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sherlock holmes: an extraordinary brain that hides a pretty good heart.
i first saw you when i was twelve.
i was in a dingy bathroom, checking my complexion in the mirror, when i realized the reflection staring back at me was that of a complete stranger. bloody, bruised, tan. a single tear sliding down your cheek. your long, shaggy blond hair looked greasy and dirty, and your lips seemed molded into a permanent frown.
at first i didn't understand why this was happening, partly because i had been so heartbroken that i never thought it possible to move on, and partly because everyone in the world knew that we were only given one soulmate in a lifetime. no second chances. however, as the years progressed, i knew it wasn't my mind playing tricks on me.
i was dreaming again.
it happened next two months later, on my thirteenth birthday. besides the effort of my family to raise my spirits with a cake (all of which, my brother ate), it had still been another dreadful day of abuse, aggression, and tormenting loneliness. i was eager to escape into a deep slumber of nothingness, except—it wasn't nothingness. as soon as i drifted off, piercing screams rang through my head like a blaring alarm, and a young girl with dirty blonde hair ran into your living room with a look of terror on her face. her hands gripped the door frame and her feet lifted off the floor. she was screaming and begging for you to help, for him to stop. but she lost her hold and the man successfully dragged her out seconds later with his large, violent hands.
you sat frozen in place, and i could sense your growing fear with each passing second. the screams went on. they seemed to last an eternity. i finally couldn't stand it anymore and i was able to snap out of it, waking up to stare at my ceiling, trying to delete the memory from my mind. i didn't want to dream anymore after that. i wasn't ready for that kind of intimacy again.
however, against my wishes, i dreamed that very next night. the first thing i saw was that same girl, few noticeable bald spots where she had been scalped, along with bruises and discoloration all over her face. presumably in many other places too (she was wearing jeans and a turtleneck). when you looked around, i could see we weren't alone; joined at the dinner table by an older, aggressive looking man and a sickly, frail looking woman (your parents). the grinding of teeth, scraping of forks, and swallowing of water was all that could be heard at the dinner table that night. the quietest dinner i'd ever endured. i could feel how numb you were, how you silently wished that you were never born, positive that simply not existing was better than this life you never asked for. that was the first time i understood you. understood your pain. it was familiar.
i never knew how lonely other people could be.
i did know there was a way to stop the loneliness for the both of us. knew that i could deduce my way into your life. and maybe it was a little selfish (okay fine it was a lot a bit selfish), but i buried all those thoughts and tried to forget all the memories, all the dreams. i was too afraid to open up again. i convinced myself it would hurt less this way.
