Like a sting from a scorpion

A story

Chapter one, written on September 12, 2017

She felt like she was stung by a scorpion, his sting hurt like seven million stings and not like just one. She sat in her room and her thoughts ran wild, because she couldn’t get a grip on his language he used, and she tried so hard to understand what he was saying to her. It wasn’t easy for her to get it because she was far away from him, and there wasn’t a possibility to change that so soon, or at all. She listened to some music, but that did not help her either. The sun shone into her room and passed away from moment to moment to come back every now and then, and the clouds were wild and big, flying over the sky that was grey from one moment to another.  The only sound came from the trees, shaking their heads so strong.  She felt lonely.  It was cold, and the leafs fell from the trees faster than they did over the summer, summer was over and it was so clear to her.  She stepped back from the window, and sat at her desk, reading his mails, and it was difficult for her – difficult to take it. Because he was hard with his words, and she knew she wasn’t the only one for him.  It was obvious from his language.  And this house was his, and she did not have much time left to stay,  but she had no clue where to go.

She stopped the cassette player, because she needed some quietness. It was her old walkman from older times, she did hold on to it for so long, since she needed some things to stay the same. The most time she spent alone, and old things from earlier gave her the feeling of some reassurance, and music brought to her some kind of surrounding, like a bed, that made her feel cozy. Quietness was also good, but she could only stand it for a while. The loneliness she was in was profound, except her housemaid who only came two times over the week, she never saw anyone. Her shyness was profound too though. So, she had caged herself in, in the deepest maze of loneliness that there could ever be. And she knew it. She couldn’t help it. It would stay that way for a long time, for sure.

In her head were pictures from a past she couldn’t endure, pictures from him and her, from people and wolves and wild animals, from screams and things she could not understand, several pictures as layers that surfaced and then fell back into darkness. She couldn’t control the pictures, and sometimes she thought, it must end, eventually. But it didn’t. They were stronger than her. She thought, it must be an illusion, but it wasn’t, and it was clear to her. It was all real and she had to come to terms with her reality. The last year was especially hard for her and all that had happened tortured her in her mind. She had no one to talk to. But, it would have been dangerous too, so she kept silent. She also did this for him.

He meant everything for her, although she knew that this was stupid. He wasn’t always nice to her. He was playing a game with her. She knew that. But his eyes were always so treacherously cosy and warm, and so full of hypnosis. It killed her thought of getting away every time she looked into them. Well, now, she could not look at him, only at his pictures, but she dared not to. He was somewhere else and he did not tell her where. She was alone.

The world kind of vanished on her. Sometimes she just sat there, starring onto the walls, or out of the window, thinking. Or just plain watching the colors,  the trees and the squirrels running around, or the cats from the neighbor’s house striving around her house. It was quite rare that a walker came by, mostly this place was just nature and animals, which she preferred. She still suffered from jetleg,  which meant she was mostly up at night and slept during the day, her time at the moment was the New York time, and this was his time also. It happened to her from time to time, that she took on the time system of people she was interacting with intensively, and he was surely in her mind intensively. But she wished of course he wasn’t. This was one of those things that she did not have any control over.  She just waited out on it, until it would normalize.

Then there were these disturbing text messages from her ex-boyfriend. She mostly read over them and put the phone away unnerved. She did not dare to answer, because it was always the same stupid nonsense. She hadn’t talked to him since a year. And she felt no desire to do so.  He had been abusive and had screamed at her almost each day, something she loathed and she hated him for that.

It was late and she went up to her bedroom to change.  She went out for a walk, through the still mostly green scenery, and pulled her jacket near to her, letting her tears flow. She took some deep breath and the air tasted so sweet and like freedom, but she was happy not to meet anyone during her lonely walk.

When she came back, a letter from her ex-boyfriend was in the letter-box. It read: “Please, we must meet, come to my place, address, I hope you will come, I really need to talk to you, love, C”.

Again she took a deep breath. Why on earth did C. think, that she would come to see him, after all that happened? Was this a trap? Or was he just simply completely  out of his mind? She ran into the bathroom to throw some water in her face, and the mirror showed a fully confused, ugly, boring, and non-conform woman, that had changed so much over the years, that she simply couldn’t take the thought to go see him again… It was clear, that she could not talk to anyone. Not anymore. She was in a cage. It was because she did not want to talk to people, about whatever. But she also couldn’t, because she had some kind of blocking software in her head. It was there, the key, but she could not reach it. Maybe, she thought, HE did this to me, he maybe brainwashed me, blocked me from the world.  She looked into the mirror, into her eyes. They were dazed, seemed to look from so far away through her own self, as if she wasn’t there.  She turned off the lights and went to bed. The walk had made her tired, and she took it as an opportunity to sleep. But her eyes were open for a long time, and she took the steps and sat down in front of her laptop and started to read his poetic and disturbing mails, all over again.

 

 

 

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A metaphorical storytelling

The story I wrote, then, in 2002, or better, from 2002 until 2004, was more written in a metaphorical sense, than about facts or real fiction. At least, that is what I think now. Today, I understand what I meant, when I wrote that “she divorced him, and she lived in a big house full of memories and old furniture, which she was not allowed to sell, and him always allowed to use the house still, even though he did not need the house because he owned five other houses and flats/ apartments. She did not want him to come back but at the same time, she wanted it so bad, and when he showed up, she was confused or even annoyed, because he was so mean to her and he had so much power, she couldn’t even win over him in a jurisdictional manner, because it was his house and she was only allowed through him to live there… She loved him and she hated him (and the same goes for him, he felt the same about her), and he had so expensive lawyers that she was out powered by him… she couldn’t afford a lawyer, and so she waited and waited and tried to find out about her feelings and what she wanted, but also she was struggling with it all because she did not want to lose the house, she loved it so much.” Well, that was the fiction part, I will not go into details, that is too personal. But, the thing is, she was afraid of his power, and one sentence goes like this: ” his lawyers were so expensive, that they were also always the best.”  Another sentence: “the pressure on her began to be stronger and stronger each day, and forced her into an isolation she never would have thought it would exist.”

That he shows up every once in a while means, well, the thoughts I have of him, that I can’t let him go and the whole story, and the house in general means that  I am caged and that it’s like a prison to my thoughts and feelings of the past moment.