20 Apr Soyez l’acteur, jouer le rôle: Part 2

“What Heart have you, when I’ve no heart at all?”
‘A heart that has been blown over by years of sand and water thus enveloping it in a shell of glass.’
“And if I break not the glass but make the organ function once more?”
‘Patience.’
“It is a virtue,”
‘I cannot tell you to pause your life.’
“I won’t, but I’ll try.”
He turned his head and began a pained silence.
“Then Promise.”
‘I hate promises.’
“You will keep this one.”
‘How sure are you?’
“Once the bird becomes charmed, all is complete.”

I can’t breathe. I feel… lightheaded, scared, alone. I really can’t breathe. In the darkness there is no light, I thought to myself as I clenched onto something and squeezed it. I opened my eyes. The ceiling was stained yellow from the radiant sun that was showing its rays from outside. I listened to the silence of the room but opened myself to the chirping of the birds and how the wind spoke in a frivolous tongue. My eyes danced across the covert that lay flat above my head. And then I shook to the scratching motion that hissed across my floor; I shut my eyes.

“Good morning.” said a voice whose tone soothed my ears and officially awoke me.
“Good morning.” I muffled my response with my hand. The smell of something sweet swirled in my nostrils, the luke warm sun blinded me until something dark allowed me to open my eyes. Peter.
“Why…’ he paused and pushed back my hair. ‘Are you so beautiful?” He kissed my forehead.
“Let me brush my teeth before I answer.” I responded with my covered mouth and stared him in his eyes. So enchanting they were, almost hazel with a hint of blue.

I removed myself from the scrunched up covers of my bed, slid on my slippers and glided to the bathroom. In front of the mirror is where I stood, stopped and stared at myself.
“Beautiful? How… am I beautiful?” I thought to myself as I felt my body shift. I felt dead, almost zombie-like but well enough alive and able to function naturally. I brushed my teeth for a matter of at least 5 minutes but glared angrily at myself. I washed my face and took the hand towel from off the sink counter and began to dry my face.
I held my thoughts in again, I compromised, I thought, I whimpered and then I thought again “How am I beau–“


“What are you thinking about?” Peter said to me as he embraced me from behind.
“I am thinking thoughts.’ I dried my face and returned the towel to its rightful place. I then placed my hands on his forearms and held him reversely.
“And these thoughts, what words do they consist of?” he began to sway me.
“Lines, letters, or maybe even paragraphs; the many things that can be found in this thought are too abrupt to even bring itself into conversation.” I laced my hands within his.
“But the listener knows that the words might be painful whether they consist of lines, letters, or even paragraphs.” he smiled softly and kissed my neck.
“How am I–”
“Beautiful?” he interrupted.
“Yeah…” A cold tingling sensation rose up my spine and I gained a numb feeling.
“You know, that even I know you enjoy this attention.” he said to me sympathetically.
“I know,’ I smiled to him in the mirror. ‘but it is the attention that you enjoy giving to me isn’t it?”
“Whatever it takes to make you happy, because even now I can see that you aren’t.’  he bit me gently. ‘Tell me all your secrets.”

Secrets. What secrets could I release from myself? Painful things to make me itch with rage or cry from agony? I am Rachel, a 26 year-old, living in the artistic soul of New York City–Soho. My father was an alcoholic and I haven’t spoken to him in almost 3 years; my mother, she was a journalist who quit her job and disappeared with some dark and mysterious man. My brother is 17 and is also the only one nearest to my parent, and the only one that I chose keep in contact with. He wants to… I don’t know what he wants to do, but every few weeks I check up on him. I have people here and there who scout out to see if he is committing any type of calamity. And my sister: a beautiful stripper, who defiles herself on a stage that bears a pole. She is close to me and comes to me on nights when men pay her with dirty money and we get drunk until the sun comes up. Sometimes I forget that she is only 24 because of how elegant she can look when I turn her into my model for a day or two. I forget that she is my sister and name all of my portraits of her “The Goddess” with numbers at the end of each title. I forget that I exist sometimes and I think that even she can see the jealousy. I have blue eyes and my hair is brunette and curly. My weight fluctuates from 135 to 125 depending whether or not I eat or even pick within the weeks that I live through.

I love Eric Alfred Satie, because he is the only man that can make me fall in love and cry of heartbreak at the same time. I think Peter has witnessed one of these breakdowns before, he once surprised me with flowers and wine: it was a promotion ‘congratulations.’ Why am I in love with a man who is dead? Simple, there is no man who can soothe me in such a way as he. Of course I am lying but, I guess I enjoy living in denial. My ex-boyfriend was a complete dick and I still hope that even today he gets hit by a car and ran over twice in one hit. His name is or was since I consider him deceased, was Craig. With him, I felt the night stand still, when we fought I felt the city rumble with our shouts and when we sat in silence I understood how it felt to be stone deaf. The ginger he had been with was an old friend, why she did it I haven’t the slightest idea.

