“I’ll make you a man enough. Mmmhh trust me!” A blade crept into the light—a cutter in her hand.
She rode wildly, shaking my stillness. I silently sobbed. Every move I failed, blade marked my skin. Abdomen. Arms. Shoulders. Neck. “Fuck me!”
Blood trickled. Pain howled. My rugged breaths pleaded to the laugh piercing my flesh.
Cutting. “I own you now.” Stroking. “Never!” I choked.
Sharp flashes seared me. Squinting, blood trailed my stinging cheeks, lips. Hot tears flooded.
I looked at her thinking, this must be hell. “If I can’t have you, no one can.”
Clenching the sodden cloth with my teeth, a silent ache escaped my lips; shutting my eyes— once again— at long last.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A familiar sound.
The continuous beeping sounds irritated me to no end. The sound woke me up from my heavy slumber, hoping to see anything but reality. How disappointed I felt that I was pulled back to the world that hurt me.
I opened my eyes, vision blurry as it adjusted to the light, and found myself in a small white room that reeked of sterile chemicals. I was lying on bed as I hear the beeping noise from a machine that irritated me. A heart rate monitor.
It was a familiar place, ever since I was first dragged here.
Bloodied wrists, dead eyes.
Focusing my vision, I saw you sitting beside my bed, looking at me with gentle care in your eyes. You looked haggard, as if you’ve been awake for hours beyond normal human ones. Possibly you were; considering you were wearing a blood-stained white coat and a green uniform.
I had an inkling it was my blood.
I noticed you didn’t ask me those silly questions of yours while silently wrapping a bandage on my freshly cleaned wrist wounds. Those probing questions that you first asked when you stopped my attempt to meet Death.
I wondered silently how you were able to find me again. Back in this white room; with you. That my attempt to end my miserable life was thwarted by you, once again. I wondered, not knowing why, you were always the first face I see when I woke up from each attempt.
The silence slowly ended and was replaced by a tuneless humming; your head swaying along with it. I watched you taped the bandages in place and placed the medicine kit away.
I didn’t fail to notice that I was in the room where we first met; where I first laid my eyes on you. The room where you talked and talked, until I gave in and told you my name.
The silence was broken when you asked if I dreamed of anything as of late. A possible reason for my actions. I told you just the same nightmares– withholding the dark thoughts that poisoned me.
I heard you sigh and felt your hand as it slowly reached my head, caressed my forehead and fixed my possible bed hair. My body was too weak to even move away from your touches; just like before. You hummed once again, and slowly it became a lullaby to me, closing my eyes to savor it. Your voice has always been a lullaby to my heart.
My lips trembled as I felt my eyes water. Your care overwhelmed me to the point of my heart crying out. I may have dreamed nightmares but when I woke up, I’ve always seen your smile. I’ve always felt your soft hands wanting me to accept your persistence, to let you stay despite my elusiveness. When I was faced with death, of the pitch black snakes wrapping around my arms and legs; it was your voice that shed some light to banish them.
“You once said that you’re broken. . .” you whispered, hands still caressing my forehead.
My body was too tired, too weak to even move, let alone speak. I stayed quiet.
“…irreparable,” you continued, gently taking my hand and softly kissing the bandaged wrist.
Again, I stayed quiet as my body shivered at your touches. It brought horrible memories to me: touches. But it wasn’t you who made them. You weren’t restraining me. Your kiss was soft and loving, not rough and— I cringed at the thought.
“Yet to me, you’re not.” You held my hand gently then placed my palm against your cheek. “I. . . your family told me. . . confirmed really,” you confessed. “I. . . ”
I looked at you and saw those beautiful eyes tearing up. You still held my hand.
“Live,” you whispered in between the sobs that finally echoed within the familiar room.
It sounded like a plea. A sincere plea. Begging me to live on despite my tragedy. Your eyes showed no pity; just the same look you’ve given me every day. That despite knowing my nightmare, you still looked at me the same way you did on the day you confessed your feelings to me.
“I would stay, even if I can’t touch you. So please, live,” you continued to sob softly. “I accept your past so please. . . ” you held my hand with a bit more pressure, letting me know your feelings. “Accept me in your future.”
Somehow, the sight of you, handsomeness now stained with tears, softened my heart. Your words made my heart breathe once again.
I closed my eyes, feeling calm with your touch. The battle I had been fighting in my head for so long, slowly ceased. Every shadowy rope that tied me down, loosened.
I asked, finally having the courage, why you still wanted to stay despite knowing my dark past. My scars and memories.
“I don’t know,” you said. “But I know that I love you.”
You didn’t elaborate further. You just traced the scar on my face and caressed my cheek gently, cautiously, and stared at me with understanding. It was unusual. Others would press on with my case; it piqued their curiosity. You kept your silence and instead gave me a comforting touch.
You had been pestering me with questions about my turtle-like attitude. And yet, why do I still desire the sight of your face every morning when I wake up? Of feeling your hand on me without the fear of crawling into a hole and burying myself alive? Of making me think twice with my attempts to end it all? Then I remembered that after all you’ve been through with me, you’re still here. You still looked at me with those beautiful eyes of yours, with care and affection. That handsome smile that made me smile as well. Your patience with my withdrawal from your touches.
Your knowledge of my past, accepting it— it’s like you filled the cracks within me. Like filling the cracks of broken pottery with precious gold.
Kintsugi.
I looked at you and noticed how you smiled at me reassuringly.
You’re the gold and I’m the cracked ceramic.
My lips uttered the words I never thought I could say again. Asked the question— more of a request— everyone turned down after knowing why I was trying to end my life.
“Stay?”
You smiled at me, dry tears on your cheeks, and carefully kissed my hand to my fingertips. Your callous yet gentle hands held mine with warmth and love.
“Always.”