The Other Side

by Kim Holden

Most guys look for shallow attraction on the outside; I look for deep devastation on the inside, so brutal it seeps out.

Guilt and me, we’re conjoined. One. When it isn’t stabbing me, I drag it around like a ball and chain.

A kiss should feel like you’ve been plunged into an abyss that you may never surface from, or it isn’t worth doing.

If you’re right, you don’t yell about it until you’re red in the face and someone believes you. Volume doesn’t change minds, it closes them.),

The passion is pure and distilled—her hope rivaling the bellowing cynicism.).

Cynicism doesn’t hear hope. Cynicism doesn’t consider hope. Cynicism just yells louder. Because maybe if it yells loud enough, hope will fade away.

“What makes your pulse race, Toby?”

“The most important time to listen is when words are missing, that’s when hearts cry out the loudest.”

No one is supposed to see this. It’s supposed to remain hidden. My sadness is mine and it shouldn’t bleed all over anyone else.

“Every kiss eventually ends. The memory of them doesn’t. I’ll still feel that one when I’m ninety,”

Some people are born to do great things, to leave a mark, to simply be great. And some people, like me…aren’t.

“Babe, I want you to quit your job. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag

She thinks Ken is the answer to her prayers.

She hasn’t left the apartment since she quit her job. Ken says it’s not safe for her to go out without him. She thinks it’s chivalrous.

Chivalry isn’t supposed to feel like confinement.

“Dress looks a little tighter than it did last time you wore it,” Ken answers offhandedly.

My fucking heart

For all the confidence she’s gained the past two months, that one sentence was a devastating blow that will negate it all.

A single negative can wipe out one hundred positives.

Hands grasp Nina’s upper arms.

Leave, leave, leave, leave, leave, leave, leave, leave, leaveleaveleaveleaveleave…I command it so many times that the words run together. I know I’m competing with his last comment that’s looping itself through her brain. “You’re not smart enough.”

We just both need to do better? What is that even supposed to mean?

He hit Nina again. He apologized again. She accepted again.

When she stops taking the meds she plummets.

By “it’s all going to end,” she means she’s going to end. I get that. I’ve been in this spot with her before.

The last time she filled her belly full of pain pills. The only reason she survived is because her mom found her and called 911.

He’s high, but he doesn’t smell like pot.

The only thing scarier than the cruel Ken Nina has come to expect, is nice Ken. Different gets scarier every day. Ken is different.

“But it’s either try or eventually die. I’m trying.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Marilyn is these days, would you?”

And I think about Johnny and hope he doesn’t fall off the wagon. But because my faith in everything is woefully lacking, I wonder how long it will take before he does.

My pessimism honestly answers my own suspicions, I give him two weeks, tops. I can’t help but agree.

I like to think that people are layered and if you don’t care, if you don’t get to know them, if you don’t question, you can’t peel back the layers and find out what’s deeper. And when your outer layer is entirely made up of asshole, no one digs deeper to see the depression just underneath. The depression and the asshole are explicably linked—cause and effect. Effect and cause…and effect. Repeat, repeat, repeat. I don’t know how to answer this question. I don’t want to answer this question.

depression is different than sadness. Sadness is melancholy. Depression is a black hole of despair. I always imagine it’s like drowning. There are short bursts of fresh air, like Alice, but the past, the hopelessness, the guilt, and self-loathing is a pair of lead shoes that always pull me back under.

Mouths can lie, but eyes can’t. There’s intimacy in eye contact.

Your sadness is deep. It’s old and aged and I can’t begin to hear where it began. But it isn’t permanent.” She squeezes my hand tight again and whispers, “I’ll help you slay it.”

For a second, I believe her. I want it to be true. But then I remember I’m Toby Page and that isn’t possible.

When people learn from their mistakes it matures them; when they don’t, they stagnate.

And for the second time since I’ve known her, I’m struck breathless by her—her openness, her honesty, her beauty, and most of all, her unabashed willingness to feel intensely and not care if anyone’s watching.

“There was light, Toby.”

Solitude and Alice are a dangerous combination; they lull me into serenity and make me believe things might be possible that aren’t. Like happiness.

You’re nothing. She deserves better. You can’t be with her.

“There is nothing amateur about the depths of your soul, Toby.

“Darkness is passive denial of light. And aggressive denial of self. Thoughts rearranged, Emotions relabeled, Personality retracted By a thief Until all that remains Is a delicate, reluctant cacophony of shame. Screaming, So much blame. So much blame. Conscience profound. Self-preservation drowned. So much blame. So much blame. It all fades into oblivion When everything goes black. My sacred companion, disregard, She soothes. Like the dull blade of contempt, She maims. Whispering, So much blame. So much blame. A mercenary with an end game. A victim with my name. So much blame. So much blame.”

“I’ve never wished I could touch someone’s voice before, but I want to touch yours so badly my fingers itch.”

I don’t want anything between my mind and your lips. I want to remember it all. Clearly.”

“You make my pulse race, Alice.”

You’re nothing. She’s everything. You don’t deserve this. She deserves more. Than you. Than this. Don’t lead her on. You’re nothing. You’re nothing. You’re nothing. Slowly, I still my hips. And my hands. And my lips.

“Was it consensual?” she asks quietly like she fears my answer. Like she fears for me. For what I may have been through.

“I like to think they returned it to me wiser. Because I know I won’t settle in the future—that I deserve all of the effort, attention, and respect that I show them in return. It’s a two-way street. Love isn’t lopsided. Infatuation is.”

So not only was I struggling with losing my sight, I was struggling with my mom’s inability to accept it. To accept me. She obsessed about finding a doctor who could fix me.”