Pushit (part 4)

Delirium. Wandering, raving in my mind’s hall of mirrors. Visions of pain and desire, and nausea, all the time. Pushing and kicking and sweating. Fear taking over. The edge beneath my feet, and I doubted: should I jump? Hands on my back. Pushing? Saving me? Haunting words smashing windows in my head. Apparently, I begged. That’s what he told me. I begged to let me go, I asked him to stay, to go away, to hold me. But I remember barely anything. I still see the pale skies I saw back then though, opalescent fog. I was almost comatose. Almost.
In the beginning, I didn’t wake up. I was in my world of quick moving objects and mirrors. Then there was a period of waking up in terrible nausea. One time, I opened my eyes and saw him standing over me. Pushing something into my arm. I wanted to push him away, but I could not move – I moaned and slipped away once more.
Slowly, I got better. I woke up more often, felt less nauseous. The first time I woke up feeling alive, he wasn’t around. I was empty. No flesh and blood, no muscles or strenght. Air was all that was present inside of this casing of skin. Though I felt exhausted, I did somehow succeed in pushing myself up a little. I found myself in his bed.
Max’s bed.
Next to it, there was a sort of camp bed.
It took a few seconds to realise what had happened: I had been staying in his bed, and he slept next to it, on the floor. He had given up his own sleep for me.
Then he entered. “Alice!” Quickly he sat down next to me, held my head between his hands and watched me carefully, as if he was searching for signs of illness, or health perhaps.
“How are you feeling?”
“Weak”, I murmured. I hadn’t used my voice for days, and it felt weird. I didn’t recognise my voice.
“But you are awake!” he said happily. “Dear lord, a few days it looked so bad… I thought you might not make it. But I did my best to help you out, and look.”
I remembered him pushing something in my arm, though I wasn’t sure if it had been a dream or not. Slowly, I started to overthink everything.
“You have given me something, isn’t it?”
“I gave you medicines”, he said.
“I felt it”, I said, while feeling all energy flowing away again. I’d never known how exhausting talking and thinking was. “How did you know what to give me?”
Thinking about that question now, I realise that it was a strange thing to ask. But at that moment, my brain seemed to work slightly differently.
“I’ve got some experience with this kind of ‘nearly dead’ situations.”
“You were a doctor or what?” (My interest was aroused.)
“No.”
“Then what experience?” (But my sentences became shorter.)
“I’ve been a patient myself once”, he said without a trace of emotion.
“What happened?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath, looked away, looked back and said, with the same casual tone as ever: “My father once kicked me to death. I mean, nearly dead, of course.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“That’s sad”, I whispered.
“When staying in hospital, I learned a lot about medicines and determination. Thanks to that I’m still alive and you are so too.”
“I start to understand why you say you’ve got bad experiences with humans.”
“There’s been too much, I’m afraid. It’s impossible for me to go back. The world is no place for me. At all.”
He left again to get me water.
And I lay there.

Every day, I felt slightly better, until I had recovered completely, or at least the closest I could get to it. Max still slept in the camping bed, and I slept in his. No longer I doubted to close my eyes when he was around. He let me live. He told me about his past. He would’t kill me, nor rape me. I believed him.
Maybe I was just too tired to keep on fearing.

Until that one day when I was walking around in the little house. Being ill is incredibly boring, and  thoughts are frustrating. I was chasing them in our house, and then I saw an open door.
Not the front door, of course.
It was the door that led to a sort of storage place, he had told me. It didn’t sound too interesting, so I never took a look. But the door had never been open either. Open doors are so symbolic. I pushed it open (futher, I mean), and saw no storage place at all. It resembled a lab more. White closets. Clean look. Sinks. Erlenmeyer flasks. I entered quietly.

And at that moment of white clearness, everything all of sudden made sense.

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4 Comments

  1. Getting interesting…!

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  2. Just wanted to let you know that my blog has moved – do check it out and follow 🙂 xx

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