Hearing Anna

ii.xi

IN INNOCENCE, WE VERY literally sleep together. he cradles me in his arms until the swaying is hypnosis, and we share the unmade bed. we stay clothed; we stay linked. his heartbeat, slow and steady as a brook, creates the melody which brings me to sleep.

his breathing ebbs with warmth, brushing against my ear. his arms wrap around me, as if to keep me trapped.

but this isn't a trap, i think to myself. i remind myself of this over and over again. it feels so true, that he - nor anyone else - would ever embrace me just to hold me captive.

he isn't like the oblivious people at the bar.

he isn't like those guys from a year ago.

he isn't like the bartender who let it all happen.

no.

not elliot.

for what feels like a flash of a second, i black out. my breathing remains erratic when my eyes are open again.

"anna?" i think it's a whisper, a mumble, a word uttered only in unconsciousness.

my lungs just keep bursting and shriveling up, moment after moment, and there's nothing to be done about it.

there's just an image in my mind where elliot's eyes are filled with nothing but the rusting lust i'd seen that night. i tremble under the gaze of this nightmare.

i blink, and the picture is gone, making way for his real eyes, which have no rust and all concern, all fear.

he darts away for a moment, i blink again, and he returns with a wet cloth and places it on my forehead. i still shake, even though he isn't any of the people who brought my neurotypicality to an end.

no. he's like the irish girl at the bar who cleaned me up some after the whole event. he simply sits by my side, never touching me but only bending over and whispering what sound like prayers.

the cold air from outside always finds a way to sneak into my room, always steals away what warmth i am lucky enough to find. it manages to chill everything, to freeze everything in place. the only movement in sight is that of elliot's heaving shoulders, and the only sounds to be heard for miles is that of his tearful whimper rather than a shout.

i know he isn't a danger. it's my body, this stupid, abused thing that cannot look at any man without sending my mind a pang of fear.

fuck it.

and somehow, i sit myself up, and elliot is right there, so close to me. his cheeks show tear stains, and he is frozen, too; the boy who gives off nothing but welcoming heat appears to have been trapped in ice, and he's stuck staring straight at me like he would an apparition.

i brush a tear away from his eyelashes, which shimmer with remnants of water.

his skin feels so cold, so unlike how elliot feels. his cheeks appear sallow, as if seeing this mess of mine has dragged him over the edge, too.

i try to kiss him, to breathe life into him, but his lips are limp, motionless as a mannequin.

"come on, elliot, look, i'm fine," i lie. i shake his arms, simply trying to get him back out of that stupid, damned ice. when his eyes turn to me, they are lazy and confused.

i kiss his lips again even though my stale, dead breaths cannot possibly give him more life.

suddenly, he pulls away from me. his eyebrows furrow, and though the color comes back to his face, he seems a little off-kilter.

"anna, what are you doing?"

i don't know. i lean in toward him again. his hand grips my wrist like a vise, and i freeze.

his voice is pleading as he says, "anna, stop."

i'm now the one who can't move. i don't feel helpless, but i can't move.

he pulls me into him, and i collapse against his chest.

"anna, i don't think you're safe here."

"where?" i mutter.

"anywhere that is occupied only by you."

i don't get it.

"i don't want you alone, okay? i'm not leaving until lisa comes back."

it doesn't make me feel like a child, but instead like an outpatient, ready to go back into some asylum at any moment.

or maybe my head is the asylum, and i just can't get out.

his arms become warm once more, and we lay awake until the sun beams eight a.m. light through the window.