Part 1:

She sat with her back against the wall. Her eyelids were so heavy. The dull throbbing of last night's splendor was aching at the back of her head. Her thoughts panned over what had happened. The words that were said, the hateful glances. If only things had been simple. Noting was ever simple in her life. If only she hadn't gotten out of bed. If only she hadn't listened to her therapist. Things would still be in that realm between okay and falling apart. That was stable, wasn't it? It could be stable. She wasn't sure. She turned her head ever so slightly, the light from the window bothered her eyes. She had no motivation to raise her arm and pull the shade down. Life was a mess of feelings. Life was a tangle of emotions she couldn't control and obsessions that she allowed to go wayward. Today was a bad day. She didn't know what day or time it was. But she knew it was bad.

The phone rang. Once, twice, three times. She picked it up. She said nothing. A woman's voice on the other end. "Hello? Blithe, I know you're there. I just wanted to check and see if you were taking your medications. I know it's none of my business. But I worry about you. I am still your mother. You sounded so sad on the phone yesterday."
She answered with "I'm fine." Then she let the phone fall back into it's cradle.

She knew she wasn't fine. She knew deep down she wasn't close to being fine. But she had to pretend. Her heart pounded and she closed her eyes. Her lips moved in a silent prayer to whatever God may be listening. She prayed for it all to go away. Her headache, the pills she had to take, the men that abused her. The life she had. She wanted a new life. She wanted a fresh start. So many times she had thought about just taking everything she could fit into a backpack and leaving. Not stopping until the gas tank was empty and starting over in whatever town she happened upon. She wanted to lose herself so badly. She thought about the razors. There were five of them in the bathroom. The dull metal she used so frequently upon her legs. The small rectangular blades fit so well between her fingers. They brought her so much pleasure. But that was only a last resort, right? Only a last resort.

She wanted so badly to become someone else. She began to lose who she used to be.


She sat with her feet in the bathroom sink. Her butt just slightly hanging off of the edge of the counter-top. It was so white. So pristine. So unlike the young woman that was sitting atop it. She used to be pretty. Boys used to look at her with that gleam of interest in their eyes. Now they shy away from her. She thinks she looks crazy. They can all tell she's crazy, she knows it. She looks at herself in the mirror. Her shaky fingertips running over what used to be her soft right cheek. She was gaunt now. Her cheeks sunken in, her eyes constantly rung with circles of ash gray. Startled yet blank eyes stare back at her from the mirror. Chocolate pools of nothing, now have lost their luster. Her fingertips pass over her hair, the dark nest of tangles and knots. She can't remember the last time she brushed it. Her therapist was right, she shouldn't be living alone. How else could she live? Her mother loved her, but she was too crazy for her mother. And the hospital was not an option at all. She let a sigh slip past her chapped and cracked lips. Oh, to be beautiful again. To have the ambition to move on and become stronger than the disease that eats away at her mind. She had given up long ago.

The phone rings again. She only looks at it from her place on the bathroom counter. She knows who it is. She doesn't feel like answering. She doesn't feel like the person she used to be. They keep telling her that she can get back to that. That one day, she could be better again. She knows better. She's not stupid. She will never get better, only worse. More medications to counter her insane actions. More pills that they say she should take. More pills to numb her ever decaying mind. She has vague memories of sitting and staring out the window for hours upon hours. The pills made her brain go slow. They made her slow down. Until eventually she did nothing. She gave up fighting it. There was no reason. She became one of the drooling, glassy eyed patients of her careless psychiatrist. She wondered what Dr. Brown was doing with his vacation time. Was he off sailing the coasts of Barbados? Was he in Disney World? Did he happen to wonder about what his patients might be doing? Did he care about the many people he wrote prescriptions for every day? Her mind wanders a lot.

