The warmth trickles into her system like shower droplets, sliding slowly through her veins, blooming into a familiar tingle on the skin.
She could feel his arms around her again, his breath upon her neck. She could almost hear him say something as he exhales.
She opens her eyes, closes them again, choosing to remain in a place where he still loves her.
Where he exists.
. . . . .
There are days she refuses sleep to come and wield its power over her. The darkness is a double-edged sword, in that she does not have the freedom to choose what it shows her. During those long stretches of resistance, she could only see the day that she lost him.
See. Hear. Taste. Smell. Feel.
Her memories are fragmented now. She doesn’t understand it at the moment, but it’s the way her medication works. It breaks the memories down and muddles her brain into thinking they didn’t really happen. Or they did, but not entirely. Like her head is now an unreliable part of her body she shouldn’t trust.
She’s crying, but she’s not entirely sad. She’d found something out about him, and, betrayed as she was, she felt it was fate that allowed them to come this far. After all, who would accept a monster like her, but another monster like he really was?
And then she’s mad. Seething. Like a feral creature ready to rip the flesh out of someone. A question burns in her throat. Why?
Because he is a threat, little one.
Her fingernails are digging painfully into her palm as she keeps her fists clenched. She could smell blood and gunpowder in the air.
Someone releases one of her fists and presses metal into it. Show me where your loyalty lies.
She doesn’t recognize him when someone pulls the bag off his head. His face is drenched in his own blood. Her grip on the gun tightens, and she feels her ribs contracting against her heart.
You love him, don’t you? Don’t prolong his agony any longer.
How could his skin be so cold? He is supposed to be the sun.
Don’t be stupid, my dear daughter. Whichever way this story ends, he will never look at you the same way.
The sun needs to rise whatever happens. She doesn’t know what he is fighting for, or whatever despicable deeds he has so far done, but she wants to believe he was born into this circumstance too, just like she was.
(No one asked the sun to rise and set every single day, but everyone needs its warmth to live.)
Laughter bounces across the concrete walls when she lets go of the gun and holds him in her arms. She could taste his blood with her tears. I’m sorry.
I hate to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. She hears a familiar click and shoots the other person in the room a glare. I warned you never to fall in love with him. With anyone, for that matter.
You used to be my favorite girl. But now you’ve shown me how I’ll have no use for you anymore.
Her memories fail her today. She doesn’t remember which piece of the puzzle falls neatly into this mess, but there’s a real ache in her heart she couldn’t mistake for anything else but loss.
She lost him, the sun of her life.
No wonder every day feels so cold.
. . . . .
The male attendant behind the window cringes at the sight. The woman in the straitjacket just begins thrashing her body violently. If not for the padded room, her screaming would be heard on the outside as well.
“This happens periodically,” he explains to another man whose eyes are fixed on the vision on the other side of the window. A man who introduced himself as this woman’s husband, who has been trying to find her since an “incident” that happened almost half a year ago. “We’ve tried a lot of therapy, but . . .”
“But you think tying her up like this is going to help?”
“Only because she’s tried killing herself twice now.”
“She’s been away from home long enough. Let me take her.”
The attendant looks at the man as though he’s out of his mind. “It’s not going to be that easy.”
The man thumbs his wedding ring thoughtfully. The woman in the room has stopped screaming, and is now curled up on her side on one corner of the room. He knows he’s probably never going to get the same woman back in his life, but to him, it’s her or no one else.
“It’s never been.”
#promptoftheday response to “straitjacket”
by miguel ^_^
for kushie ❤
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