And then there is Peter, Peter, Peter… He is something that I’ve yet to understand. When I am with him my mind becomes erect not always sexually but I become more active, I feel a constant stimulus to work. Peter is 3 years younger than I and he is always overly happy and it seems he is constantly thinking about me, which is okay I guess. I enjoy the attention he gives me and then I wonder why he bothers. When I first met him he seemed so timid and innocent but when I compare his ‘now’ to ‘then’ the contrast is extreme. It’s not like he is different on a scale of satisfactory-to-unsatisfactory but he or rather maybe… I could be wrong, but I feel as if I have manipulated him into loving me. No, he doesn’t love me. But inevitably I think I love him, but that is something he will have to pull from me. Whether he lures it from me with convincing words or rapes it from me, that truth is one truth I will keep from him.

“I made some waffles for you,” Smiling he takes me by the hand.
“Peter?” Following him timidly I question him, in a sincere tone as he seats me.
“Hmm?” He sung to me. Chills drive up my arms.
“What did I do?” I looked at the table cloth. “What did I do to deserve you? I mean I won’t even call you my own, so why?” I held my forearms and clawed into my wrists.
“I knew you’d ask eventually, let me serve you before I say anything though okay?” I nodded to him as he began plating my food and decorating it; he poured me a cup of orange juice and placed it all in front of me.

The food stared me in the face as I did it; I felt like a child all over again, it actually made me smile. I waited for him to get his food and seat himself before I could eat and I laughed to myself because I had been so mannered even when he wasn’t around. He sat in front of me and reached out for my hand which was as cold as ice for some reason. He held it in his warm hand and smiled at me.

“Now eat and I’ll tell you.’ I obeyed his inquiry without any objection because I was in fact hungry. ‘Alright, so…’ He said as he loosened the collar of his t-shirt and bit his lip. ‘Well, I might not be the right one, the right one for you that is… since you’re so damn hard to read but I’m trying.’ I smiled at him and popped a slice of a syrupy strawberry into my mouth. ‘Even so, there is something about us. And I can’t quite explain it; you make me feel extraordinary; I have the need to please you, not that I am obsessed with giving you pleasure: which I dare say is NOT a refusal to such a thing. But… as you see, I honestly don’t mind all of this leisure that you put me through. When I need to rest,” He laced his hand in mine. “You are my sanctuary, and I thank you for that.” He finished with a smile.

“I ate. And the the next thing I remember, I was sitting at my counter staring into the white screen of my laptop.  Peter was gone. To where? I don’t recall. Why? That too, I do not recall. How long have I been sitting here? I–” My thoughts were cut short by the inert ringing of a bell that I knew so well.

I ran to the door asked “Who is it?” but received no response at first, and the second time around it had been announced that it was my knight in shining armor. He had come to rescue me from my solitude, or so it seemed.
He appeared in my doorway, soaking wet… his eyes seemed deprived of all happiness. And effortlessly he fell into my arms and held me as tight as he could. I felt as if I had died in his arms, but alas I was still alive, with a beating heart and a thriving breath. I held him in return.

“I lied. It wasn’t him who rung my bell, it wasn’t him I held. It was no one. Peter, where have you gone to?” I thought to myself as I let the salt crystalize near the corner of my eyes and fall wordlessly from my face. “I sat within myself, not daring to count the hours, but waiting for a call or ring of any sort. Thunder soon became my companion once I realized that no one was coming to my rescue and thus I took my place at the kitchen table. I tired of lounging on my floor and my couch; I need to write this down, I need to evoke my sorrows or I will just rot.”

–“Get me a drink too please?” she asked the barkeep as he was slowly striding away.
“Another?” Concurred a man who sat besides her. “Already little lady?” He popped a beer nut into his mouth.
“Is it of any of your concern?” She replied mockingly as she swung her head around to face his. “Besides you’ll be asking for another one too if you keep eating those.” She pointed at the half empty bowl of nuts.
He smiled sincerely at her. “It was only a kind gesture, I was merely–” He took a sip of his tequila. “Looking out for a young lady such as yourself.” He gave her a toothy grin.
She snarled at his reply and looked away.
“What’s bothering you anyhow?” He said as he took a handful of nuts and dispensed them into his mouth.
“That leafy green that has embedded itself onto your front tooth.” She gnashed her teeth.
He turned away quickly and pulled out a compact mirror to further check his assets.
“Barkeep! Another please!” She asserted loudly.
“Here you go ma’am.” The Barkeep handed her her second drink. “This one is on the young man from the corner table.”

