Waiting for the Night

              The terrible feeling surges through her body; like waves crashing to shore on a moonless night, she knows they will keep coming, one after another, whether she’s ready or not. It’s her fault. She should know better by now. She brought this onto herself.  Each wave washes her into a new level of pain; she doesn’t know how she can overcome the dark waves, or even, how to find her feet long enough to stand her ground. On mornings like this, she finds it hard to do more than breathe, so she tries to find solace in the bottom of the tub where she curls up and wishes that she could die. On days like this, she doesn’t care about tomorrow and its promises already broken.

                Water pelts against her back, so cold it could almost be mistaken for a fierce winter storm. The shower has been running over her folded body for- she doesn’t know how long. The ice cold water runs through her tangled hair and trickles over her face; it drips down her nose, and splashes onto her bony, white hands which are smashed between her forehead and the bottom of the tub. She sees her arms are purple, and in a place that feels far away, she knows she is shivering, but at the same time she feels as if she is slowly being roasted over an open flame. It's hard to breath, her chest feels as constricted as if she were in a tightly bound corset. She tries panting, a quick in-and-out, to stop the slow feeling of suffocation.  At  the same time, she swallows continuously to keep her mouth from feeling like a desert and to contain the raging turmoil that is her stomach. Memories and fantasies intertwine behind her eyes as she tries to focus on anything that offers an escape from this horrible feeling.

        After awhile, she tries sitting up- bursts of light, brighter than a camera flash; blind her from behind her eyes. Shades of reds and yellows penetrate the matrix of suspended darkness making her feel dizzy and faint. She runs her fingers from the top of her scalp down to the bottom of her hair- trying to grab a hold of herself and shake this aching sensation-Breathing deeply like in a meditation exercise; she tries to “will” away the pulsating sensation.  Exhaling she curls back up, exhausted. Her hands and arms shaking- Why…Why…Why does she keep going back for more, when it hurts this bad? When she knows the racing, exhilaration of the night dissolves into this terrible, throbbing day?

                    She knows why she can’t say no. Why goes back for more- again and again- like some kind of addict. She needs him. She doesn’t want to let him go. It would be worse than this sickness. It would open that black abyss where she’s truly alone, where there is nothing worth living for, where there is nothing worth saving. That there will be nothing left if she lets him go- that is the fear that binds her to him.  And it’s the fear that keeps her in this position. It's funny, she thought,  the first time, she was scared out of her mind. She didn’t want to say yes, but it was the same fear she fights with now- she didn’t want him to leave.

                  He said “don’t worry love, you’ll enjoy this”.

The sweet rush, coursing through her veins until it lassoed her soul and some of the hidden beauty of the world finally revealed itself. It felt like the world she knew before was a rough pencil sketch, blind to the colors exploding all around it, just off the page. But as the hours passed to the beat of radio songs, a burning hunger awoke inside, a wanting –like a slow smoldering, as the rush of wonder retreated. It crawled back slowly, imprinting its memory deep inside every bone, into every muscle and every fiber. Quietly making itself a permanent home, until it felt like an old scar that she couldn't remember when she got it, but knew that it still itched in the heat. And on mornings like this, that need felt like a raging inferno and trying to deny it was like refusing water to quench the flames.

        … Let it burn I have insurance … She thought bitterly.

                          The entire day she spends curled up in the bottom of the tub. Waiting for it to end. Knowing after the sun melts into the horizon he will be at her door again, with a grin; Waiting for her- Waiting for the night to begin.