“I’m not here to have myself under control”, my witch hisses at me, hiding another “winter apple” chocolate bar behind her back. Yes, the ones my dead grandmother loved so much.
Tonight we’re thinking about something that is not gonna escalate.
So not gonna.
Promise.
“Have you ever met someone … “ I start, ignoring the chocolate theft as good as I can. “Someone …”
Layla giggles. “Yes, I have met people. And demons. And someone convinced they were god. Why do you ask?”
It has been weeks if not months since my witch and I have had a serious discussion. You might think she’d be more thrilled about it.
“Someone who’d you’ve escalated with in the past, but now sit there with the exact same impulses, battling them out in your head, because you’ve been there too often?”
She giggles. “You’re a real grown up now!”
Am I?
I have to think of weird moments that have happened at an office within the past few months, and I have doubts. I have to think of my voice feeling oddly tiny somewhere in my throat, when I should just be able to use it, and I have to think of all the tension in my muscle as I try not to feel the things someone could so easily made me feel.
“I’m not so sure about that”, I respond.
I have to think of taking a different staircase at the other end of the building to avoid someone. I have to think of blue eyes underneath bushy brows lingering on the patches at my backpack while I’m desperately avoiding a deeper conversation. Nerdy jokes I am not laughing about, although they would have easily undressed 20-year-old me.
“You know me”, I remind Layla. “I’m not interested in self-control either.”
No really, I’m a hedonist, I live to feel things. More things. Better things. Painful things. Give me pain. Make me real.
“Then what?”
What?
Yes, what is this?
I take a deep breath, reaching for a winter apple chocolate bar myself.
“Because if I did anything else, I would not escalate, not hedonistically make another experience worth the drama. I would have another crush that’s wrong but makes me productive, would not have sex to remember with a dirty grin on 30 years.”
“But?”
“I would fall apart.”
And I am not ready to fall apart again.
I just cannot fall apart again.
I need to focus on the things in my life which I managed to fix in the past year. I need to focus on my goals. I can break myself again.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”, Layla breaks the silence. “How we sometimes come across a someone who is shaped exactly like our wounds this person has no fault in. And still, it will always be there.”
“Are you saying if Daddy loved us, I would not have this problem with talking to D.?”
“Kind of.”
She’s probably right.
“There is a reason though, why I can avoid it this time”, I admit, and I blush.
Layla giggles. “Because you’ve been fucking someone who can take your breaking tendencies?”
Someone who can also mend me.
I need to make a call. This girl needs a head stroke. Or more.
Mistress witch writes 