When he came to find me the first time, after the breakup, I was blanketed by this same fog - ebony bubble - tangible shadows made of osmium and lead. I was a wilted dryad, flower fairy, nymphalid, a dying tree, emblazoned with fall colors in the paint stains on my face - on my dress. The lights were off, the blinds, drawn. The air was so old it was almost poisonous. 

He crawled through the midst of it all to sit down beside me - shoving aside the crusted paint palettes, and half a dozen brushes bloodied with morbid shades of red acrylic, watercolor - dirty water-

I had a half-finished version of “Bed of Roses,” smeared across the canvas, dizzy with roses, and spiritless thorns, at that point, perfectly dry, with red clinging to the easel in runny scabs. Burgundy stains in the styrofoam beads I’d torn to shreds in one of many temper tantrums. Those paint-filled cups of toxic water standing paralyzed on the coffee table bleeding stagnant greens from the tops of their furry heads like worthless artifacts of “The Great Heartbreak” that changed the course of our histories forever. 

I still had a brush in hand, though only Heaven knows how long I’d been lying there in my stupor. Not eating, not drinking. Water anyway.

The only difference between then and now is that he’s not-

Not coming to save me.

Nobody’s coming to pull me out of the dark.

*

It’s been four days since I left the house. Four days since I last had a proper meal.

The trauma echoes…

Only this time I took a shower - in a vain attempt to scrub the horror out of my skin-

Only this time I want somebody to come find me…

Because we always want what we can’t have.

Peace and quiet. Or comfort.

I’ve ignored a thousand phone calls. From magazines, and promotionals.

Throw it all to the wind.

I can’t go - I won’t…

I’ve ignored ten thousand texts - from Mrs. Moon-

“I’m so excited for your grand opening, darling. Kattar asked me to take pictures for him, and we’ll have to have dinner somewhere afterward to celebrate, alright? Make sure your schedule is free. Do you know what you’re going to wear yet?”

It burns.

-from Mrs. King and Melissa Xochitl.

We were supposed to have a meeting to discuss my first month working under their company two days ago.

I bet they all hate me now, not that it matters…

I won’t be able to work with them anymore.

I can’t work with…him…again. And if I was to ask for a different agent I’d have to explain…

That would be adding insult to injury.

I don’t want to explain - I just want to undo - Monday or everything. Uncreate that catastrophe - or unexist - if recovery isn’t an option-

I haven’t sent a thousand texts I should have - to Kattar.

I couldn’t make myself tell him about Monday…

Don’t want to imagine what he’ll think if he ever-never finds out-

The shadows don’t even have to scream these days - the silence is so thick. They whisper fetid nothings and I sink further into the covers, my head pounding with a militant rhythm. 

Total darkness marches in from either side, erasing that eternal sunset over my head. I don’t even try to fight it-

But my phone lights up on the bed and screams-

*

I raise myself on one elbow and reach out quickly to silence the phone.

Not Mrs. King…Not Mrs. Moon…I can’t today…

Kattar.

My heart falls and that shouldn’t - shouldn’t be the way it is.

As if it’s his fault…

He’s been trying to keep me safe since back when I was with Etan, and I just wanted to make him jealous like a self-centered little jerk…

The tears bite my eyes and I hesitate, letting the phone shiver in my hand before I can force myself to answer.

What am I going to tell him?

“Lise,” the voice laughs from the other side, oozing with affected lightness. I think I can hear the worry behind it, or maybe I just imagine it in, like blue-tinted glasses - wishing he knew without me having to tell him-  

“I missed hearing from you the last few days,” he says casually, “You feeling alright?”

I swear he’s magic.

My mouth blurts the single syllable before I have a chance to lie, to swallow it back down-

“No.”

Why does that word feel so dangerous to say?

There’s a brief pause, and I think I can hear doors closing somewhere far away in his background. He asks almost timidly, “Do you want to tell me?”

Yes.

And no.

No no no.

I want to pretend it didn’t happen.

I want him to tell me it’ll be okay. That it wasn’t right.

And I don’t even know where to start.

With the calamity -? Or all of the space in between -? 

Explaining what I should have seen coming but never did-

I’m such an idiot.

Maybe if I had…I wouldn’t be here, cowering in the dark, trying to get out of my body.

The tears start to fall in a steady stream like freezing rain.

It doesn’t hurt - or it hurts so completely - I can’t tell where it starts or it ends-

“Alicia?”

Just tell him.

No-

But my voice escapes me - tripping and spilling, first little raindrops - then a downpour - stormy torrents of sentence sobs against my will.

“Kattar - my agent…”

Then I just break down. A muddled, unintelligible mess - every word cut through the middle - fragmenting into endless fractals of agony.

I hear his breathing change.

“Alicia…” he starts slowly, his voice shakily calm.

“There’s nothing to do about it at this point,” I whisper, with an almost lullaby-ish tone. 

I don’t know why I’m trying to comfort him, calm him down when all I want is for him to comfort me - to tell me it’ll stop hurting-

Because I can’t explain this pain away.

I’ve tried.

I know there’s more he wants to say - but it’s always impossible to find the right words.

His helplessness grows tortured as I ramble on about Shannon, about Monday night, about the museum.

When the fountain runs dry there’s just silence. 

I hear him breathing, and it’s impossible to explain why that alone, is so comforting. The emotions calm from a tempest to a softly wailing wind.

I wish…

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do now, Kat,” I admit, with a sigh like a puff of smoke. “This was supposed to be our big opportunity to finally branch out and show the world what I’ve been doing…”

I feel him trying to smile, burning his eyes out trying to find the bright side.

“It-it’ll be alright. There’s still gonna be a lot of promotion revolving around the grand opening tonight, and you can start from there. Networking. That’s how my mom started out-”

“I’m not going to the grand opening, Kat,” I whisper.

I hear the concern, “Do you think it’s dangerous…?”

“No. I just…can’t.”

There’s no reply, and I drown in the silence. But at least he doesn’t try to argue with me. 

I run my hand along the covers, and pretend I can see his expression - feel the sympathy in his pretty face wrapping around me like a blanket. 

If he was here now, I wouldn’t reject the hug. 

I need somebody-something to hold me together.

My gosh, I wish…

But I can’t…tell him that.

It would only make him feel worse, and I’m so done being mean - done teasing and harassing to try to get some sort of reaction out of him…

I’m just…worn out…

Tired of wanting and trying to be loved.

My face burns itself into a headache - the tears steaming on my cheeks.

“I’m sorry I can’t send you anything beautiful today, but I don’t have it in me to go outside right now. All my paintings were moved to the exhibit already and there’s nothing beautiful in my apartment.”

There’s a change in the breathing on the other side - like a panic attack beginning in slow motion-

Kat-

“Aren’t you in the apartment?”

I stop breathing.

It takes my brain a minute to admit that I even heard what he just said - and that this isn’t just another of those agonizing dreams-

I’m the ghost in the corner again, staring at the trembling figure beneath the covers.

His panic increases in my silence - I feel the burning terror as he stammers-

“I-I can’t really talk about it right now, because I have the surgery in ten minutes, but what I really really want is for you to send me a picture of you up there at the showcase, doing your speech,” his voice catches, and when it returns, it’s almost a whisper, “Not letting anybody ruin this for you - keep you from living your dreams.”

I feel myself washed in the candied unreality - can’t even-

“Alright,” I say breathlessly, “I promise.”

There’s a half laugh. Like Relief? Like breathing again after a waterboarding - as your head breaks the surface- but then the nerves return-

“And….afterward…I have something I need to tell you."