Setting Me On Fire

16

Letting It Go

If anyone had x-ray vision and was capable to look into my mind when I became distant, not in the mood, they'll find that one memory, how it appeared in small details, but they seemed to grow into larger chunks until they sat on top of my head like a heavyweight that couldn't be removed unless you grabbed it with your fingers and pulled it out.

The memory was like a loud siren in my head. And then there were the voices that yelled at me. You're a mess. You have already been torn apart, what's the point of giving yourself to anyone? You don't mean anything, stop trying to fit in. It's written on your face, why deny the truth? You thought moving to New York would save you from the past? 

It was an inescapable void. 

"Wow, you cut that perfectly," Amber says now from beside me. We were in the Fashion Studio again, cutting and making more pieces. I looked down at the garment. Sure enough, I had, how, I wasn't entirely sure. Time had passed me, I was trapped somewhere in my mind. 

I looked at the time, 6:56. Wow, I've been standing here for half an hour? I don't even remember cutting this, it was a total blur. Lost in the space between time.

I blinked and drew in a deep breath. "Alright, I'm going home, can you pin this onto the dress form?" Amber looks at me with concerning eyes. 

She nods slowly. "Yeah, of course."

I manage a small smile and walk out of the room in a flash.

 In a flash, I was in the elevator, then at my office grabbing my purse and putting on my coat, in the limo going home. George asked something, and I mumbled an answer. I felt weird, I felt lost, like I was fading into a world that wasn't mine. Like I was in the wrong timeline and now I had to fade away like dust.

Then I was in my building elevator, leaning against the wall, I kept blinking. I think I was dizzy, maybe light-headed from the memory knocking against the walls of my brain. My head pounded, I blinked some more, and then the doors were open and I stumbled to the stairs. The edges of my sight fade into black. 

Before I could take the first step, Alexander appeared before me, his hands went to my shoulder, and I realized he has seen me stumble. He was steading me. He leaned forward, to my eye level.

"Are you drunk?"

That was when I began to breathe hard, loud, and that's when we both realized I was having a panic attack. Suddenly, the room spins I'm falling into oblivion, and...everything goes black, a light flicking off.

When I open my eyes the first thing I see was the white high ceiling. The chandelier hanging above me. I blink and groan feeling the headache now. My hand flies to my head, and I try to sit up. Marco and Alexander stand over me as I try to sit up.

They help me, and I lean back on what I now realized was my leather couch. They had moved me to the living room. 

How long have I been out?

"Are you okay?" Marco asks. I rake my hair back and put my head in my palms. My head was pounding. It felt like the world sat on it. I put my hands down. "Margo?"

"Can you give me Advil, in the kitchen...you could ask Minda." Marco nods and wastes no time rushing to the kitchen. I lean my head back and close my eyes. The couch beside me dipped, and then I was pulled into Alexander's chest. 

His body warmth seemed to make me feel better. Like it was the coldness that was killing my mind, and his warmth was the CPR I needed to come back into consciousness. 

When Marco came minutes later, he hands me a cup with water and the Advil. I pull away from Alexander and take the pill, downing it with water. I stand up and walk to the stairs. "I'll be in my room," I say. "If you need me."

"...stand how that caused you to have a panic attack," Alexander, who I found beside me on the bed when I woke up says; after I explained what happened.

"Sometimes it just tackles me, and I find it hard to escape the pressure it puts on me." He nods, beginning to grasp just how difficult it's been for me to try to forget my past.

When I saw him there, I was confused but I'd have to admit, I was happy to see him. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.

"What triggers it?"

I thought about it, it was a blur, but I knew the answer, "I think it's a psychological thing, like mind over matter, or something of the sorts." He nods and I continue. "I haven't told anyone, so the more I hold it in, and blame myself the larger it grows. Making it hard to breathe, to see past it."

The words washed over him, the truth settling down around us, it seemed to take a year before he spoke again, "Are you planning on telling Marco, or your parents?"

I shrug, I haven't thought of that. It felt strange to tell them now after so many years between the time it happened and now. Where the person I told myself to stay away from, was the only one who knew.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. 

"What would you do if you were in my shoes?" I ask him instead of looking for an answer.

He titled his head up, his eyes moving around the ceiling in thought.

"Sometimes," he starts. "When I don't think too much about something, doing what I'm afraid to do becomes a lot easier. Like if I force myself not to care, it just passes and then it's over."

I realized that's what I did, well, try to do. I would try to stop thinking about Alexander, and sometimes I succeeded so I was able to move through the day without him taking up the space in my mind.

"Should I call them and tell them?" He snaps his head to me. "What, too cowardly?"

His lips formed a half-smile. "No, I just find your strength..."

"What?" He shakes his head, turning away.

I grab my phone, and he slides to the left then he's on his feet. "Good luck, let me know how it goes," he says then pauses. "If you want to..."

Then he's walking to my door, and then out of sight, out of reach as the phone rings, and the room gets filled when my mother says, "Figlia?"