Let the Quietness...Mature

                Let the quietness… Let the quietness do what? The quietness is deafening. I have forgotten what I am supposed to be letting it do…

                It’s early morning – too early to be getting up. I push Lacey over; she is sleeping in my room while she and her brothers stay here. My thoughts drift through the house. My brothers are in the room next to mine, so that there is room for our cousins. Our cousins… Our cousin, I mentally correct myself. Arman is your step-cousin. I think about that for a few moments, and I like the way it sounds. Step-cousin. Yes. Who cares if we grew up together? Who cares how long we’ve been cousins. No, Katie. Step-cousins. Lacey’s guttural snores yank me out of my thoughts. I stare at her back, thinking. I wonder what could have happened, if I would have ever even met Arman if his mother hadn’t married my uncle all those years ago. Perhaps it would have been easier, not knowing him at all. But no, I think. It is worth it, feeling this...this…

                This what? I feel what? Something, I know. I feel alive, and luminous, like I could glow in the dark. Maybe I am glowing. I don’t know. I feel like I am about to burst, like I want to release a scream of…something. I just don’t know what.

 

                I go through the day in a fog of quietness. I feel strangely muffled, as if I shall never see colors so clearly and brightly again; as if I will never smell so fully as I had once; as if I will never feel again through this blanket of cotton that has enfolded my senses.

 

                I don’t know how this has happened. I am alone with Arman, in a house empty of everyone except the two of us. My parents have gone somewhere, and taken the children. They left me here because I felt sick, tired, but Arman stayed with me. He convinced them to go, to let him stay, so as not to spoil the day’s plans. It is a sweet gesture, and generous, but if only he knew…

                 I wish he has not stayed. I want him to be with them. I want to be alone, and to explore the depths of my twisted self in peace. I want to know all of my whys, and their answers. I want to know how to fix them. I do not want my biggest why here to distract me from my misery.

                He says something, laughs. I reply with another laugh, a feebler echo of the first. I mumble something - about what, I do not remember, a headache perhaps - and I go upstairs to sleep.

                I wasn’t asleep for long, not at all. My ambient why is persistent. He knocks, and enters at my invitation, and we begin to speak. I hardly know what I am saying, and I feel my nervousness shows. How can he not hear my heart beating faster, harder? How can he not see me sweating with anxiety? How can he not see it in my eyes…?

                He’s so close to me, and I don’t understand it. I want to do something. To scream, to run, to wrap my arms around him and laugh. To let the quietness…

The End

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