Saturday Morning

 "Saturday Morning" [315 words]
[short story/prose]
[Trigger Warning: Depression]
[I was a little hesitant about posting
this one, but I'm going to post it anyway]


~ ~ ~

Morning of
Saturday, 4 February 2017:

I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor; eyes wide, red, and brimming with tears. I sat there, with you sitting right across from me, and I wondered why you had come once more.
Sometimes, you told me, there doesn't have to be a reason.  There didn't have to be a reason for sleeping seventeen hours and not eating for almost (and sometimes over) twenty-four. You managed to convince me to spend days and nights in your arms, while you took my thoughts and my fingers and defiled me with my own devices.

I sat in the middle of the floor, looking at the world a little differently than I had just hours before this moment.  I realized I would never be able to come to terms with the reality that there was a name for you and an ever-changing face for you and, even though they love me, you convinced me that they would never listen or even begin to understand.

I sat there, with you, that morning.  You hissed in my ear in the voices that loved me, and I internally screamed at you.  I trembled and screamed out loud the final time.  Yet, you managed to convince me that all they heard was an unnecessary breakdown.  You used the same voice to tell me to stop crying.  I punched you, both fists, to your legs, so that you would go away, but you had already gone, and I had hurt myself.

Where had you gone?  You were laying on the bed, in the same big-spoon/little-spoon position, wanting me to come lay with you so that I could sleep more than I was awake. 

"Shut the fuck up!" I had screamed at you before.

But now, I said to you, in a hushed whisper I made sure only you could hear, "Make everything go away."

-lj
24 February 2017