Page 41 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
Her name comes out rough, barely there, dragged out of me like it costs something to say it, like it’s the only thing I have left to hold onto and it still isn’t enough.
I press my face harder into her pillow, my hand twisting in the sheets as the next breath tears out of me, sharper this time, my body folding slightly into the mattress like I can contain it there, like I can keep it inside this space instead of letting it exist anywhere else.
It doesn’t stay contained.
It breaks open.
“Please…”
The word is muffled into the fabric, fractured, barely formed, and it makes something in my chest pull tighter, harder, because I don’t even know who I’m saying it to, I just know I need it to land somewhere.
“Just...come back…”
My voice gives out halfway through it, turning into something hoarse and uneven as my breathing falls apart completely, each inhale catching, each exhale shaking, nothing steady, nothing controlled anymore.
“I don’t care… I don’t care about anything else…”
The words spill without thought, broken apart between breaths that won’t settle, my grip tightening in the sheets aseverything I’ve been holding in since she was taken finally cracks open all the way through.
“Just give her back!”
It comes out quieter, but worse, dragged low and raw, like something stripped down to nothing but need, like there’s no control left in it at all.
I don’t know if I’m talking to her.
To God.
To anyone who might be listening.
I just know I can’t stop.
The sound of it doesn’t stay quiet anymore, doesn’t stay contained in the pillow, it breaks out in uneven, shaking breaths that turn into something closer to sobbing, my chest tightening and releasing in sharp, uncontrollable pulls as my face stays buried in her pillow, breathing her in like it might be enough to keep me from completely coming apart.
My hand twists harder in the fabric, the sheets pulling tight under my grip as everything spills out of me in a way I can’t control, can’t stop, can’t push back down.
I don’t know how long it lasts.
Time doesn’t sit properly anymore.
It stretches.
Blurs.
The pills settle deeper, pulling everything down with them, softening the edges even as everything underneath stays exactly where it is.
My breathing eventually slows.
Not steady.
Not controlled.
Just less.
I stay where I am, face pressed into her pillow, the scent of her still there, the only thing in this room that hasn’t changed.
My body grows heavier.
The pull stronger.
