The Loaded Gun

Her walls had always been built this high for as long as she could remember. She’d sold her soul long ago, met the devil, fell from grace and given up her halo. Sworn that she was unlovable and damaged. All because things were stolen from her that couldn’t be replaced. Her mind was fractured she swore, her heart never meant to be mended, the girl she once was dead and gone, and her only hope was fading day by day.

Like most she’d learned early in life that heartbreak comes from those you trust the most in life. Her first heartache was a gaping wound from those meant to protect and love her the most. Her mother emotionally absent and father a drunk. Generational curses following and haunting them. The traumas and sickness of their fathers and mothers tracing the lineage, begging for someone to stop it.

Nighttime was usually the worst she always found herself trapped in memories she doubted. Deep down she knew but she denied them, denial was easier. That’s what she told herself anyway. “At least for now” she’d whisper to herself in the darkness as tears poured down her face. No one would believe her anyway, right? She barely believed herself…the truth would destroy everything. It was safer to bury it.

She always doubted the words of others and yet she longed to see the best in them. Even his. Stuck in this limina state where she so badly wanted to believe but everything screamed to run. That it was all lies. Yet, the better part of her knew they weren’t there was nothing to suggest they were. With him…despite wanting so badly to believe him, she wondered if he actually felt the same way as she did? If he felt the way he said? Every time they were together… if he actually missed her the way she missed him? Or if he just liked how she made him feel? Even before she laid eyes on him. Maybe they were a bit unorthodox she supposed but that’s what made them so special she thought.

But she also worried unconditionally that he was just activating her attachment style. She supposed maybe that was a good thing that she worried, because it meant she was aware she was playing with fire. Or maybe she was making things up. She wasn’t fully sure. This was something she constantly wrote about. She wrote it on sticky notes, in journals, on her note’s apps, anywhere really. It was always nagging at her, and she thought writing it would get it out of her head, she was wrong though. Her mind was never really fully rid of the thoughts. Not of him or them. How she wished they were a “them”.

She daydreamed, her worst habit, she supposed. (Next to the falling chronically in love when she wasn’t even meaning to get attached.) Daydreamed of their future and how it would look. Who would be in it? Their dates, their love, the things that she wished she didn’t want. She walked through it, life and what it’d be like to experience all the things together, what they’d fight about? Would they? How would they fix? God, she hoped it wouldn’t be like her parents. Or any of the other “role model” couples she’d grown up with. She often thought about the traditions they would share, how they would build new ones. The types of firsts they would experience together, her own firsts too. How maybe for the first time ever would she feel the love she gave? Or maybe feel an ounce of the safety that she’d given so many…

His words always made her heart flutter a bit. Though she’d scorn herself about those types of feelings. How she wasn’t supposed to feel them, especially for someone she hadn’t met in person yet – even then “don’t get attached” she’d remind herself constantly. Except her heart couldn’t follow those orders, every time she tried to throw a blanket over those feelings it only grew more. Almost like that pile of “nothing” in the corner of her room when she’s in a depressive episode. Every denial of her feelings though only threw diesel on an already blazing fire, much like the thing that one memory that stalked her relentlessly every time the sun went down or the lights cut out. She only wanted to protect herself, fearing he was as good of an actor as the others. But the warmth in her heart as he smiled, begged to differ.

When they did finally meet the chemistry was undeniable. Or maybe she was making it up? Maybe he was lying to her? So, she still fought it. Part of her didn’t want to. But it was all she knew to do. Protect her heart and body. Push him away before he could betray everything she’d given. She was terrified to fall, but she wasn’t falling- she was willingly walking into a four-letter word with him. And that scared her even more, because she was handing him a loaded gun, holding it to her head and begging him not to pull the trigger.

She felt insane. Surely she shouldn’t be doing this so soon, feeling this way. How? Was she bewitched? Was she asking for heartache? Did she have an addiction to pain? He was leaving and she knew. She didn’t want to do that thing where she blew it up in her face before anything stood a chance. For once someone saw her for her. Not her past or her illness. But she wasn’t sure. Still walking on ice. Cracking beneath her feet.

If she told him, would he feel the same? Did his future flash before his eyes when they kissed for the first time or was she just delusional? Did he see stars in her eyes the way she did his? When they were apart did his soul ache for hers the way hers did? Was the world silent when they were together, did time stop for him too? Was it a first-time thing? Or had he felt it before, and he was just chasing that feeling? Because she’d only known that feeling in her mind. All these things swirled in her mind as she lay next to him in her bed, the room silent. The world seemingly at peace for the first time in ever… something she didn’t know was possible.

She could feel everything slip away when she was with him. She had hoped and prayed he could feel the same? That he wasn’t lying to her. All because every beat of his heart, every time he laughed, smiled or said her name? It felt like god’s apology for everything she’d been through. Every night she cried herself to sleep doubting her worth, believing she was unworthy, praying not to wake up. Every ounce of betrayal… Everything was made up for by him. She just hoped she made him feel the same. Would she ever be enough? Could they heal together? Were they the promise? Was he her promise? And if he was… could it start now?

A smile crept in as she watched him read her letter. Butterflies in her stomach. “Fuck being sober” by Annika Wells playing on the radio and she was thinking “god I really wish I had some moonshine” as he read. He must hate it. Surely he hates it. No doubt. It’s too soon for him to read it. Too soon to think these things. Too much. She’d always been too much. For everyone, that’s why she’d shrunk herself. She was too much because she liked pink, too much because she was a rule follower, too much because she was scared of things. Too much because she was herself…

A quiet moment as they shared a quiet embrace, he laid the gun down. The sacred assurance is shared between them. Understandings in the words left unsaid. They were a love story in the making. A book waiting to be filled. One to relish in.