Lies Without Reflections

2. Chapter

The dream came tumbling back and I fell into a black hole I never knew was there.

Just a week, I told myself. Make it through a week then it'll be easier.

The reflection in the mirror wasn't a person anymore. Swollen eyes, matte beads embedded in a piece of purple dough, chapped lips, skin dry from the salt. Lacerations of pain webbed my whole body.

I listened to the ticking of the clock, the tormented silence of the house, the ravaged wantoning of my mind.I marvelled at how time went on, senseless of me, uncomprehending. Why couldn't I will it to stop?

I was glad to shout all I wanted. My pain was rightfully bigger than anyone else's. I guzzled coffee because I dreaded sleep. I craved to see them again, speak to them, keep them here, flee into a dream, seal it swallow the key and never bother anymore.

The coherence of life seemed further away, slowly shattering and drifting apart as breaking ice plains.

It fell apart. It fell apart and I somehow was acutely aware of it but helpless.

I drugged her too. She watched all the movies, ate all the chocolate. I cooked everything. Every bite was me apologizing.

She was daddy's girl. I couldn't tell her that he'd never hug her when he comes home. That they'd never play with her dolls again. That he'd never bring anything home to cheer her up with. That the last memory she had of them will fade and she wouldn't be able to conjure up the tone of their voice, the exact color of their skin, eyes, hair, or how they smelled like home and safety and love. How could I explain all the possibilities that were stripped away from her?

I couldn't bear the thought of loss chewing a braying hole into her. There was no confessing today.

One more day, I promised myself. One more day and I'll pull myself together. For her sake. My vows of emptiness encompassed the lies I told myself. The money won't be enough. The caretaker was right…There had to be a way. There had to be a way. Then we'd have to go back. No.

NO.

There was no going back. I'd rather be homeless here than live with my godfather. It would not be living, it would be existing, not even that, just slowly rotting away.

It was a rational solution. It would be best for her.

The thought of what would become of me if she left me here was unthinkable.

I kept thinking about this until my head pounded, I wept again, went to the shop and cooked and washed. Turning up the music the aggressive techno tunes blocked the flow of my thoughts.

“Do you think they miss us?” she asked pushing around the slice of fried meat on her plate. She barely bit into her sandwiches. I pretended I barely noticed.

Swallowing hard I nodded.

“Then why don't they find a way to call?”

“I'm sure they're trying”

“They must not love me anymore”

“You know that's not true”

“You told them not to call. You talk to them when I'm not home. It's not fair that you get to stay home and I don't. Why don't you go to school? Just because they're not home you should go to school.”

“I'm not arguing about this. Eat your dinner. I don't go to such lengths so you toss it around”

“You don't eat”

She was spiky, even though it was the second day. She would break. She would.

“People are starving in Africa. This would be a feast for them. Eat”

“Then why don't you give my dinner to them?"

She was provoking me.

“Eat your dinner”

“I'm not hungry”

“That's unfortunately not optional. Start gobbling”

“Why haven't they called?”

“I told you why” I stared at my hands, clenched in my lap, nails, digging into the squishy meat of my palm. I couldn't look into my mother's eyes and lie that she was alive.

“They're quite secluded. It's a remote part of the country”

“You talked to them, didn't you?”

“No” I wish I had.

“You talked to them when I wasn't at home! You want mum to love you more than she loves me!” her eyes glazed over “Both of them! Because you're jealous, you're big and fat and not their only daughter anymore!”

“You're tired” my voice flat as if I told it to myself “ Go take a shower then straight to bed”

She lost it.

“It's not fair! I don't want to shower. I want them to call. Now”

“I'll see what I can do” I mumbled.

“Call them” she ordered, her little face swam in tears, red and plump.

