Story: Ask for help 2/?
note: sequal... because lets face it. enlightenment only lasts so long before the depression comes back. some of us are just stronger than others.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Taylor imagines blood on her arms because thats the way all her fantasies end.
She thinks about pills, guns, building and cars... but the thought of blood is what undeniably attracts her.
And pain. Sometimes the thought of a burning sting is so comforting that she doesn't know how she's resisted hurting herself for so long.
---
"What is it, Tay?" Bryan is nervous; his voice is quiet on the phone. The line crackles, maybe he's holding his breath.
Taylor is sitting against one of the walls in her apartment's back hallway, cradling the reciever against her ear and leaning a pale forehead into her free hand.
"There's been something that I've been trying to ignore for a few months." I miss you, Bryan. Taylor smiles a little at the absurdity of this. She feels so ridiculous now, on the verge of confessing something so trivial, so insignificant. The voice in her head says: just tell Byran that everything is okay, nothing is wrong. But then, she just says it. "...Suicide."
She didnt mean to say it.
She meant to lie again, but it came out. And with it, came Bryan's shocked silence.
---
The apartment is filled with sunlight when Taylor gets home from an apointment with her agency and she's getting ready to slip off her shoes before she even gets the door unlocked. She doesnt realise that the house alarm has been turned off until she notices three bags in the hall. Bryan's here.
--
Sometimes it's like chant in her head (suicidesuicidesuicide, like footsteps, like heartbeats, over and over and over) and it makes her feel sick. She's so disgusted by just his reflection in black glass that she has to avert her eyes.
Every thought is sick and she wants to curl up so tight, but she cant get close enough to herself without feeling nausea.
--
Bryan is here and he's got a plane ticket for Taylor. They're both going back to Hawaii in two days. Bryan still has to work and since Taylor is on a break, Bryan has decided to drag Taylor kicking and screaming to the islands to live with him for a while.
"It'll be good for you, T. Beautiful people, warm sun, relaxing. We'll have fun."
This is Bryan's version of therapy. Subtle therapy.
Taylor doesnt kick and scream.
--
It's the night before the flight to Hawaii.
Taylor is watching tv on the couch and Bryan moves across the room to get a drink from the kitchen. Bryan's wearing an ugly brown shirt that says Coastal Masonry Company Picnic 2002 on the back. The fabric stretching the text across the muscles of Bryan's shoulders makes Taylor stare. When she realises this, she's so surprised by the unexpectedness of it, she laughs outloud. Bryan asks her whats so funny and she just smiles and ignores the painful tightness in her chest.
--
She feels so bad. So bad in the middle of the night and all she thinks is how easy it would be to kill herself now, when Bryan isnt watching her and distracting her with kind friendship. She imagines Bryan finding her the next morning (gracefully dead, surrounded in blood, on the bathroom floor, like a porcelian collector's item thats fallen from a shelf, shattered) and it seems so right. So... right.
But she lies there and doesnt move and the feeling passes. The next morning, she wont remember how intense that feeling was.
---
They're on the flight and Taylor doesnt feel very talkative when she's sitting in her seat and forty thousand feet up. Bryan is reading a magazine and enjoying his can of soda and Taylor's attention wanders to the way Bryan sits and how warm Bryan's jeaned thighs look, spread and comfortable. She starts thinking of Bryan having sex, (imagines tan, naked muscles being caressed by feminine fingers with nice, unbitten nails) and the pain of those thoughts remind her of a bruise that is never allowed to heal, constantly touched, festering.
She starts to regret her agreement to come to Hawaii.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Taylor imagines blood on her arms because thats the way all her fantasies end.
She thinks about pills, guns, building and cars... but the thought of blood is what undeniably attracts her.
And pain. Sometimes the thought of a burning sting is so comforting that she doesn't know how she's resisted hurting herself for so long.
---
"What is it, Tay?" Bryan is nervous; his voice is quiet on the phone. The line crackles, maybe he's holding his breath.
Taylor is sitting against one of the walls in her apartment's back hallway, cradling the reciever against her ear and leaning a pale forehead into her free hand.
"There's been something that I've been trying to ignore for a few months." I miss you, Bryan. Taylor smiles a little at the absurdity of this. She feels so ridiculous now, on the verge of confessing something so trivial, so insignificant. The voice in her head says: just tell Byran that everything is okay, nothing is wrong. But then, she just says it. "...Suicide."
She didnt mean to say it.
She meant to lie again, but it came out. And with it, came Bryan's shocked silence.
---
The apartment is filled with sunlight when Taylor gets home from an apointment with her agency and she's getting ready to slip off her shoes before she even gets the door unlocked. She doesnt realise that the house alarm has been turned off until she notices three bags in the hall. Bryan's here.
--
Sometimes it's like chant in her head (suicidesuicidesuicide, like footsteps, like heartbeats, over and over and over) and it makes her feel sick. She's so disgusted by just his reflection in black glass that she has to avert her eyes.
Every thought is sick and she wants to curl up so tight, but she cant get close enough to herself without feeling nausea.
--
Bryan is here and he's got a plane ticket for Taylor. They're both going back to Hawaii in two days. Bryan still has to work and since Taylor is on a break, Bryan has decided to drag Taylor kicking and screaming to the islands to live with him for a while.
"It'll be good for you, T. Beautiful people, warm sun, relaxing. We'll have fun."
This is Bryan's version of therapy. Subtle therapy.
Taylor doesnt kick and scream.
--
It's the night before the flight to Hawaii.
Taylor is watching tv on the couch and Bryan moves across the room to get a drink from the kitchen. Bryan's wearing an ugly brown shirt that says Coastal Masonry Company Picnic 2002 on the back. The fabric stretching the text across the muscles of Bryan's shoulders makes Taylor stare. When she realises this, she's so surprised by the unexpectedness of it, she laughs outloud. Bryan asks her whats so funny and she just smiles and ignores the painful tightness in her chest.
--
She feels so bad. So bad in the middle of the night and all she thinks is how easy it would be to kill herself now, when Bryan isnt watching her and distracting her with kind friendship. She imagines Bryan finding her the next morning (gracefully dead, surrounded in blood, on the bathroom floor, like a porcelian collector's item thats fallen from a shelf, shattered) and it seems so right. So... right.
But she lies there and doesnt move and the feeling passes. The next morning, she wont remember how intense that feeling was.
---
They're on the flight and Taylor doesnt feel very talkative when she's sitting in her seat and forty thousand feet up. Bryan is reading a magazine and enjoying his can of soda and Taylor's attention wanders to the way Bryan sits and how warm Bryan's jeaned thighs look, spread and comfortable. She starts thinking of Bryan having sex, (imagines tan, naked muscles being caressed by feminine fingers with nice, unbitten nails) and the pain of those thoughts remind her of a bruise that is never allowed to heal, constantly touched, festering.
She starts to regret her agreement to come to Hawaii.
posted by ~Allie~ @ 6:50 PM
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