Snow of Rubies

TW: suicide

The room spins round and round, getting blurrier by the second as he twirls me around and around. I clutch on tighter, the potential momentum making me feel like he could hurl me into outer space. I shake my head—there’s no reason for why he would want to do that. His hands shift to my waist, both of our socks slipping and sliding on the polished wooden floor of our cabin. A modern cabin maybe—save for the electricity or WiFi. Our phones lay forgotten by the mess of sheets on the floor. He had offered to sleep on the floor last night. 

The pressure from his fingertips tightens on my waist and I imagine electric energy flowing through his rough hands and enlightening my very soul. For we don’t need any man-made electricity—Mother Nature herself provides for us. 

I’m giggling now, the twirling making my head light and fluffy and I feel ethereal, my white skirts billowing out below my tight set corset. I picture a tiara upon my head and high heels on my feet. All of a sudden, his pressure shifts upwards and I’m lifted off my feet—I’m flying—a dove gliding through the air as elegantly as possible. I look down at him and see his concentrated but humorous eyes, always ready to light up with that beautiful sparkle. The room is now ribbons of smudged color spinning fast around us, as if protecting us, the inside, from danger, the outside. 

A shiver runs down my back as a gust of icy wind passes through the window. Every spin, I get a glimpse of white and I know it's snowing, but I don’t care, don’t care. I will him to go faster, not liking all the thoughts that assail my mind and he bends to my will, his feet now turning, turning, turning.

Turning all too fast. 

He lands with a crash against the glass coffee table, being sure to hold me up and away from danger. I land, light on my feet, absent of any scratches or scars. I bend down to him and pull him up with much effort. He grunts and gestures to sit down. 

No, no, no. I pull his hand to the middle of the room again and set his hands on my waist. He shakes his head minutely, looking weak, but I start off the spin, knowing he will follow suit. As we speed up, I feel myself slipping back into that beautiful phase again, the feeling that I am not in control of my mind, that I am safe from all my dangerous thoughts and I’m floating in a bubble that can only pop if we stop. 

He makes an attempt to slow down but I dig my nails into the tops of his shoulders, meaning no harm, just signaling he absolutely cannot stop. We must keep going and going. I don’t look down, I know that his eyes will lack the layer of humor now, but I don’t want to think, don’t want to think. I refuse to let emotions get the best of me, love can be stupid sometimes. Of course, he wants to do this for me, he loves me. 

He won’t stop. I won’t let him. 

My hair cascades out like a waterfall save the abrupt ending of a splash into the depths below it. For there is no end. No. Must keep going, keep going. I lift my face to the sky, inviting the heavens to lift us up into its harmonious quarters. Our heavy breathing creates all the music I need, almost concurrent, his breathing a couple beats of the heart ahead of mine. 

I feel the pressure lighten, but I don’t bat an eyelash for we don’t slow. The ribbons still slice the air around us, and all I can feel are my light feet upon the floor and—

He’s not holding me any longer. A smudge of black—his black jacket—passes by my eyes and I hear the door open. Opens and all my worries flood in, uninvited. I scream in agony, my arch-nemesis, the Past, filling my mind up instantaneously. 

The door slams shut, but they keep coming, keep coming. They slow me down and I fight, pushing off anything my feet find, eyes closed tight, to spin away my problems. It doesn’t work without him. 

My hands grip my ears, eyelids protect my eyes, covering up any outlets that they flood in from. No. It’s from within. My hands rake my head, eyes rolling backward, creating nasty incisions and blemishes. It works. Every new cut distracts my mind for a fraction of a second before it springs back to all the worries like a slinky. I create new, fresh cuts, tasting the blood dribble down to my mouth, liking the idea of some color upon my cheeks. I imagine a crimson bubble encasing my head, keeping the worries out. Out, out, out. But they keep coming—stronger now. 

His face is conjured up before my eyes. Another incision. 

Think: Pain, blood, hurt. 

My mind switches back. The seaweed drips off his face, I see my delicate hands on his shoulders. Hands that were free from murder. 

No, no, no. I pierce my skin with another nail. Pain, blood, hurt. Slip back. The pressure from my hands pushing him down, down down. His innocent eyes of a child widening with every second, his hands thrashing out in human instinct. I moan now, clutching at my head, thrashing my forehead against the floor. Bang, bang, bang. 

My eyelids only half-open, I glance outside and the most brilliant idea swims to the forefront of my stormy mind. I crawl across the floor and prise the door open with a shaking body. Using the door for aid, I pull myself upward and outside. 

The wind catches in my chest and I cough, my nose gathering the bitter cold. Snowflakes fall around me peacefully, clearly mocking my delirium. An innocent. I claw at my face, creating a fall of rubies to sprint down my face. Pain, blood, hurt. A ruby drops into the snow and dissolves. I smile—this is it, I will win. I play with the idea, turning it over in my mind like a kebab on a skewer. I give way to my shaking legs and fall, face-first into the snow. The cold bites at my skin until it is allowed in, freezing my mind, stopping the thoughts. I bury my face deeper, exposing as much open skin to the snow as possible. The last thing that meets my eyes is the deep red circle around my head. 

My mind is empty now. 

I smile as my eyes slowly shut.