Bitter

I dreamed of you again.

You were tracing the edges of my cuts, one hand holding my wrist in place with your fingers steady, unabated. Your mouth moved as if counting, one... two... eleven... Your eyes didn't meet mine, nor did I want to. They remained observing my lower arm, unbothered.

"Tell me why," You finally spoke. I stared blankly at the open flame of the fireplace.

"I wish I knew." I replied.

"I've heard things," Your eyes finally fixated on mine, piercing stare looking for truth without mercy. You knew I have no capability to lie whatsoever. "Things that I had hoped staying mere idle gossip."

"What are they saying?"

"That your arms are really hairy."

That caught me off guard. I chuckled instinctively, which you followed with a smile. "You always knew what to say."

"I wish I could do more than saying things." Your expression turned stern. You closed your eyes and traced the scars once more without looking. I turned towards the flame once again. I felt a slight sting when your lips touched the newer wounds. I shuddered with shock.

"You're too precious to be doing this." You retracted and rolled down my shirt sleeve, "Please take care of yourself, because I will too."

At what cost...?

I stifled on my tears, knowing full well it was all a dream, thinking how equally heartbreaking if it were to be true, and for feeling sorry for myself. It was not supposed to happen. You were not supposed to know.

It was a brief moment of chocolate marshmallow dipping that I had my sleeves rolled up a bit.
There was no loving stare of that dream, only shock and confusion.

You're broken, your eyes said.

I'm scared of you, your weeks of disconnectedness said.

I think I'm going to go now, and you did.

Some people have certain memories attached while listening to a particular music, or looking at a particular stuff. For me, it's chocolate marshmallow and Green Day's 'Good Riddance' faintly playing in the background from the Halloween party five years ago. Alone, they were nostalgic and painful. Together, they amplified the neurons of that moment's memory that I couldn't help but shake in disgust. Of myself. Of you. Of the whole unfortunate thing.

If only. If only you didn't see them. If only I wasn't stupid enough to do them. If only I was brave enough to barge in your door and ask for explanation.

I dismissed the thought as I mixed the rest of the batch. The marshmallows were roasted and ready to be layered with the melted chocolate. I folded the chocolate batch with rubber spatula. The portable speaker was blasting a familiar tune on repeat. My hands were trembling, but only slightly. That's good. That's streadier than I've ever done before. I made progress.

They said to face your fear, so I did. For four consecutive years now. Hybrid of bravery, stupidity, masochism, and obsession becoming one, like the chocolate mix on my bowl.

I wrapped the chocolate s'mores into a small plastic package, tying it up with a red ribbon before putting up the final touch of attaching a note to it. I grabbed the marker and wrote on the card I prepared.

How's it going? I hope your Halloween this year is amazing as always- I crumpled the card and threw it away. I took another card from the pile.

No tricks, just treat- I considered for a moment, marker tip on my chin. A minute passed, then I wrote a little more.


Early morning of October 31st. Chilly. Wind swept away the dried up leaves in front of your house. I quickly slipped the homemade treats into your mailbox and went away without looking back.

I might be stubborn, but you were no less persistent.

I didn't know how to feel knowing that you didn't accept any of my gifts, because you knew precisely that it was me who sent it. Without me signing it. Without me giving clues that I did it. You knew me too well, yet you still didn't budge to once again have me in your life.

No tricks, just treat.

I knew you too well, and you were still willing to keep up with this sick game.

No more cuts, no more wounds.

I would definitely know if you actually eat the treats I sent.

Now would you look at me the same again?

Because I wanted you to know how it feels to bleed against your own will.