She looks away from the ringing phone and back at the ghost of her in the mirror. She tries to smile, she wants to remember what it feels like to be happy. But smiling is too hard for her. Her lips refuse to budge. The answering machine picks up. She can hear the robotic voice telling whoever was on the other end to leave a message. That voice, so cold, so inhuman. She liked that voice. The slightly nasaly voice of her mother came over the speaker. Babbling something about medication refills and doctor appointments. She didn't care. She didn't feel like caring. Her blank eyes studied the mirror. She couldn't find the girl she used to be there. Maybe she lost herself somewhere deep in the caverns of her mind.

The cool night air caressed her once beautiful face carelessly. She looked down at the city. The people looked like ants from up here. The bars of the fire escape were cool to the touch, and she wrapped her fingers around them. Her eyes closed as the breeze lifted her from the prison of reality she had been locked in. Her mind took her to wonderous places. Beautiful places where she had to weave within the throngs of people hawking goods, selling trinkets. Her heart raced as she looked around, her sparkling eyes scanned the crowd, and her lush lips curled into a gorgeous smile. She was happy here. Wherever here was. It seemed exotic. Like the vacation she and her parents took to Tahiti when she was six. When she was six and things were simple. When she was six and her mind wasn't slipping away into the unknown. Her eyes finally opened. The clear memory bringing her illusion to an abrupt halt. She slid down to her knees, then onto her butt. looking at her knees as she pulled them against her chest and began to weep. It was time. But she didn't want to.

Thirty minutes went by, then another fifteen. She finally pulled herself from the fire escape and back into the window of her alabaster prison. No pictures on the wall, she could break the glass and hurt herself. No trinkets laying about. She could hurt herself with those too. Just naked while walls and a naked white couch with a naked white kitchen and a naked white bedroom. Her bathroom had a toilet the palest color of pink. She liked the bathroom. Her feet slapped dully against the wooden floors of her prision as she made her way to her favorite room. She stepped under the threshold and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were lifeless. She felt like she was lifeless. She opened the cabinet and let out a long, soft sigh. There they were. All in a nice little pill case. You know, the kind that has the big S-M-T-W-T-F-S on it. Today was Wednesday. That's what her pill case told her. The blue case was for night time, the yellow for morning and the pink for mid-day. She pulled out her blue case and opened the little lid labled with the W. Six. Six pills laying in the bottom of this shallow, tiny box. She dumped them into her hand and counted them slowly. Six. Yes, there were six. She held them in her hand and she carefully closed her case. She waited till she heard the tiny snap and she put the case tenderly back into the cabinet. Onto the kitchen where she pulled a clear plastic cup from the cupboard. She carefully filled it half way with water. Was it half empty or half full? She wasn't sure today. Maybe it was just halfway. One pill at a time into her mouth, onto her tongue. A sip of water to wash them down. Another sip of water just because. Her eyes close.

The illusion is long gone. She knows she can't smile anymore. She shouldn't be obsurd like that anymore. It would be pointless to get her hopes up again. Absolutely pointless. She wanders toward her couch and simply collapses upon it. Hey eyelids become heavy again. And she closes them. She falls into the pill enduced sleep of a woman that's lost her mind already. The little girl lost inside of her weeps.


She lay on the floor on her stomach. Her breasts pressed against the floor, the thin fabric of her camisole allowing her to feel the coolness of the wood. Her cheek lay flat against the wooden slats and her left eye blinked slowly. She watched the people walking past her apartment door and her mind wandered along with their feet. Her eye saw the world in a pure, rare form. People moving, people knowing where they're going. People with careers, people with jobs, people with kids, people alone, old people, young people, people, people, people. This thought made her shudder slightly, yet she could not look away. This is what she did every morning from six-thirty a.m. until eight-thirty a.m.

