It was in a bed that was neither mine nor not. In a hotel room, indifferently bland but functional, with my stuff sprawled randomly in order, resilient to the efforts to be disdained. It looked like a good regrettable fuck, messy but attractive enough to be made yet not important enough to be cared for. Something I would want neither mine nor not. Something to be purposefully forgotten, its memory to be exchanged for a better one.
It was after a day of battling demons. Coming back to real life from a very different, very attractive, very forbidden, very primal time, I hated the kid sitting across from me for 6 hours. The brat was practically laughing out loud while watching whatever funny on his mom’s tablet with earphones on. How dare he laugh so innocently, so recklessly in that weird high pitch. Not to mention he kept on bumping my knees with his ridiculous sneakers as he swayed his feet in unbridled glee. Kids… And their awesome moms who don’t even try to correct them. Put the mask of civility on, smile lightly, listen to your music. Smiles back, sheepishly, in a way that reads and reflects the same mask, in its core an indifference unwilling to acknowledge the broken rules of civility. Thank God she had a ring on.
Things that mattered to me were battling their demons. Most of all that I love, stuck in another land waiting, no, willing to be raped and despoiled, were at the risk of being casual casualties of ignorance, submission, subservience, and unbelievably incomprehensible willingness to accept as is given. Fed. Like a poisoned apple you know will date rape you…
It is warm in the room.
Practically with nothing on me except a rather thick comforter unfitting to the season, I’m battling my demons too.
Choices, choices, choices.
The sights, the sounds, the laughter, the words, the dancing of the lights in a purple blue haze, the floor that gives way, the shining smiles, the quiet dances, the booming beats of the heart… The only choice is to put on a mask of civility, and force myself to sleep. Shut off the thoughts, silence the brain, still the heart. Pray. Sleep or what goes for it right then drifts me into it, with it, making me fall through it.
It’s a still dark, it’s an unnerving quiet.
Something is coming.
I am afraid. It’s a raw fear, it’s always the same fear, each time stranger than the last, but always the same. I know what it is, but I’m not able to brace myself against it. It envelops me in its coils, the dark tendrils tighten around my chest.
Something has come.
I see myself, like a horrified spectator, trying to move. I try to shake myself out. It’s always the same yet ever different. Stronger and wanting to fight. I push, and it pushes back. It fails my breath, I try to lift my hand, it sits like a sinful guilt on my hand. I snarl, whimper, but never cry.
Something is chasing me across the room that is neither mine nor not.
It’s a black hand. Starkly strong against the grayed walls of the room. Some sickly yellow random Earth street light shines into it, casting a fog over the black hand that wants to tear my head off. I thrash at it, punch it, swat it away. I feel my fist go through what feels like mud, and it recoils and hisses, opens itself wide. The five headed serpent opens a mouth of a thousand fangs scream my name; a threat unto my soul is issued by the dark, and my demons accept the challenge.
Something will pay.
I open the cage to the beast. It devours the black hand, takes a big bite of the dark, chews on it. I can hear the rattle of bones, I can feel them grinding, feel them sharp and biting still.
A sword of shining obsidian bites into my heart. It judges, makes me feel worthy of its pain. The beast whimpers and goes into hiding. Lick its wounds, feast on the guilt, become stronger through the pain. I cannot move now. A yellow fog dissipates its sad glow on me; I can see that. I am here.
Something won’t make it.
I am the only truth now. I will my eyes to open wider. I no longer see myself as an open wound from afar, watching helplessly. I am in control. If I fail, it will be on me. The weight is on me, it is in me, it is above me. It cannot take me. I lift my hand, I open my mouth as if to take a bite, I snarl.
Something is lost.
I’m in feet before I know it. I’m staring at the sickly yellow light of a street in a town where choices, choices, choices took me to. The only remnants of the thing that should not be in a room that is neither mine nor not are discarded to the side as a taken off tshirt, damp around the neck like a garrotte.
I look at the bed that is neither mine nor not. I go back to battling my demons. Choices, choices, choices. The sights, the sounds, the laughter, the words, the dancing of the lights in a purple blue haze, the floor that gives way, the shining smiles, the quiet dances, booming beats of the heart… I let sleep take me this time. It’s not a fall, rather a dive, heart beating slow, ready to fade out into a blissful dark of nakedness.