Miss You

The familiar song almost made me jump, the blurred lyrics coming from my phone which was sitting on the blue sheets next to me. I didn’t hesitate to answer, I never did when it was that song that meant she was calling. Her voice sounded sure, strong even, at first. But when I asked if everything was all right, and that same voice cracked, I could almost see the tears that fell so easily for her.
Of course you can come over
I’ll see you soon, drive safe
I had to work hard to keep my own voice strong. For her. The only person that really matters. I had to keep my own tears from falling; so close they were to the surface at that point. Had to keep the worry, the pain, from reaching her ears. I couldn’t let her know that she made my heart race, my breath come short. Couldn’t let her find out that my entire body was shaking with the sound of her weeping. Because if she knew what she did to me, she may not find comfort in my arms. She might not come to me in the middle of the night when all other doors are locked. She might not call.

Home

The house is quiet when I get to the door. Still I am cautious. I know what dangers lie in silence enough to not be overly joyed at the lack of music coming from inside. I walk inside and see nothing at first. Lights dim, the noiseless rooms making me more on edge than if there were a marching band in the living room. My eyes track the usual path from the bar to the kitchen, hesitating only slightly at the open liquor cabinet, but stopping completely when they fall on the martini shaker and beer bottles lined up by the trash can.
Then the sound comes, like the rush from an open dam I can hear his pitch less singing over the headphones he wears. The volume varies from very soft to way too loud and it hurts. I debate letting him know that I am home, decide against it, and sneak back to my room, trying hard to not let him see me. If he sees me then I have to talk to him, and if I talk to him I run the risk of not being able to follow the rules.
Once in my room I shut the door and turn the lights off, crawling into my bed which feels so cold. I can’t even cry over it. I can feel the tears behind my eyes, burning, but I can’t force them out. All I can do is drift off to the only place that has offered me comfort in the past couple years. All I can do is drift into blissful sleep where nothing hurts, no matter how deep the cuts are. Where nothing hits, no matter how tempting the taunts are. Where nothing drinks, no matter how much booze there is waiting when he gets home.

This World Will Never Be What I Expected

The snow was three feet high in some places, but the drive was ploughed. That’s where I stood, a cigarette in my shaking hand, and music telling me things I wanted so badly to believe. I took a drag, put my head back, my eyes closed, and I let it out. With the exhale my eyes opened and I saw the stars fighting for a place in the cold night, the few clouds putting up a nice offense. The music was still yelling at me, and with the stars fighting so hard (I was convinced that they were fighting to see me; it had been a while since we had had one of our affairs), I started to believe the lyrics.
"It’s not too late, it’s never too late"
I took another drag and pushed the words out of my head, my eyes closing and making the world disappear once again. When I opened them the stars had lost their fight, and a few flecks of snow fell on my already iced over cheek.