XLVIII | Some Kind of Apology
❦
He looks
the same as
before.
Short,
hair cropped close to his head,
a plastic ear
instead of a real one.
Even his voice
is the same.
But that smirk—
that’s gone entirely.
For the past week,
he washes my used paint brushes.
Brings me new canvases.
Brings me food
from the kitchen
even though I tell him
I’m not hungry.
I am
so
confused.
Why are you doing this?
I demanded.
He refused to say
and told me
to look for him
if I ever need help with anything.
I told him
to stay away from me.
I don’t want to see you again.
He flinched
at those words.
For a moment
it looked as though
the smirk would come back,
along with words would hurt,
and everything
would go
back to normal.
Instead,
he just leaves for a while
and comes back
when I’ve almost forgotten
about him.
He’s holding a cup of coffee
out to me now.
If it’s forgiveness he wants,
he’s waiting in vain.
I have none to give.
I don’t even know
what to think
of everything that happened.
It’s.. too sudden.
Too slow.
Too surreal.
My mind is racing too fast and too slow
to comprehend it.
Have I
always been
this kind
of person?
Who was I
before I came here?
I wonder.
Shouldn’t I be able
to remember all the events of my life
from primary school
till today?
Why are there
so many holes?
I blink
and find that I’ve painted the clouds
red
instead of grey.
The sky
is dark
today.
Tammie’s practices
have gotten longer.
She doesn’t have as many bruises
as before.
But she also doesn’t
come to see
how I’m doing anymore.
Has she forgotten about me?
She was there when Asher strangled me.
She was there when he knocked on my door.
She was there…
all the time.
So now,
without her around,
I’m uncomfortable.
The only one
who talks to me now
is
Asher.
He’s standing
beside my easel,
as though
he’s the model I’m supposed
to be painting.
Waiting for me to speak.
He’s
not my model.
I’ve decided
long ago that I’ll only ever draw Tammie.
He can wait there forever.
Are you okay?
I’m fine!
My voice is louder than I thought it’d be.
You’re painting
with your fingers.
Can’t you see my paintbrush?
I wave my hand in his face.
There’s really
no paintbrush
in my hand.
He snatches
my hand,
roughly parting one finger from the rest
to examine the nail.
You’re bleeding!
What the hell is wrong with you?
No,
I want to say—
as he dunks my fingers
under cold running water—
What is wrong
with you?
Go back to being
a jerk for no reason,
I tell him.
I don’t understand you like this,
I say
without waiting
for a reply.
Are you for real?
He looks me
in the eyes—
it’s the first time in a long time—
the smirk returns
but his arrogant voice
says something
unexpected.
You don’t need to understand me.
For some reason,
my heart skips a beat.
Then begins pounding.
Hard.
Like when I have
panic attacks.
I pull my hand away from him
and run
to look for Tammie.
Tammie.
Tammie.
Tammie.
She doesn’t stop
the dissonant music
that drowns out
my voice.
Instead,
she hangs
upside down
and says,
Why didn’t you tell him to get lost
like you did before?
❦
