Charly's Language

You Are Taking My Heart with You

We woke up, it was starting to get dark, I felt amazing, well rested and energized. I kissed her forehead as she opened her eyes, and slowly we started to move. She went to the kitchen, poured herself a big glass of water drinking it as she reached for her phone on the table. I saw her frowning, then she peered at me.

"What?" I asked.

"How can it be only seven o'clock? I feel like I slept for hours."

"Me too. I was too comfortable."

"Oh-my-God!" she yelled.

"What?"

"It's Monday."

"What?!"

"We slept for a whole day."

"Shit! I missed practice." I hit my own head. "Coach is going to kill me."

"Oh no! The paper! It was due today." She scratched her head. "They are credited. I can't believe it! I'm gonna go see Professor Brooks, maybe I can make an excuse."

"I'll come with you; they may still be training."

The practice was finished, the coach did give me a lot of crap, and Mr. Brooks took the papers, only because it was the first time, and we were good students. When

we were back in the apartment she laughed, but I was bothered: I couldn't mess with hockey, it was the only reason I was there.

After that weekend we weren't too far away from disaster. It took a few months, but it was a clear descent to hell. She began to lie to me, I knew she was using more and more, but I couldn't prove it, she was very careful. She was always so excitable, she could pretend like a professional, but I started to notice these daily things. She wouldn't eat, if she saw me watching her, she'd try, but the disgusted look on her face gave her away. Sometimes I'd find her whole plate in the garbage. She lost so much weight, she was losing all her spark, her beautiful body, losing shape, seeing more and more bones by the day. In class, she couldn't keep awake. Sometimes, she'd rest her head on my lap, covering her eyes with my hand. She was neglecting school, of course. I didn't know what to do, every time I brought it up, we ended up fighting. If she was on something, she'd push me, I'd grab her to make her stop. If I wanted to leave to cool down, she'd come after me, it was a mess. We still had sex as always, she needed it even more when she was like that, but the drive to hurt each other didn't decline. She would provoke me until I'd lose my leash, then again, scratches, slaps, pushes, all that. On the weekends, it was hard to keep her in, she'd want to party. I couldn't control her, I had to follow her. We tried a few more times to get with other people, but it was different now: she'd get jealous if I did, and angry if I didn't.

I was watching her fade, trying desperately to fix her, to fix us. She couldn't sleep, she kept waking up, and sometimes she'd scream. I knew she was also desperate

to find a way out, she tried, but she was trapped. She heard things inside her head she couldn't stop, the torture

never stopped. I denied myself the possibility of breaking up with her, I was going to fight until the end,

until she could rise above. I knew she could. She needed love, and I had it all for her. She was weak. I thought I could make her strong, but she was weaker with me. She allowed herself to fall because I'd always catch her. She felt she didn't have to worry, because I'd do it for her, I looked after her. I never realized that is what enabling is.

I was also feeling down, I wasn't excelling like I was before. I couldn't keep up with everything, my body started to suffer, my mind even more. I was struggling, the stress was changing me. Nothing I said, nothing I did made a difference. Through the day, she'd be sweet and apologetic, making all sorts of promises. As the day evolved, so did she. It made her feel limitless, escalating through the night. Yet in the morning, reality would hit her, and again, she'd be eager to make it right. We continued for as long as we could, but by February, we hit the wall.