Come Out, Come Out (Haunted Hearts)

by Alexia Onyx

Bullies were always so fucking weak when it came to their own suffering.

Being wanted by the person who told you they were disgusted by you, tasting the sweetness of their desire and lies on your tongue had been a heady experience.

I want to drink her sorrow until I’m wasted off it; I want to consume her every worry and delight in the sourness of it; I want to dig my way into her head and put down roots she can’t ever pull out.

My stomach turns with hunger. I’m ravenous for her. I’ll wither away if she doesn’t come back.

My heart belongs to a living ghost who has one foot on the other side of the veil at all times and is slowly creeping closer. My little wraith. I often wondered if I was the one haunting her or if it was the other way around.

Those days seem to go on forever as I fixate on the rise and fall of her chest, aching with the need to dry her tears and pull her closer until she’s absorbed into my own body and I can protect her from everything that has and will ever hurt her.

Fuck. Women, everything about us is so hot.

What the fuck is wrong with me? A lot honestly but that’s nothing new.

They say it just takes one hit to create an addiction, guess they were right.

Of course, something like that couldn’t last; just my luck. Anything that brings me joy is always fleeting.

or when I moved into the dorms and thought it would be a fresh start, but quickly realized I was still the odd one out of the friend group.

I didn’t let myself get excited anymore. That way, when the downfall came, it hurt so much less, if I felt anything at all. I tried to avoid that at all costs.

The thing about self-harm is that the relief is fleeting. As the shock of it settles, my brain picks back up right where it left off.

Once again, I’m consumed by what a fool I was to allow myself to find that release in someone else.

Being around others means pretending and absolutely exhausting myself, or worse, sucking them into my pit of despair. I learned early that misery is contagious, and people will hate you for it while wrapping you in their arms. Nobody wants to say it out loud, but you’re supposed to suffer alone.

Depression is greedy and hard to escape like quicksand and I gave up hope a long time ago. I’m just sinking slowly, enjoying the view with my head just a few inches above water.

But nobody wants to deal with someone who cries but doesn’t know how to explain what’s wrong.

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People used to laugh at me when I said animals were my friends, but what’s better than someone who loves you unconditionally? People say they love you unconditionally, but usually, they don’t.

Animals might be small, and we might not speak the same language, but they have the biggest hearts. If I’m being honest, he’s the biggest thing that keeps me here.

I hate when it feels like one small thought latches onto another and then another until all the worst parts of my brain are interconnected and everything else gets caught and devoured by my inner demons. I just want to be blissfully unaware of my own misery for a bit, is that too much to ask? I think not.

I know that the drugs can’t be my safety net forever. They keep me just numb enough to make this existence bearable.

baser

Basic?

Then there’s her other love, her books. It’s so peaceful to sit here in silence with her as she loses herself in new worlds. She’s read so many since she’s been here that I can tell what types of scenes she’s reading just by her reaction.

She doesn’t understand how badly I yearn for her, but I’m determined to make her see. My need for her is a tightening collar around my throat that grows more possessive each day. Sometimes the linked chain pulls so taut, there’s no room for me to breathe. And because the other end is attached to her, my little wraith, I don’t even miss the air.

But her time fending for herself is over. I’m here now and I can do so much better.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he whispers.

Anyone who tells you that you’re too much doesn’t deserve you.”

I don’t understand why we need to exchange niceties with people we aren’t friends with, or why people ask how you are when they know you’re likely not well.

But it’s hard not to snap when you’re using every ounce of energy to not fracture into a million pieces in public.

I’m terrified to take my eyes off of her; I can’t afford to lose a single moment with her. This is so cruel, it’s so unfair. It’s unfathomable that she was brought into my life, and now she’s walking out

There’s so much empty space, now.

My heart twists at the possibility that one day, I might forget all the little reasons I fell for her and all I’ll have is the ghost of our memories to keep me company. I want her to be more than that. I want us to have more than that. What I wouldn’t give to trade a lifetime of pointless fucks and puppy love for a chance with her.

How could people really believe that it was just us here? No lingering souls, no beings from other dimensions, or no species outside of humans? That seems irrational–and frankly, narrow-minded–to me.

I’m trapped in a meaningless existence, dead like the trees that were broken down and reshaped into the planks that hold this house together.

Watching her was like a life raft that pulled me in from being adrift at sea. Loving her gave me purpose, made me someone again. Without her, I’m no one. Floating aimlessly.

From my perspective, she was the kind of person who was so full of joy and vibrancy. Sometimes I wonder if she was hiding her own darkness beneath that hopeful exterior.

I could never be satisfied with anything less than everything with her.

I never understood why people refused to look depression in the face. It was the childhood boogeyman of mental health issues. Don’t talk about it, don’t look at it, and maybe it won’t get you. It isn’t real if you don’t acknowledge it. Meanwhile, the other person is left shivering beneath the covers as it circles their bed, tugs at their feet, and eventually pulls them underneath with it.

He’s quite possibly the first . . . person . . . I don’t have to tiptoe around. What a novel concept, to not feel like a burden to someone.

I’m in love with a woman who wants to die and I’m desperately trying to keep her alive.

All I think about is caging her against me and absorbing her into my skin, my tissue, my marrow, to fill it. There’s no me without her.

“Fix you? No baby, we’re both too far gone for fixing. I want to take our messy pieces and create our own little fucked up jigsaw puzzle.” I brush my thumb against her pouting lips. “You have all the pieces I need to complete the hollow frame I’ve become.”

“You don’t want to change me?” “Never. What I want is to slip into the web of your mind, reach into the spaces where you hide your thoughts and help you take on your inner demons. I want to ease your suffering, but I would never begrudge you for it. I’ll be right there in the pits of your personal hell with you.”

“You never need to hide your darkness from me.”

“I may be a ghost, but it’s you who haunts me. The way you look at me. The way you trust me despite everything.

But even when I’m not able to feel you and you’re not able to see me, I’m here. You’re not alone anymore. We’re still in this together.”

Too many people write off the sad girl as too hard to love. But it’s so easy to do, because she needs it the most. The mistake they make is not being her safe space. If you can be that, you’ll be rewarded with the most honest and raw moments. By accepting her, she’ll open her heart to you in a way that will change your world. The thing about people who’ve had to wander the dark alone is they will always hold the guiding light for you without an ounce of resentment. If you’re lost, they’ll plunge into the depths and lead the way out just so you’re never left to the loneliness they’ve come to know too well.