(Crossposted from LJ)
I was up until 2:30 last n-... This morning. Woke up sweating, scratching at fleas, then the alarm screamed at me: 4:15, time to throw up, cover the taste of that nightmare in your mouth, purple one.
Honestly it tasted the same as the nightmare; sage green curtains with bubblegum trim hanging from the ceiling. White walls reflecting pink. White, crunchy hospital sheets reflecting pink. Pink absorbing into my skin and through my body and overflowing my mouth. Ugh - pink.
I never used to really mind that color.
Not until October.
Awareness month.
Forget aware. I'm paranoid.
I go to bed every night hoping it was just a nightmare. Wake up and it's still there. I want to sleep - to escape it. I don't want to sleep - the nightmares taste terrible. The worry tastes acid pink, like my insides, turned to vinegar by the rest of October. So gross.
I brush my teeth. No use going back to bed, now. At least it doesn't taste like pink. Thank you, research foundation, for making me hate that color. Ohgods! Think of SOMETHING ELSE! Elaine said try to limit the worrying about that to ten minutes a day. While I make Chris's coffee, like I used to do, I scolded myself.
Think about anything else!
I thought about what I would put in Chris's egg wrap. Feta cheese and chicken and olives. Tomatoes. Nothing pink... NO! Stop! ... Fold them in to the green spinach wrap, diagonal slice.
The same shade of green as that bastard that tried to take my bag yesterday... I thought about what I'd done, sliding the hot measuring cup of soup out of the microwave, pouring it into the thermos. Still-bubbling broth hit the wax paper underneath. I smirked.
Stupid fuck had it coming. The thing about picking a distracted-looking target when you're trying to purse snatch is you never know if they're distracted because they're crazy. Plus you can't tell on a purple beach bag if it's full of electronics or shoes or a wallet or... Just a bunch of preschool drawings and cut-up magazines.
I must have been smiling then. Chris came out of the shower pulling on socks, whispering, "Nice to see you so happy, honey. Thank you for breakfast and coffee and lunch." I put down the thermos and twisted the stopper on it. Hah.
Not happy: satisfied. I didn't correct him, just mouthed 'you're welcome' and made the hand sign for it. He kidnapped the egg wrap with an approving look. Coffee. It was finished brewing. I looked into the steam creeping up and away from the sides of the travel mug and grinned like a villain at the reflection of my eye in the blackness.
Steam had risen off the concrete when I'd got him. I got him good! I don't remember when I decided I wanted hot tea that morning, but when my thumb involuntarily flung off the lid and my right arm whipped around, discus-style, I was thinking about that kid that took my phone two Thursdays before. Not this time, bitch! I may have thought it, I may have said it. Success smelled like bergamot and dirt. Cursing. His. Mine. It sounded like curse words. I turned his curses right back at him. My speech reverted to street; 'Yo, bitch, ain't nothin' even IN there, you stupid fuck!' Insult to injury, impulsive, threw the cups at him, too, as I turned and ran, fear overtaking anger. Run, bitch, run! I screamed to me. It was hot tea, not a bullet!My chest burned with rage and strain, I skidded down the metro escalator. I slowed down at the gate. Beep.
Looked behind me. He'd have been an idiot to follow me down here with the MTA cop here. Good. I hoped he was blinded, still holding his stupid face with both gloved hands. Dirty nails poking out of each cut-off finger. Gray strings. Why can I remember these tiny things, and not his face?
I set the travel mug of coffee next to Chris and put the soup, salad, and chips in his lunch box. "You gettin' another Earl Grey this morning?" he smiled a bit as he whispered.
How did he know I ... "Nah. Varying my route. I want to wear my other coat so I look different."
"Good idea."
We moved about Pop's kitchen as silently as possible for the next few minutes. I scolded myself, meanwhile.
The thing about fighting back when someone steals from you is you never know if they're CRAZY. I could have missed. He could have ended me. I could have...
Hey, I said to me, if he had, you'd never have to find out about... You know. Your appointment on your birthday.
I was doing so well NOT thinking about it. The ten minutes is up. Stop.
Ugh. Pink.
There's the taste again. Oily, acid, salmon pink. Think of something else.
My eyes settled on my Figment keychain. My whole body settled and softened. I didn't realize I had been clenching every muscle I could.
Disney.
If I didn't find out, and I gave up... The only two good days in October... I'd never have them again... Or anything like them.
I'll go. I'll go even though the appointment is on my birthday. I'll go and find out. Whatever it is, I'll kick it. I want more days like those two days. Fireworks and roller coasters and special effects and even flying were nothing like listening to you sing and falling asleep on your shoulders. I need it... to last.