Disarray [H.S.]

Chapter Twenty Nine

My words shoot to kill when I'm mad
I have a lot of regrets about that...
I just wanted you to know
This is me trying

_______

NO PERSPECTIVE

Running.

Her legs are on fire, Her lungs are about to collapse, but she keeps going.

She can't stop. She refuses.

Run, run, run.

Keep going.

You're almost there.

It's broad daylight, anyone who can see her right now must think she's crazy, and maybe she is, but she can't care about that right now, she can't think about that right now. She can't think about anything.

All she can do is run.

As fast as her legs will let her go.

Her unconscious mind has been leading her feet in this direction, even if her brain has yet to comprehend the destination, but she's close.

It hurts, and she needs to slow down, but she can't.

Not until she gets there.

Her shoes feel like cinder blocks, weighing her down, but that only makes her push harder.

Run, run, run.

She only slows down when she finally finds herself under the rust of this all too familiar structure.

She can't breathe. There's no air in her lungs and she cannot breathe.

The panic has set in.

Heavy pants dispense out of her lips as her hands reach up to her chest, holding her palms there as if the pressure will return the air to her body.

But it only makes her feel more suffocated.

Her hands then go into her hair, pulling at the roots. She lets out a loud sob that doubles as a gasp for air.

The air that somehow just won't enter her body.

Crouching down now, her hands tug tighter at the roots of her head.

Distract. Physical pain is easier.

She pulls harder and harder, but there's no line to cross anymore. No difference between emotional pain and physical pain. Not when the emotional pain is too much that it manifests physically and is breaking her down.

She stands back up and jogs over to the ledge she's stood on many times before.

She hasn't been back here since that night in April, and she thought she might never want to come back, but here she is.

Isn't that funny?

Here she stands, on the ledge of this bridge, right where she belongs.

The tears that roll down her cheeks seem like they'll never end. She doesn't even realize she's been crying until she can taste the salt on her tongue.

But even then she's not sure if it's real. She's not sure if anything is real anymore.

Was any of it real? Did I just imagine it all? Have I just been standing here this whole time? Is it still April 11th? Did any of this actually happen?

In the midst of the panic, in between the blur of the chaos, she must have pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed the number of the only person who gets it.