The full final piece of ‘Alone’, my last short story.
Alone
I felt panic starting to rise through all my body, pumping blood into my veins and making his way to my brain. I stopped dead, paralysed by that inexplicable fear that it’s impossible to explain. I can do this; I tried to tell myself from the little corner of my brain that was still responding. I tried to breathe but the noise of my heart beating a lot faster that it should have distracted me and made the sensation of anxiety grow bigger. I felt impotent and helpless, and tears started to stream down my face, smearing my makeup and staining my clothes. “Mary, why wouldn’t you talk to me? You know you can trust me.” God, we have been together for ten months and still he does not understand that the more he asks me to talk, the more thoughts stay stuck in my head and no word comes out. It is hard to believe I can speak valuable words when I have been told for years that my thoughts were worth nothing and my words were nothing more than silly sounds. “It is nothing darling; you do not need to worry. I am fine. It was only a nightmare.” I wish I could tell him what is going on in my mind, but the more I think that I want to reveal him my inner fears, the more all the ideas made a messy bundle inside my head and I can find no sounds to translate it.
He looked at her with the corner of his dark eyes and she knew straight away he was angry. She had told him off in front of his friends without thinking. There was going to trouble, and a lot of it. He did not speak a word for what seemed like ages. He kept his eyes on the road while driving, and she tried to find a conversation topic but she was too nervous and could not think of anything. “You think you are very smart, don’t you?” he asked her suddenly, startling her. She was reading and she had almost forgotten what happened and thought that maybe he hadn’t found it that annoying. He had, and now she was going to have to deal with it. She did not say anything, for she was scared that anything she could say was going to make him madder than he already was. “I asked you a question. Why the hell did you think it was ok to pretend you were cleverer than me and to try and show it in front of my mates?” he went on, his voice growing louder and showing his anger. “You know perfectly well that I don’t pretend to be smarter than you. I was just stating my opinion on the matter.” He started laughing, and his laughter was scarier than his silence. “Your opinion?” he shouted, trying to speak in-between bursts of nervous laughter. “Since when people like you are entitled to opinions”? He grabbed her by her arm and dragged her to the kitchen sink. She didn’t try any sort of resistance. He took the washing up liquid from the cupboard, put some in his hand and started washing her mouth. He kept going until it was satisfied, dragged her back to the living room and then went out without saying a word.
I close my eyes and try to keep the memory away. I’m not sure anymore if it has happened or if is something that I saw in my nightmares. Mark keeps talking about our weekend away but I haven’t listened to half of his words. I’m in my own world again and he realises it; he comes closer and tells me that I don’t have to worry about anything because he will protect me. Men and their huge egos, he has no idea what it is going on with me and he wants to protect me. I wait for him to go out to work, I put on one of my hard rock compilations and turn the volume up. I can almost hear Dr. Locke’s voice telling me that most of my fears grow in my mind because I don’t want to deal with them. I hated him for being such a smartass, especially in the beginning when he had no idea of who he was talking to. He saw me as a neglected child because of what he read in his records, but he had no idea of what life had done to me. I hated compassion and I hated false understanding because I thought empathy is a rare thing to find and there can’t be understanding without empathy. It took time and I came to the point of realising he truly understood me, but I still hate being pitied, and I always feel on the edge of a nervous outburst when people tell me they can understand or, as Mark does, that I don’t have to worry about anything.
During the first few weeks of appointments Dr. Locke allowed her listen to all the music she wanted to. He understood that the music had to be louder than the sound of her fears when she was in that mood. She knew that if she gave way to the flow of memories they were going to torment her for the rest of the day. It’s hard to stop your brain from moving when you’re an over thinker. It’s hard to stop painful memories from knocking on your soul if those memories are in your blood and they’re part of who you are. How can you explain to someone who doesn’t know anything about you how a simple word can be enough to take you back in years and make the scars hurt like hell? She thought there was no way to explain it; she had to keep it to herself. Like an awful lot of other things she kept buried deep down her battered heart.
I unburied many things to Dr. Locke, and to some of the friends I made in the past few years. But I still think some things have no explanation and I still have not found a way of translating them into words. I still think some things can have a place only in my heart, and I will keep them there, even if they hurt. Mark rings after work to ask me what time do I want him to pick me up tomorrow. I listen to his voice pronouncing words that make no sense to me and deep down I know I’m not going away for the weekend with him. I’m not going anywhere with him; he was an encore when I needed one, nothing more. We have nothing in common and I know I don’t need encores anymore. I’m not a neglected child who needs protection; I know where I’m going now. I may still be slow, and I stop sometimes because of the burden I carry on my shoulders but I will get there in the end, alone.