The Ceiling

His nerves were live electric wires passing current from his heart and lungs, sending the former into the speed of snare hits he could feel against his sternum and the latter intaking oxygen faster than his body could process it. The current passed down his arms and into his hands, causing them to tingle and lose sensation. It was disruptive. He did not feel the need to eat and sleep came in fits if it came at all, the wires in his brain firing electric catastrophe through his overactive, overworked and now sleep-deprived imagination. This was all instinct and he tried to tell himself that it would all be over soon.

Trust did not come easy to him though he told himself he trusted her implicitly, or as implicitly as one can another person, remembering the fallibility of anyone and everyone; it is human to fail. This led his brain to falter in trust and so he would see horrific images that would intensify the current running through his body every minute of every day since he heard the words, “You’ll just have to trust me”. He thought he could until now. He had no idea what was going on after not hearing a word for too long and so his mind started to fill in the gaps. The means with which those gaps were being filled did not make him feel any better.

It was much easier for him to distrust than to trust even then. The history he had was not one of someone who had seen the best part of the human experience. While everyone has been lied to and everyone has been betrayed at some point in their lives, there seemed to be an inordinate amount of those kinds of stories being told in his short lifetime. He realized that he had to be careful not to sabotage himself. It was a battle of psychology and history and, in his mind, both sides were losing. He was seeing himself alone yet again, left to pick up the broken shards of his heart which he had kept to himself and well-mended for so long and it frightened him so much there were days when he couldn’t function. In the same vein, he didn’t want to say anything to her for fear of being a burden.

There was a part of him that wanted this anguish to end. Everything he saw in his waking nightmares he wanted to see come true so he could at least breathe again and not have to try to disassemble scenario after scenario. But he cared too much to give up on it and the small part of him that was an optimist was hoping that this would pass and things would return back to stasis. He wouldn’t have to feel like he was about to crack open like an egg and have his insides made into an omelette for the sake of someone else’s decisions. At the very least he was tired of staring at the ceiling wondering just what was going to happen next.

He saw his phone go off next to him.

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One thought on “The Ceiling

  1. Pingback: The Fire | Where would we be without you?

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