Leo

When I woke up after only four hours of drunken slumber, I found myself sleeping with my head on his chest, my arms wrapping him tight. So tight that otherwise it would mean I’d fall off of a cliff. It reminded me how I clench my teeth sometimes at night. Only, I was clenching his body with my arms. I had never cuddled someone that hard. I felt exposed, even shy or guilty. I felt like I made him uncomfortable. I didn’t know I had yearned for human touch that badly. I hastily turned towards the other side.

He covered my naked body with the bedspread. He planted gentle kisses along the side of my torso. He spooned me. It surely meant the beginning of a morning séance. 

I reached back with my arm and held his penis in my hand. I let it rest there while softly grasping it. I had always found this act remarkably soothing. Like the warmth of the sun after swimming in a cold sea, like when one single chunk of poop flawlessly passes through my rectum in one go, like knowing no matter what I’ll have my daddy to protect me.

He gave me time to ignite my sexual system. Can this guy do anything wrong? No matter what the situation was, from the first moment I’d seen him, he had exceled at everything he had done.

I let go. I was in good hands. I let him give me all the orgasms he could afford. 

I waited for the next sequence of events with my clumsy commentary or physical presence. I had a disdain for one-nighters. Strangers in the night. Not so romantic.

I asked if he is hungry. He said he has to leave.

Of course, I had picked the only guy who was going to leave London on a flight back to his home next day.

I panicked. This scene was too familiar.

To my surprise, he took my number. All the while, at the back of my mind, I was hoping he would just leave and rip off the band aid as soon as possible.

A deadly flood of emotions was sneakily rushing in, while at the same time hitting my omnipotent mental wall that is so powerful that it can hold tears and crazy things like love.

He kissed my lips at the door. 

He left.

Him leaving finally triggered the trauma I was unconsciously trying to hold back. Along with it came the panic attack haze that would mar my insignificant existence for the following hours of his absence and the weight of my disappointing presence. 

Hours of waiting for the panic attack to come and take me. Hours of mentally preventing the panic attack from devouring me whole. Hours that turned into days, then years and finally galactic years. Time didn’t exist anymore. Only pain. A familiar one by now. Familiar but never welcome.

I wasn’t able to breathe the air that’s been passing through my nostrils to my lungs. The bodily mechanics were there, yet my body didn’t feel like it was getting any oxygen inside. How was I still breathing? How was I still alive? I was drowning in air. I was freezing, shivering, burning, sweating.

A random sound I heard from the street got hung up in my consciousness. So small and unsubstantial. Then it turned into a horrible shriek with an unknown origin that made me want to run for the hills. Instead, its hellishness paralysed me, confined me, choked me.

I started remembering the previous night’s mini black outs. They were like tiny black holes scattered throughout the space in our universe. The universe which would be nothing but empty darkness if it weren’t for the suns. 

I felt like a dark opaque bee that doesn’t emit nor reflect light, wandering from one star to the other. Only to find they’re as void of light as I am. I somehow know if my journey ends in a sun, it would be my last stop as its heat would drink me in, like a baby wrapped in a gigantic blanket. Burn all my existence and memories. I’d fuel it while it would cleanse my superposition.

I had wanted him to be the sun for a day. 

I forget days are short in London.