She couldn't understand how the people could do this same thing every day. Get up, go to work, work their jobs, come home, go out on the town, go to bed, then do it all over again the next day. There was this woman across the hall that always brought home a man with her when she came home from going out. She wondered what it would be like to be with a man. Her teeth found her lower lip and she began to nibble upon it nervously. She wouldn't know what to do with a man. Not like that anyways. She envied that woman a bit. Able to go out in public with out feeling like the entire world was caving in on you. Feet stopped at her door, pointed toward it and she blinked in shock. Three raps upon the door. She lay still. She didn't know who's shoes they were. Three more raps upon the door. A male voice rang out between the dull thuds of feet upon the outside hallway floor. "Hello? Dan? Are you there?" She swallowed hard and pulled her cheek from the floor, a red imprint was left upon her pale flesh. She pushed herself off of the floor to stand upon her tiptoes and look out at the man from there. He was handsome but not overly so. Dark brown hair, cut short, but not so short you couldn't run your fingers through it. She smiled a little. And now was the moment she decided. "Dan doesn't live here. I do, my name is Blithe."

So brave of her to open herself up like that. She hasn't done that in so long. So afraid that people will think she is crazy, she forgets to open up to them at all. She could see him smile a little. He had a nice, honest smile. "Oh. Dan doesn't live here. Hmm." He paused for a minute and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. She watched him carefully. His cheeks reddened with embarassment just a little. "I'm sorry for bothering you." he said. She shook her head and smiled. "You didn't bother me at all. I was just going to make a pot of coffee, would you like a cup?" Her eyes opened wide and she gawked at herself. She couldn't believe she had just done that. Letting someone from the outside inside. That was something she had never done. Except with her mother. But a stranger, never in her life. As her mind reeled in amazement, she didn't notice him nodding. His lips parted and he spoke to her again, "You know what, that sounds lovely." Her hand went for the deadbolt and she slid it open. Her fingers worked the chain locks carefully, deftly unfastening them. She finally got to the doorknob and unlocked it, twisting it ever so slightly. The catch slipped open and she tugged the door. It seemed like such a great effort for her. She stood there before him. Her in her light purple camisole and a pair of well worn in jeans. Him in his trendy pea coat, dark red polo shirt and jeans. He looked so preppy. She smiled at him. He smiled at her. Their eyes met for the first time. Her dark brown orbs seemed to get lost in his navy blue wistful glance. She blinked and was drawn back to reality, even though it seemed like a dream to her.

She stepped back and invited him in.

She showed him across her rather large one bedroom apartment and to the dining table. He shrugged off his coat and looked to her as if a little lost. She looked down and smiled. "You can just put that on the chair over there." She gestured toward the overstuffed orange chair her mother had bought her when she moved into this apartment. Her feet took her into the kitchen area of the apartment, and she began to run the water for the coffee. He watched her with a grin on his face. He thought she was beautiful, perhaps a little thin, but beautiful none the less. Something made him want to look in her medicine cabinet in her bathroom. Most everyone did that when they went into someone's home. Went to the bathroom, took a quick peek into their host's cabinent. He, howver, slid into one of the chairs that sat around the dining table. He remembered when Dan lived here. She had it set up almost like Dan did. Except the table. The kitchen table was set closer to the big picture windows that looked out at the city and the beach beyond it. He could see the small whitecaps dancing upon the ocean's surface. She had better taste in designing than Dan did.

The smell of the coffee grounds brought to her silly memories of family meetings on Saturday mornings. Which were really just pile-whatever-you-wanted-on-your-pancakes mornings. Mom and Dad would always sip their coffee and watch her pile on the chocolate chips and raspberries. She looked up at him and watched him for a moment while the coffee maker did it's magic. She slid her hands into her pockets, then back out. God, there was a war waging inside of her head. One side telling her to run far away, the other telling her not to be afraid and to stay put. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Her eyes closed and she let her fingers feel for the cupboard that held her coffee mugs blindly. She found it, and she opened it as she opened her eyes. Orange and red coffee mugs stood in her field of vision. She pulled one of each color off of the shelf and called out softly. "Do you take cream or sugar?" She closed the cupboard and looked over to him, awaiting his response. It took him a moment to come back to reality. The ever-changing scenery outside of the window made him lose himself. "Oh. Umm." He had to think a moment before answering. He wasn't sure what she had asked him, his mind ran over the last few minutes and he picked up her angelic voice. Cream or sugar. "Oh, just sugar. Sorry, the city is beautiful in the morning." She nodded and poured the coffee into the mugs. Grabbing both of them with one hand she picked two spoons out of the silverware drawer and the sugar jar off of the counter. That three weeks she spent waitressing helped out every now and then.