“They won't pick up” my voice hitched. I cleared my throat, steeling myself “ Stop being impossible and do as I say”

“ 'Do as I say' ” she mimed my voice “Right. Because you think you're in charge”

“I am in charge. If they'd call I'd tell them you disobeyed. Do you want me to do that? Do you want mum to be cross with you? Or dad? Huh?”

Her face scrunched in feckless injustice.

“No one loves me anymore!”

She stormed out of the room. I followed her upstairs, where she shoved a pillow at me yelling from the top of her lungs. All I could do was hold her and console her with the calming lies she wanted to hear, reasoning her in a voice of reassurance I didn't feel. While my silent tears welled up and spilled over.

The third night she fell asleep in my arms while I fought drowsiness. I cried softly and counted each tear that flowed down my face until the last one.

The next morning we did as if nothing happened. I was glad. She was still sulking but soundlessly obeyed which I was disgustingly grateful for. That day, that was the last day of my resolve. It rushed past me like a train at full speed and although I was aware of it, it seemed insignificant. Just another 24 hours without them stuffing in the void they left. Another day and night of lies. And immeasurable, unbearable tearing pain.

I had to go.

I made sure she slept. I locked all the doors, left a note so she wouldn't be scared if I wouldn't manage to make it inside.

I went straight to the 24 hours shop and bought whisky. A whole bottle of Jack Daniels. It was expansive, too bloody expansive in fact. Countering my conscience I told myself that it doesn't matter, because if I don't figure out something soon, I'd be helplessly without money anyway. I will run out of it, there are no loopholes in this matter.

Off I went. By the time I reached the sea the lights jived in front of me with every blink, I felt warm and diluted. All the knots and locks unhinged, cage doors broken,tethers torn, inhibitions crashed.

Looking around I found myself in the dodgy place that was open on Thursdays. I never came alone. I never came this drunk.

Flashes.

Blinding music, deafening neon, wriggling bodies, chicks stumbling in heels— all a tacky mulch of purple, blue and red, of skin and sweat, of shouts and whispers and gasps.

I saw the cute bartender guy. I detected lips, hands, breath on my neck, waist, mouth. I didn't feel. I preferred the numbness my soaked nerves provided.

I mopped up vomit , off the toilet seat. I didn't want to fall back into it. I couldn't get up. I shouted for help.

My head was filled with lead, my limbs weighed to the ground; magnets of opposing polars; my hands, my feet and the cement.

Touching my dress; it seemed wet. I faintly remembered white foam drowning me, enveloping me In soft creamy breathlessness. The sidewalk was hard and cold under me.

Driven by an instinct that couldn't be dulled by alcohol I glanced up.

Colourless eyes.

A pair, high above.

Nothing else.

One of the bystanders still waiting in line to get into the club tore off the snaking row and came up to me. Having a peep I realized that I knew him from school. We liked each other. Or looked at each other a lot from a long distance more likely. Same thing. His name was something that started with an S. Sam? Scott? Sean? I thought what I called him was Seth but sounded like Serge.

I pointed out the way and he served as my human crutch.

While I crippled along I miraculously conjured the bottle of Jack from a bush and went on guzzling. There wasn't much talking. He was way too nice a kid and it hurt my mouth to open it.

I assumed I kissed him then shoved at his chest to make him go. He wanted to act the gentleman. Fat chance he was one. My state however reserved no room for chivalry that night.

Then I was pacing the concrete in front of the house and the neighbour, sip-sipping the whisky away. I turned.

The eyes.

They were staring straight at me.

They were beyond definition. Shadeless. Bleak. Old, old beyond knowledge, past remembrance, past even forgetting.

Even if I had been sober I couldn't recall the rest of the face. Just that it was aesthetic, symmetrical and crafted. I had absolutely lacked the ability to register any distinct features.

Pretending I changed my mind I went the opposite direction.

“That wasn't a wise decision”

My ears beeped with a stretching squeal. I stopped.

I listened to my own ragged breathing. I had too much. My heart was starting to lose track of its beats.

I was hallucinating.

