Duplicity [h.s]

90

PART 2 OF THE DOUBLE UPDATE! MAKE SURE YOU READ 89 FIRST

CLARA - THE GRAVESTONE AVEN TOOK A PICTURE OF

MARIANA - MALIKAI'S DAUGHTER HARRY MENTIONED IN CHAPTER 69

Aven Brooks

I was always told that my captivation for electricity would lead me to incredible highs and dangerous lows in my existence. The natural ludicrous that ached my blood for stimulating shock was something I always found myself a prisoner to. I didn't like the dangerous things in life, I always coursed into making the right decisions like there was someone watching my every move. My whole life I cemented to the path of internal cleanliness and prosperity—my personality being an abundance of good graces and hard work. Grandma always told me I was a people pleaser, no matter where I went. I always strived to make her proud, to put on a joyous smile and play a cynical game of make-believe that everything in my own world was perfect just so she could sleep at night. But when you immerse yourself in an act of perfection for so long, you start to forget who you really are when the curtains close. When you're alone on your bed with your knees to your chest, surrounded by all your masks laying stagnant on the bedding—you fall a victim to the criminals of indifference.

You're simply numb.

You try so hard not to feel things after the bad luck of people revolving in and out of your life, each taking a different piece of you within their vast exit. You just put a smile on your face and avoid; you avoid and avoid and avoid until you merely forget about the pain and what you were trying to hide. Life starts feeling like a cycle of distracting routines and dull moments until you start to find yourself doing things in dissociating thoughts. You stand in the mirror after your hot shower, rugged towel tight around your chest while you just stare at the mascara residue under your eyes for a worrisome amount of time. You discover situations where you just couldn't help but touch that hot lightbulb with the tip of your finger, knowing it will burn but for some reason needing to feel certain about something. It's the state of being numb, and when you finally strive to reach that point, you wish nothing more than to get out of it.

It's a trap, it's always a trap.

Wanting not to feel so you don't have to be in unfixable pain anymore. The minute you go numb, you wish you could take it all back. You forget who you are, and you hate what you've become. You continue the smiles, the laughter, the act of the perfection—but deep down was nothing but a hollow box with a chilling wind the sound of a brick tunnel.

That's why I hate electricity.

Figuratively it made me feel something, shocking me down to my core like it was jumpstarting a dormant vessel in my heart. Sometimes it hurt, but only for a second. It made me feel warmth, the hairs of my arm standing up as my blood sent a pinching shiver down my back like a melting ice cube. Searching for this feeling wasn't easy, especially because the high would only last a second of time. I was frightened of the dangers carried with it—but electricity was my weak spot.

But as he stays crouched down next to my chair with that horror in his eyes from what I finally pieced together—I understood that the electricity I so desperately craved, had finally killed me.

After feeling numb for so long, I once chased to feel again. The masks that would lay stagnant on my bed when I was alone at night started to fade away because I slowly didn't need them anymore. I found someone that made me feel again, feeling things I swore I never believed in anymore. He never fixed me and I never fixed him, but he made the feeling of being unfixable not as bad. He didn't shine the light in my life but he sat with me in the darkness and held my hand through my pain and suffering. He kept me feeling warm with the passion and danger I craved.