Slowly she turned  her head to that corner table. Chills rose up her spine and wrapped themselves around her arms. Her brows wrinkled and her eyes grew big; with a lack of breathe she was required to yelp silently; her heart fell into the acidic pits of her stomach and there it boiled as enchanting moths flew to it and encased it in a protective shell. She–

“RACHEL!!!” screamed a muffled voice from outside my door that startled the living shit out of me.
I stood up slowly as the screams increased their pitch and the banging on the door became harder. I picked up the metal bat that sat untouched in my umbrella stand and crept towards the door.
“RACHEL!!” It screamed again and the banging continued.
I now stood face to face with the door and the person behind it; the blows from the person’s punches to the door let out gasps of air. Finally I peeped through the peephole and to my surprise… It was Peter. Tears canvased his sallow face and outlined his strong jaw; His hazel eyes seemed both worried and enraged; the peephole morphed his face into a round ball but still I saw him as I saw him.

“RACHEL!!!” He called out again and finally, he gave up and his figure disappeared from my sight.
I soon opened the door with the bat hanging lifeless from my other hand. There he was, sitting on the floor, sulking, soaking, and distressed. He looked up at me and stood up;  there he was, towering over me but this time I wasn’t happy, I was frightened and I’m sure he saw this in my eyes. He pulled me into his strong arms and held me close. My clothes began to sponge him dry and I in turn became like a wet dog. He held his hand on my face and pulled it into his chest and he kissed my forehead. He continued his silent weeps and I stood there motionless until we retired inside.

Today, is Wednesday; today is the weirdest fucking day of my life. After the crazed attack of the Peter last night, we went inside and had a cup of hot tea. And it was that night that we truly, we made love for the first time. I didn’t count the hours all I remember was the entire time he kept me in his arms. Later on he explained to my why he was so freaked out. Apparently when I woke up yesterday morning and went to take a bath after breakfast he found me half dead in the tub. His vains coursed with worry as he held my wrists and showed me what I had done. I told him how I didn’t recall doing such a thing. My wrists we’re kindly wrapped with white bandages; blood had seeped through. He continued by saying how he ran me to the hospital and stayed with me all night, but as to why I did it I couldn’t remember, and he also gave me no answer.

He had left me for a moment to retrieve what it was the might have caused me to go so wild: it was a pregnancy test. I froze and I felt my world shatter all around me when I stared into the positive lines of its digital response. And there it was, everything returned to my mind; I remembered sitting on the toilet and waiting patiently for the test to say ‘no’. And when it didn’t I turned on the bath and pulled out a razor from one of Peter’s shavers. I remember being very tired and feeling sick when I stared at the blood that mixed itself with the water in the bathtub. And now I am here. Peter held my hand so tightly that I felt it go numb and there he was looking me in the eyes and then he opened his mouth.

“No matter what, I will be by your side. No matter the cost. No matter how much pain I have to go through. Fortunately you are my other half.” His brows grew worried by the word and then  he pulled me to him and kissed my forehead and then my lips. “At all costs, do you understand me Rachel?”
I nodded but somewhere I was still lost. “Was I truly pregnant?” Is what I thought to myself silently.
“The doctor said that your test was a complete mistake,” His eyes stared sadly at the table. “But  even so… You are the one that I want to be with. I have come to a conclusion–”
I interrupted him and looked into his eyes. “I think I am too.” I stared at him so steadily that I felt uncomfortable. “I honestly do love you. From the night on the roof till now, thank you Peter.”

But even at this moment, my feelings seemed untrue. They seemed so falsely brought on and I couldn’t figure out why.

“Love is a complicated thing.” Smiled a strange man that sat in front of me with a notepad and pen. He was tall and and seated with his legs crossed; his hair was as white as snow and he wore a pair of fashionable glasses upon which he stared through to me with. “You only need a little time to express yourself a little more. As for whether or not you truly love him, I cannot give you the answers, but I can tell you the call for self mutilation is due to stress, you have become…” He tapped his lips with his pen as he thought of some sort of metaphor. “I would suppose your subconscious is similar to that of a succubus.

“I just don’t understand why…” I sighed. I finally came to and remembered where I had been the whole time. I was in Doctor Kennedy’s office explaining to him my days of grief and sorrow, since there were barely any days of true cheer I was left to wallow. I can’t quite say what happened to Peter because for the past 3 hours I have been in therapy sending my mind on a whirl wind of thoughts, but hopefully when I make it home… If I make it home, his face is the only face I want to see.

{EXIT STAGE}