107_yroldvirgin Week 86: Awakening

107_yroldvirgin
Tuesday


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Title:

Awakening

There are long days.

And there are hard days.

But it’s the days that somehow meet at the intersection of the two that weigh heavy on slender shoulders and settle deep into fragile bones.

Skies, overcast and grey swirl above while wet streets glimmer below. And she watches her feet, tiny drops of rain pelting up and off of the toes of her shoes, pulling her attention down, down, down…until there’s nowhere to go and the door that leads inside to her safe haven is the only thing separating her from the outside world and comfort within. But, there’s something else behind the green, peeling paint above the door knob. Someone else.

Her eyes close, fingers resting against brass knob as she inhales sharply, once. Flashes of the night before assault her mind as she attempts to push them down, below her feet, stamp them out with the toes of her shoes and farther until they’ve disappeared into the waiting puddles of water that dance under the relentless dance of rain around her. But she cannot deny it. When he held her there, atop her sheets, arched and needy. Hands twisted about his neck as he kissed soft lines between her neck and lower. Her sounds as his hips lifted and she accepted, greedy and wanting, but never feeling. Her emptiness was so deep, so all encompassing that even then, with him buried as deeply as he could be inside of her without actually becoming a part of her. Still. She felt nothing. Even when he used his mouth there and placed her hands here, she simply closed her eyes and experienced with just her body, but not her soul. Not her heart.

And it was after he’d fallen asleep and she’d allowed herself to open her eyes that she mourned the loss of such things as feelings or emotions. Because it had been so long since she’d opened herself up enough to experience any of it. The numbness was soothing. Real. Complete. There were no holes inside when she couldn’t feel their existence.

But, morning had come and something deep inside had begun to crack. She’d wandered. Thought. Contemplated on what it was that she couldn’t put her finger on. As the day progressed, she became aware keenly aware that the numbness was ebbing. It was uncomfortable and disorienting and she simultaneously wanted to flee and stay. The day had become too much and with as much as she would have preferred to stay behind the cold comfort of her desk, she’s forced herself out and into the darkening light of day as it bled into dusk. To see for herself if she was feeling what she thought she was.

And now she stands before a green door with peeling paint in wet shoes and remembers the feel of his lips on her skin. She relishes in the faint pink flush across her chest as she takes one steadying breath to open the door.

To something new.

To what could inevitably be what saves her. Breaks her. Makes her whole again.

But first, she must open the door.