Persephone's Wish

Content Warnings: mental health issues, self destructive and risk taking behavior, suicidality, trauma, injury

I’ve always been drawn to her, and her to me. Opposites attract to a certain extent. I guess I never realized how opposite we really are.

Because at first glance we were so similar. We met at church twelve years ago. One year later we both realized we’d rather pray to each other than to God.

We were both looking for more than what the world had to offer. It took me a long time to figure out what hers was.

And now she’s at it again. And I’m trying not to be.

“Zoe.”

I'm pulled from the ever growing black hole that is my thoughts. But my therapist expects an answer. 

“Is everything alright?”

I nod. “What were we talking about?”

“What happened with the car a year ago.”

I feel a twinge of pain in my ribs. I take a deep breath and clear my throat. I still haven't processed it. Or I have but I just haven't admitted it to anyone. I'm not really sure. I've never done anything like this before. And, to be honest, it's not as exciting as I thought it would be. “Oh yeah… Um…"

I try to think of how to tell this story without making us the villains. "Me and -” My phone buzzes.

I pick it up to see a text message. “I need you. Meet in twenty minutes at Wright Park.”

“You seem distracted today, Zoe. What’s on your mind?” She looks concerned. Maybe I should be. 

I put on a polite smile. “I’m so sorry. Can we end our session early? I just realized I double booked.”

****

I'm riding the bus to her. The scar on my ribs aches. The bones hurt when I breathe even to this day. And I can't help but remember doing the exact same thing one year ago to a decidedly bad end. At least, it was decidedly for me. 

That's it. I make up my mind. 

I'm not going to repeat the same mistakes. I tell myself this over and over. But the longer it repeats the less I believe it. I want to believe it. 

I start imagining what I'll do when I see her. At first I think of how firm and detached I'll be. But she's the only one I've ever not felt detached around. 

When I'm with her and we do what we're good at… God it's like a light turns on after being in a coma for twenty years. With colors you've never seen before in patterns that had never existed till now. That's what she does for me and I've never met a person who could replicate it. I've never found a thing that could replicate it. Not drugs, not sex, not money. Not anything.

But I'm not going to repeat the same mistakes. 

I swallow. My rational brain needs to intervene now or I will take her up on whatever insane offer she has for me. 

I go through the script of what we'll say to each other to prepare myself. She'll go first. She always does. 

'Zoe, thank god you're here. I've got our new thing. This is exactly what we've been looking for this whole time.' 

'Tell me more.'

No. Scratch that. 

'I'm sorry, but I can't. I can't do this anymore.' 

Yeah, that's good.

'Look, I know the last time didn't go like we planned.' 

'"Like we planned"? Persephone, we almost died.'

'I thought that didn't matter to you.'

'I thought it didn't either. Until it almost happened. That was my wake up call. When will you get yours?'

No, that's too harsh. 

'That was my wake up call.' 

'Please, Zoe, I can't do this without you…' 

I pause and sit with it. 

'Just one more adventure. One last run.'

One last run. That means two different things to both of us. But that doesn't make this preemptive offer any less intoxicating. 

There is no "no" in my head anymore.

"Tell me more…" I murmur, words laced with nostalgia.

I look out the window, imagining that I'm going 90 miles an hour. We're laughing while staring our own mortality in the eyes. God the wind felt so good…

And then I hear the crash of a car that wasn't supposed to be ours. Metal crunches louder than bones do. My ribs burn. 

I pull out of my head. It's just a commercial street that we're driving twenty-five on. And I'm almost to Wright Park. 

I'm not ready yet. 

I yank on the cord. I rush off the bus and stand outside. It leaves me behind, one stop away from where I was supposed to get off. I stare at the ground, clenching my fists in my pockets. 

What would my therapist say? Maybe that's a better conversation to imagine. 

Still, I start with the easier line of questioning.

'What do you think Persephone is feeling right now?'

This is a question I’ve known the answer to for a long time.

'Too much.' 

'What does she want to feel?'

This is what I’ve always tried to understand. And I think now I do.

'Nothing.' 

I squeeze my fists tighter. I feel the sensation of nails pressing into skin. It's your turn. 

'How are you feeling?'

I can picture my therapist waiting for an answer. I picture myself looking everywhere except her eyes. 

'Numb.'

'How do you want to feel?' 

I bite my tongue. 

'Alive.' 

I expect to feel some groundbreaking emotion while having this imaginary conversation. Sorrow, joy, peace, anything. But I don't. Just a painful spasm in my ribcage. I wait a moment.

I pull out my phone. I read over the last text she sent me four or five times. "I need you," it says.

There was a long period of time where I thought I needed her too. 

I text her back. "I'm getting help. If you ever decide to, I will be there." 

I walk back in the direction that I came. I call my therapist and ask to reschedule.