Locked In With The Enemy

The night is cold, crippling cold. I didn't sleep last night and I'm paying a hefty price for it, a terrible terrible migraine. Outside, I can hear sensational club music playing. It teleports me to a virtual reality where I'm whining my petite waist for a stranger in the club who I probably will not be talking to next year at a time such as this.

The moon is dazzling bright. I sleep with the curtains open to enjoy such beauty. I know it sounds cliché but I love looking at the stars through my window. It doesn't mean I'm not scared. Sometimes in my delusional mind, I imagine my crazy ex-boyfriend's eyes piercing through my window as I sleep. Based on what I know about him, there is a massive possibility that could happen but tonight, I know that I am safe. I can hear Rex chew a bone outside my window thus I know no one is watching me. May the poor cow rest in peace. I know nothing will be left of the bone when the sun rises. The day is Sunday, a peaceful Sunday night. The time is 11:08.

Isn't it crazy how when you think of someone or talk about them it happens to them too? My mom says we are all telepathic. It happens to me a lot. A few moments ago, my ex-boyfriend called me. He says he misses me and wants to see me tonight and hold me under the moonlight like he did the day he promised that he would never leave me. I can't believe how he remembers that but has no recollection of the night he chased me home. I know one thing for sure, he remembers and forgets things when it's convenient for him, that, I have established. I'm a naive little girl. I live for the thrill of adventure mixed with danger. I'm the kind that mixes vodka with pistachio ice cream just to experience something different. I'm the kind that could put myself in a deep s*** situation just so I can get something to write about. Thus I said unto him, "Come for me but just don't chase me as you did two months ago. It's those little things that grow into habits."

It's 11:23. Warm lights fill my room as I quietly yet hastily pack my clothes. My big brown eyes scan my room for my gate key which I have a history of misplacing. I know he will be here any second. I hope Rex behaves himself when he hears my secret guest arrive. I don't want to wake my mom at any point because she will fill in the puzzle. She will know I am drifting back into the arms of the only man she loathes. If she hears me leave, I know she will shed tears and pray to a God I don't believe in asking him to free me from the hands of the devil.

Oh my God! Did I just say, God?! He is here! I must leave now or else, our meeting will start badly.

The time is 11:41. The night is darker. It seems the moon is hiding from me. Maybe I am undeserving of its light or maybe it's trying to warn me that I should find a way back home before things get ugly for me. Yes, he held me under the moonlight as soon as he packed his bike. Things felt different this time. It felt like hugging a ghost. It felt like hugging myself. It felt like embracing vapour and just when I got into his house, it got dark outside as the door banged behind me and I heard him twist the key and tell me welcome. It felt like a willing kidnapping.

Well, here, I am. I look like a f****** lost puppy. What in God's name am I doing here? I watch him sip whiskey and light a cigarette.

"I know you hate the smell of this boo and because I respect you, I'll go smoke in the next room," he mumbles before leaving.

Respect! What the hell! F****** narcissist! I think to myself. Same old s***! Same old prick! The trainwreck I was told to stay away from, the one I was told I can't save. Yes, I know some people are beyond redemption.

There is something about me. I cannot fathom its normalcy. I foresee events before they unwrap but I cannot see them. He talks of suicide. I wonder whether that is the reason my superpower is blurred. I know why I came here. I want to know how it will all end. I have a feeling it's going to be soon and in all honesty, I am a bit petrified. I wish I could pull him out of the sand but I know better. He is the type that could walk through the desert amid hungry wolves. He thinks he is invincible. He is the type that cannot see the black lines even when they turn white.

It's one minute past midnight. I swear my head will explode. The migraine! Oh, God! Just take me away. He sits next to me. Eyes to eyes. We smile. He tries to kiss me. I pull away.

"You stink like hell," I say. I wipe the fast-drying saliva from my lower lip with the back of my hand.

"Really! Boo!" He looks at my phone. I'm holding onto it like it's all I got. If his demons take over, the next second I shall be staring at broken pieces of my expensive Samsung.

"What the hell are you doing? Are you recording me? I know you're recording me." He has lost his mind. I know it but I tend to forget it whenever I've been away from him for a while.

"Why should I record you? You're so full of yourself. Who gives a s*** about you? You think you're a celebrity. I'm writing."

Briefly, I show him my screen.

"Is it about me?'' He smiles.

"A writer never reveals."

When David and I met, we could not keep our hands off each other. When we touched, it felt like the collision of Jupiter and Saturn, powerful. Nothing and no one else mattered when we were together. As I sit here, I realize how temporary everything is. I feel alone despite our proximity.

"You remember when you told me no one in this world cares?" He asks.

"Yeah." I watched tears form in his eyes. He cries a lot. I detest that. I know it's all a facade. I see him as a person whose emotions died. He is not the sweet little human I met. I'm locked in with a monster and at any time, he can turn on me.

"I think I've done everything I needed to do in this world. I think it's time for me to check out," he says as he allows the tears out of his eyes. These are words he has said a dozen times but this time, he means it. His tone plays the ultimate betrayal. My phone trembles in my hands as I write this as it happens. There is a vigorous determination in his eyes to end his misery if at all he experiences any emotions.

"So you called me here to kill yourself?" I ask.

"I told you this, you're my last boo. You're the person I wanted to spend the last hours of my life with." He sips his whiskey.

"How will you do it?"

I see the eyes of an empty man glaze at the electric extension cord. He gives me a gentle peck on my cheek with his dry lips. He stands up and pours water on it. He has done this before. I know he doesn't have it in him. He is a coward. He is too scared to battle his demons and face the real world.

He removes sandals from his fungi-infested feet.

"Don't," I say to him.

"We both know I cannot have you. Your family hates me. What's the point of all this?"

"You need help. Otherwise, no matter what you do, you'll never be content," I say.

I take his hand. He caresses mine for five seconds.

"Let go," he says.

"No, you're not dying under my watch."

He looks back at me. He looks at my phone in agony. I know he wants all the attention but not this time, not anymore.

"I said let go. If I step on this you'll also die," he says.

"Okay, let's be Juliet and Romeo."

He pulls his hand away from mine.

"You have your story now. Have a nice life."

I watch him step on the wet extension and look back at me.