You Need Help

Photo credits: Kya Scarlett on Pinterest

Soft droplets fall from the sky, hit the tin roof above her head making soothing sounds. It is meant to help her catch the elusive sleep but it doesn't at all. She tosses and turns. Sits up and listens to the soft droplets hitting the tin roof, almost rhythmically. She slides back into her covers, wrapping her body up-to the neck and shuts her puffy heavy eyes. She tries to get lost in the rhythm of the rain, God knows she tries, but she can't focus. Her head pounds so hard as if a thousand hammers are hitting on it. She tosses, turns, and tosses again. She pushes her feet out of the covers, no it's freezing, she tucks them back. She lies on her back and faces the tin roof and a stream of tears flows on either side of her eyes. She shuts them to allow herself drown in her feelings, she swallows hard. She stares darkness in its eyes, shuts her teary eyes once more, hoping that finally in the darkest hour, sleep will embrace her.

The emptiness in her soul is apparent and all she yearns for is to have him by her side. To feel his touch and breath caress her face. She turns to face the wall and closes her eyes. All she can see is his face. She wants so badly to hate him, but her heart betrays her mind.  She vividly recalls the day they first met. She didn't think much of him then, in fact, she had been repulsed by his smoking; but believing that she didn't judge people, she decided to ignore it. He had a calm demeanour and seemed almost uninterested. Her friend seemed to have a crush on him and kept throwing herself at him, but he seemed uninterested. It turned out that he was interested in her and not her friend – she was elated. Instantly, her ego was inflated. She shuddered at the thought and memory of this; she wondered why things had turned out the way they did.

He was all sugar and spice. Candle-lit dinners in restaurants, road trips, lunch dates and random gifts. Everything nice. He was all she ever dreamed of and she thanked the universe for conspiring with nature to steer her towards her destiny. Each time his body met hers, it burned with the heat from a thousand fires. She fell in love. Deeply. She knew this was going to be her life, and her death too. Her beginning as well as her end, and she was right. Then, it all came tumbling down one day. She always believed that an action could steer an event in a totally different direction(s). There's always a possibility that in a split second, what one decides to do can change the outcome of any event, she believed this in every part of her being.

They had gone out. She wanted to dance, he didn't. She went to the dance floor and that's when the tall guy who'd been eyeing her walked up to her and asked to dance. She obliged and they danced their bodies sore. They rocked and swayed with every beat, turned the music to ecstasy and drowned in its highness. She was lost in the music and the dancing and didn't notice that Mr Right had left. When she did, a sliver of panic blossomed within her as it was unlike him to just up and leave without informing her.

She decided to go home. She found him at home having a beer. His face expressionless like nothing had happened.

‘Why did you leave like that?’ she asked trying so hard to conceal her disappointment.

‘You were having a good time. Didn't want to ruin it' he quipped.

His apathetic calmness cut her deep. She took a moment to process what he'd said and felt her anger build inside her. In a split second, everything changed. She grabbed the beer-bottle from him and threw it against the wall. It shattered into pieces. Silence. There was pin drop silence.  The kind that signifies the imminence of a storm. He stood up, straightening his body before hers, his face on hers; getting her moistured up by his breath. His eyebrows scrunched together and his pupils narrowed. He wasn't amused. Not at all. As if debating with himself, he turned to walk away. She felt dejected and wasn't amused either. 

‘You are a coward, half a man. Come back and face me yo…’ she blurted out.

Without warning, she was cut short by a smack that rendered her confused and dizzy.

She took a second to let the electric current from the smack travel her body through. Driven by an indecipherable fury, she proceeded to punch him. However, her tiny hand he caught mid-air, like a rag doll. He twisted the fisted arm all the way to her back. She groaned in pain. She couldn't talk. All she knew was that she had to untangle herself from the painful hold.

She couldn’t think of a way out, though. He held her in that uncomfortable position for what seemed like an eternity and then, slowly, he finally let go. A quick spin around and she kicked him in the groin. He sank to the ground, bent double, on his knees and groaning in pain, he cursed her bitterly. His face was contorted in pain and disbelief. The kick had caught him off-guard and stung like hell. She was almost remorseful seeing him like that, she contemplated an apology. Not without effort, he rose to his feet and grabbed her by her hair, proceeded to punch her with his free hand. He punched away like he was indeed punching a bag.

She broke free of him and then she retaliated. They fought; kicks flew, there was biting, curses and scratching; fists landed on faces, equally vicious bites on different parts of the body; back and forth, blood oozed from their wounds. Then a certain weariness starts creeping on the two. He was tired with the fighting, he grabbed her, pinned her against the way and kissed her bloody lips, cleaning off her wounds. A glint of painful recognition in her eyes, she was taken aback, but she liked the feeling. Their hearts racing in pain. Her body aching and his heavy breathing. She liked the way it hurt, the way it rendered her weak. This kind of pain was soothing to her soul. That was when she discerned that he was the match and she the gasoline. She didn't understand this feeling, but she liked it.

She didn’t know why, but she very more alive in this moments of pain and obscure pleasure.

And they kept doing it that way: she'd provoke, he'd react and everything will be hitting and smacking and, finally, crazy action: the tearing of bloodied clothes, the taste of blood and sweat comingling with the inexpressible high. From the walls, on the floor, and between the sheets, on and on like some celestial wrestle.

Tonight however, things ended badly. He had called her a psychopath. It is not the word that had hurt her; it was the look in his eyes. There was something in them that she had not seen before, something akin to pity but beyond it. Something that saw into her. And when she provoked him, he didn't react.

He simply looked at her and said, ‘You need help.’

He walked away leaving her confused and lost.

The rain slows to a steady trickle, she tosses one last time, the stereo by her bed is playing “I Love the Way You Lie” by Eminem and Rihanna. In that singular moment, she knows this is the beginning of the end.

You Need Help

By Janet Kilel