Concentrating on my laboured heaving was a throe. Calming myself was a challenge. Air still escaped my lungs.

“You shouldn't have sent him away”

I shouldn't have done many things.

I shouldn't have answered the phantom voices.

If you talked back you could at least admit that you've become truly insane. They would lock you up and you could hang yourself in peace. Sounded like a plan.

Took a swig, shook my head.

A cluck of a tongue.

“You know” the voice kept talking “people by now either begin asking questions or are backed into a corner. Or both. You must either be really drunk or really thick”

“Go figure” I muttered to the bottle. A satisfied 'Ahh' resonated throughout the cold air. Talk about not talking.

“Don't you want to know why I'm here?”he inquired.

No, because you're not here, I stated.

“Come on. Turn around”

“No”

Too late to go back.

“Why not?”

“Because there's nothing behind me”

Little pause, I thought it was finally over, I could go in and collapse on my bed and bawl my eyes out. One thing was sure then; I was insane. The voices talked back. Are you truly mad if you realize you are? There must be a measure of losing your mind.

“That is not entirely false. Still. Look at me”

“You don't exist” I was adamant.

“Try me”

An icy shiver ran down my spine. The hairs on my arm stood, goosebumps decorated my arms. A puff of white breath smoked past my ear.

My shadow strained too long, a yawning black stretch. The orange light of the street lamp; an artificial sunset. The swaying branches like a waving pattern of flailing arms blown by the wind, strands of hair screaming in the gale.

I remembered turning. I didn't remember turning.

The lusterless stare seemed too pallid to be true, unaffected by the copper light. My vision cleared but my thoughts drifted in the current of alcohol.

Hands lashed out grabbing me by the shoulders, yanking me forward.

I huffed at the force of the jerk.

I was glad that my body joined the frantic reeling of my mind.

“Sshh” the voice lulled in my head“ I'm doing you a favour”

I didn't ask for it, I wanted to scream. Wrangling between his arms I was unable to break free. Bile raised in my throat. I saw nothing. Black, orange, sallow popped around. I tasted metal in my mouth. The age-old instinct, older than the look in those eyes twang into me, and fought for the reality I knew. That I should've run and if I didn't I would die, get r***d or both.

My heart skipped beats. It thumped frantically, forgetting its rhythm. Faster, faster, harder, skip-skip.

Glitches. A hummingbird with a fractured wing, bereft of air.

The voice said, clear and musical, too loud in the clamour of my skull “I want to help you”

His hands travelled to my jaw and clamped on it.

He had cat eyes. Oval pupils looking enigmatic, cold.

I ground a high squeal at the back of my throat. My eyes widened, blood flow hitched.

The strange stare jumped left-right, a long measuring unwavering look. It got me transfixed in the fire of it.

Fear congealed my limbs into blocks of cement. I shivered.I saw my thoughts losing track, derailing catastrophically slowing, slowing until they halted in shock.

These were eyes that seen many but were seen by few, containing things I couldn't start to comprehend, burning up whole lives within a night.

“You need help don't you?” his grip eased and I pretended to hear compassion in his voice.

And it was a trigger, a bullet whooshing past. Because he knew what I needed. All at once; the screw popped out and fell with a clatter, the screw that held all these cracked pieces at place and I blew apart.

My knees buckled, tears welled up, lower lip pursed and trembled and all the care left my body. All the fissures that webbed my skin widened into blaring canyons.

I clutched his clothes, my snowy hand against the night of the fabric and looked up into the listless eyes.

A sheer, translucent plea.

His lips tugged into a smile then let it go. It seemed like it hurt him. A hand stroke my hair, drawing me closer into the black material of his clothes.

I was blind and mute and deaf. Senseless by the twisting fist in my chest that hurled my heart out and set it on fire.

It was a quick incineration, a spreading wildfire, the first and last breath of a stillborn star pulverizing my blood into

mist.