She got to the table with out spilling a drop of coffee and she slid him the orange mug. To match the chair he put his coat on. Her lips curved into a careful smile and she was happy in this moment.

He had left about thirty minutes after the akward coffee break. His name was Mateo. His friend Dan lived here years ago, and he just got back in town from being abroad in Japan. He taught English there. Sometimes, when he spoke, she could hear the rolled l's instead of r's and she thought it was cute. Slightly annoying, but cute. She sat at the table, looking at the two coffee mugs. Her hands wrapped around the bright red one. Her dark eyes lingering on the mouth of the mug. They traveled deeper into the depths of the mug. The coffee that had once been contained inside of the red ceramic had been consumed. The mug no longer held any warmth. Her thin fingers had long since gone cold. Yet she held it still. She was in shock at herself. She wasn't sure if this morning would be considered a manic episode. Actually going that one extra step to let someone into her life, into her world. Her bubble seemed slightly tainted now. She never thought of that. She wondered what kind of germs Mateo had carried in with him. She looked to the chair he had set his coat on. She couldn't see any germs, but she wasn't sure if you really could see germs. The bleach would ruin the chair. Tiny beads of sweat began to form on her brow.

The phone rang. She carefully let go of the coffee mug. The phone rang again. She looked at it for a moment and tilted her head as she stood. Her foot steps were careful, very careful. She didn't want to step in any germs. The phone rang yet again. It seemed to scream at her all of a sudden. She didn't want to answer it, but she knew if she didn't her mother would make her go to the hospital. She made it to the table that held the phone. It rang again. She grasped it within her shaky fingers and pressed the talk button. She put the phone to her ear and whispered very softly. "Hello?" Her voice seemed to catch within her throat and she thought she sounded scared. She was scared. There were germs about and she needed to kill them. Lysol would kill them. Her mother's voice shocked her back into the moment. "Blithe, honey, did you take your morning pills?"
"Yes." was her response.
Her mother retorted with "You sound unsure."
She growled much like an annoyed teenager and flopped down onto the floor, landing on her rear. "I'm sure I took them. I'm not that crazy. I know I'm supposed to take my pills in the morning!"
"Blithe, I never said you were crazy."
"No, but you think I am. That's why you call me a billion times a day!" Her voice started to grow agitated and raise in tone.
"Blithe, what's wrong?"
Blithe broke down. She started to cry, holding the phone against her cheek with her shoulder she began to grab her hair in both of her fists and pull it. "There are fucking germs everywhere in my living room and my kitchen. He didn't mean to leave the germs, but he did and I can't see them. I just want them gone, all the way gone. Make them go away. Make the germs leave me alone!" A frantic chord was struck again and again in her voice and she started to sob uncontrollably. All of a sudden her voice grew to a bare whisper "Mommy, please make the germs go away."
And her mother did what any loving mother would do, "Okay honey. Just hold on, I'm on my way."

The phone was hung up and Blithe was left in her prison. Back in her prison. That dreadful place somewhere deep within her mind. She looked up at the clock, barely able to see it behind the tears that welled in her big eyes. 11:13. Twenty-seven minutes until Mommy would be there to take away the germs. She just sat there and waited, fists full of her own hair.

Wonderfully crafted! I was fully engrossed in the story and could feel her pain. Beautiful!!

Wow...
To tell you how much I can relate to this story would scare you.
Beautifully written.