The Darkest Parts

Journey entry #815

The ache. You know, that feeling in your heart . . . or somewhere inside of you, that aches? Right when you thought that you couldn’t feel? That you would never feel? I have that dreadful ache. People define it as love, but it just feels like torture to me.

“You look like my happiness, and the only thing that could hurt me all in one big and beautiful package,” I told Jason this all the time. It was true, after all. All I wanted was to be with him, but I couldn’t. Our lives didn’t match up. Our souls did, though. I felt it every time I looked in his eyes. He made me happy. I think it’s insane how one person could be responsible for making you feel one feeling so . . . strongly.

A noise from downstairs made me jump from where I had been sitting. The pen falling, no longer shaking in my hand.

“Vince?” I call. No one answered. As anyone would, I follow the noise. I Inch slowly down the stairs as if I would tumble down them if I moved too fast. “Hey, Vince?” I call again, a little lower this time. No one answered. I start to move a little quicker, making my way around the staircase and through a hallway. “Baby?” asking who it was proved useless because yet again, I get no answer.

I finally round the kitchen, where the noise sounded a few times, but now gone. I lean against the wall, staring at him as if he were right there in living color.

“Who is Vince?” Jason asked. The sight of him took my breath. It was like his presence was sucking the air from my body.

“Impossible,” I finally spoke. “You can’t be here,” I managed to talk again.

“Why not?” Jason asked, inching closer to me with each word. He was just a hair away from me now. I could feel his breath on my forehead.

The front door shut, and I flinch, hard. I turned around to see who else had invited themselves into my home. It was Vince. When I turn back around, Jason was gone. It was like he was never there. His smell still lingered.

“Did you see anybody?” I ask Vince.

“No,” He replies, shutting the door behind him. “Am I supposed to?”.

I shake my head. I didn’t know what he was supposed to see. I didn’t even know what I was seeing. I blink away my tears and go back upstairs. I take my diary and put it in its usual spot under the mattress. If Vince knew that I still thought about Jason, he’d have questions. Questions that I can’t precisely answer without blowing everything to shit.

I hear Vince’s footsteps on the stairs, stepping slow and weary. When he gets to our bedroom, he stands in the doorway, staring. “You want to spend the night?” I ask. Thinking about what I thought just happened downstairs. Whatever happened downstairs, Vince . . . helped. He nods in confirmation, and almost immediately as relief washed over me.

We lay down. While the sun was setting, I could tell that Vince knew that something was wrong with me. He could always sniff even the slightest thing out of place with me. This was going to be hard to hide. It could be nothing. Or, he could think I’m crazy and possibly have me committed. Would he do that to me?

I am getting in my own head now. Dreaming up circumstances, not even having an explanation. What person in their right mind would have a basis for seeing a dead person? That they’re dreaming? It was all a daydream, and I’ve been upstairs writing the whole time. Yeah. I just fell asleep. I heard Vince come in the door and woke up. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I hadn’t realized that we were staring at each other the entire time I sat there, fighting myself. “You good?” Vince asks. I nod, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?

I flash him a smile to reassure him. Everything is fine. He still hadn’t looked convinced, so I get up from where I’d been sitting, walk over to him, and kiss him in the most familiar way I could. His eyes still filter when he looks at me, but he finally nods.

We get changed and get in the bed. It seems so routine between him and me, we are so . . . white picket fence. Most Americans dream about a “white picket fence” lifestyle, but it’s just not what I’m used to. I am grateful to Vince for steadying my rowdiness. He gives me this comfort like no other, this . . . safety net I never had before.

He starts flipping through the channels, just like every night he stays over. Never really watching one thing, but watching everything. Vince stops on the News channel, though, and somehow today’s date caught my eyes. The TV read December 1st, it's finally the month. Jason’s death anniversary was just a breath away, and I nearly forgot. I have time before the day is here, but I still feel like I’m doing him a disservice.

“His anniversary . . .” I say underneath my breath. Vince pulled me tighter, again with the safe thing. He knows about Jason, it was the selling point for our first date. Hi, my name is Prudence, and I killed my ex-boyfriend.