Page 23 of Your Soul Is Ours

“Maybe, but self-harm isn’t suicide.”

I don’t answer as I walk to the bathroom to pull a washcloth off the shelf and wet it to clean her up. “I know it isn’t. It’s a coping mechanism to hold the demons back. It makes the numb feeling of despair slow down and gives you a feeling of happiness that no one can understand. But you will never be able to cut deep enough to reach the euphoria you once did, you will always be chasing a ghost,” I tell her as I work on her wounds.

“I feel lost,” she whispers.

Looking around her room, I spot a large bag and instinctively start sifting through her clothes, picking out the ones she wears the most. As I hand her a hoodie and wait for her to put it on, she asks, “Where are we going?”

“Home. You aren’t lost. I’ve found you. I’ll always find you. Doesn’t matter what happens, I will always find you.” I sling her bag over my shoulder and hold out my other hand. Marla takes it and starts walking to the door.

“How did you get in here?” she asks as she slips on her shoes.

“Door was unlocked.”

We walk to the car and get in. She doesn’t say much as we drive and as I pull into the driveway, I wait for her to get out. “Thank you. I know that I’ve been awful lately. It’s just been really hard.”

“No need to thank me. You can stay here as long as you want. Loving someone means you love the good parts and also the shitty parts. Every broken piece of a person is loveable if you are with the right person.”

Marla puts her hand in mine and we walk away from the car. “I love you too. I know I don’t say it much, but I just didn’t know how much to say it.”

“You can say it as much or as little as you need to. I’ll still come, even if you don’t love me anymore,” I tell her.

“How did I get so lucky to find such an amazing guy?” I smirk in the dark as we reach the house and I unlock the door. “I ask myself every day how I was chosen to receive your love.”

She kisses me as we get through the entranceway. My fingers tangle in her hair, allowing me to pull her closer as our kiss intensifies. I pull away from her as I flick on the kitchen light. “You are free here, my dove. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

I show her the living room, and the front porch, and we walk upstairs to the bedrooms and bathroom. There is a tiny balcony off my bedroom, a guest room, and a bathroom with an ancient tub. She looks over everything before looking back at me.

“Can we go to sleep?” she questions.

I can only smile as I finally have my Marla in my bedroom. As soon as I lay down, my dreams pull me under and I’m content.

Fifteen

Marla

Ilay next to Sebastian. My mind races from thought to thought and I can’t relax enough to fall asleep. I slowly wiggle out of his grasp. His chest rises and falls so little, I wonder if he’s even breathing. I take his sweater and pull it over my shoulders,letting myself out onto the balcony. The view is gorgeous. Although it’s dark, much darker than anywhere in the city, the moon shines down, illuminating his vast garden. I would have never guessed that he had such a big green thumb, but the backyard is like an enchanted oasis of blooms and landscape–all he’s missing is a waterfall of some sort.

I’m almost positive I locked the door. Everything before the cutting is fuzzy. It’s like life is wiped from my mind when I think of the release that will come. Nobody really knows the pain that invades my mind and seeps into my heart. I’m able to put on the show. The curtain opens for the day with people, and I can fake that I’m alright, that I’ll be fine. But the pain never ceases. It eats at the edges of my heart, slows the heartbeat so only blackness beats through my veins until I’m home and can cut it out, slice to make sure I still bleed red, and the darkness hasn’t taken everything from me. The crimson droplets are so pretty, making me feel better. It mimics the way drugs once felt, but I don’t risk everything for the warm fuzzy feeling. The pain flows out freely as I add more lines to my collection.

When I’m with Sebastian, the pain isn’t as strong. It feels more like a paper cut than the gash across my heart.

My fingers delve into his pocket and emerge with a cigarette and a lighter, its metallic surface glinting in the light. As I inhale the smoke, I feel the cool night air on my skin, and I exhale slowly, looking up at the full moon in the sky.

I had thought that killing my mother would bring me peace, but the opposite is true. Every time I go for mental help, I wait anxiously, afraid that each passing day will be the one where they declare me an unfit member of society. I’ll get the mark and that will be the end. If I’m going to die, it’ll be at my own hand. I never want to go out in a white, sterile room with chemical smells and uncaring people.

“Marla, my dove. What are you doing out here?”

I turn to look at him. His looks are edgy, but he is still so beautiful to me that sometimes it’s painful that he cares about me. He settles beside me, his face is creased by the pillow, his naked upper body shows me the artwork covering all his hard muscles, his angled sharp jaw covered in shadowed stubble. I drag my eyes from his lip ring to his dark brown eyes. His hair is messy and hangs over his forehead. I hand him a cigarette.

“Couldn’t sleep. My mind is too busy. I didn’t know you were such a green thumb. The gardens are beautiful, but you need a waterfall.”

His fingers touch mine lightly. I bring my knees up to lean on them. He puts his elbows on his knees and leans forward as he blows out smoke. “I can do that. Never wanted a waterfall, but if you do, then it’s done.”

“Why will you do anything I ask?”

“Because you are the light at the end of my tunnel, you bring me hope for a better life, that maybe, just maybe, love can conquer our darkest moments, that all the shit we go through has a purpose.”

I think about it for a few minutes. “I’m the last person who should inspire hope and light. Is that the reason for the nickname?”

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