. Keeps adding to those circles on the ceiling. Proves my existence. I think of Eli. I must go and live or stay and die. What do I dare?

Brave

My steps are soft. I aways walk on my toes but tonight my feet need to be even quieter. It is dark. I am worried that if I make too much noise light will fall on me and catch me out like a thief in the spotlight. I waited for the early hours. Stayed still in my bed until I knew no-one could hear me and ruin my escape. Make me doubt. I daren't even turn the lights on. As if the spark of the switch would wake them up. The groping, spying neighbours who press their ears against the walls trying to figure out every movement I make. They saw me once. The real me. The terrifying me. Now I know when their breath stops and they lean into my world. Constantly there behind the flimsy partitions. Nothing protects me from them. Not even screaming to scare them away.

But this is a special moment. My departure. I use the street lamps that shine through the hallway windows to navigate my way around the damp flat that has held me prisoner for three years. There is not one corner of this world that I want to remember. That I want to take with me. I will leave with nothing. Standing here in my jeans and sturdy boots, knowing that is all I will own from now on, I have a feeling of completeness. I can become anything. Build myself up from scratch. Create a new world. A place without walls. Where I can tread as heavily as I want and fart and scream and laugh and cry. I can be me. I can be real again.

I always thought it cowardly to walk away. But this is the bravest thing I have ever done.

Weird

I wait for you. I watch for you. I walk by the streets where I have seen you in the past. That is the shape of my day. Hoping for you to come. Hoping for you to change everything. Or just a tiny piece of my being. I know little pieces of your life. I gather them up like breadcrumbs. Give them weight in my hand. The car you drive. The supermarket you shop at every Saturday. I know more than you can imagine. I create you from mere glimpses and cursory exchanges. And in creating you I remain blank. Waiting for you to write on me. Write the lines where our stories co-exist and you provide me with the script. Nothing else is real. There is no one. No place where the world is concrete. Where I can be. There is only this space that you fill now. Where others have filled in the past. I will follow you. You will become something to me. You have to become something to me.

That is what makes me different. From the three women in the waiting room huddled in their misery. Waiting for strangers to help. I know you will help because you come from me. This story I create. The hope that you will come to me by the shear force of language. That gives me breath. That is the brilliance of being different. Weird.