Stuck in a Mental Haze

Streetlights blur and blend with the tail lights making quite a somber yet nostalgic vibe.

Squeaking wipers indicate the rain has no intention to cease.

Friends hung on each other, drunk with amusement and merry banter.

Little care in the world, even less about their drenched Grade B imitation Balenciagas.

Theatric lovers spat under the corner street clock tower.

Tears undeniably exude desperation for second chances and redemption.

Betrayal and regret so blinding as if forgiveness had barely personified.

Sudden breaks caused the car to abruptly halt as I see Dante's usually calm demeanor contort to that of exhausted fury.

.......................

Such a string of events led my mind to wander back to Constanze.

Connie's last plea had me at a time-bending standstill.

To say I'm perplexed is an understatement.

.......................

Learn to let someone in?

That I can manage, slowly but surely.

.......................

Learn to let love in?

I love Connie like a sister but what she's asking is impossible.

.......................

Maybe with Mithras...?

No.

Stop clinging to foolish fairy tales.

What if I see him again?

.......................

Shaking my head, my headphones fell on my lap with the last echoes from "I Belong to You" graced to transition to the guitar synths of "Ride or Die" started to take over the speakers.

Steadying my heart proved to be quite a difficult feat.

The only way I understood the instructions Dante reiterated about my transport schedule was by reading his chapped bearded lips.

.......................

Opened my note, titled "Christmas gift checklist" and wrote "Chapsticks" next to the other gifts I listed in Dante's name.

His daughter, Maurice, definitely appreciated the gesture. She did mention she just started puberty. Better send her some care package within the week.

Being a single dad is hard enough, I could imagine his anxiety now that his precious princess finally stepped into puberty.

Having just enough made their dynamics much healthier, and more open in terms of communication.

.......................

Is it bad that I feel a bit jealous?

But saying that aloud would have me be equated as a hypocritical ingrate.

Though, does having been born within such socio-economic status dictate that the only human feeling I'm permitted to be outspoken about is gratitude?

.......................

Father always says, "Do as you're told and expected to; anything less is unacceptable".

His approach usually encompasses bragging rights.

If he can't boast anything to his peers, you're a useless waste of space.

No words need to be said. His condescending glare says it all.

The mother's approach is rather passive-aggressive.

Her tactics are more, "Go choose whatever you want" then when my interest is voiced out, she promptly shoots it down with alternating dashes of "That's unrealistic" or "You can't make money out of that".

Stringing you along with false hope and promises to reel in her benefits.

Once her self-centered desires are sated, she feigns ignorance and states she made no such commitment to fulfill your request.

This dynamic proves unquestionable practicality and grandeur generosity towards others.

Yet deprivation of basic human rights such as the right to refuse and free speech were simply forfeited from birth.

.......................

I do wonder, does the amount of money truly change the dynamics of the family?

Does having more mean having less emotional, meaningful dynamics with your child?

The practical part of me argues that it's on a case-by-case basis through my emotionally depraved heart begs to differ due to experience.

.......................

Pretty much knew, early on.

Dreams are for those who can afford to exercise actual free will.

Never for those who were conceived simply to serve.

Everyone else in between the spectrum simply does things for the sake of survival.

Only execute what is expected and permitted, to the best of your abilities.

Flaws and mishaps are deemed punishable.

Consequences differ depending on their choice of wrath for the day.

.......................

To survive such a lifestyle requires one to murder one's heart and desires.

Be socially graceful while still exhibiting a subservient demeanor.

Adapt to the chaos and hopefully not wake up the next day.

.......................

Yet being fortunate with healthy genetics would be considered a curse because your constant coveting in Death's door proves to be near impossible unless approached with intention.

Doing such an act would echo social damnation and a tarnished reputation is a crime a mere death sentence can never compensate.

.......................

So the alternative is to live double lives.

One is to be presented towards faceless bolstering jesters known as society.

Of glitzy debuts and pretentious luncheons with the occasional 5-star masked charity balls.

Societal niceties and well-versed backhanded politics are considered small talk.

A skill ingrained in me as soon as I was able to form a single sentence.

Where over-arched tattooed eyebrows and Botox Barbies are considered societal norms.

A standard, to this day, I will never conform to.

.......................

The other required to be shrouded by well-calculated intrigue.

Filled with VPNs and firewalls, hiding every trace of contact in niche websites.

Of a minimum of 8 foolproof exit schemes, 3 alternative modes of transportation, and a handful of disposable intel.

One can imagine what atrocities can be done with such a burdensome way of life.

Other kids within society do drugs and cheat on their public partners.

.......................

I use it to experience life. In the form of art.

From Jane Austen classics to modern-day Charles Bukowski, nothing else could provide me with a much-needed source of escapism better than a library.

Sigmund Freud's discussions tend to battle out with my current obsession with Studio Ghibli's hardbound prints. Yet I do notice Marvel and DC's endless war in pop culture is hot on the newsfeeds.

The horror section is my literal nightmare as I am an unfortunate scaredy cat. This is odd as I can handle Sandman yet I can't handle Stephen King. Such a flaw warms me up as a reminder that I am indeed human.

But in the DIY art section is my little piece of cultural heaven. It was my absolute guilty pleasure.

From handmade jewelry to crocheting pattern manuals, the art section is the equivalent of an addictive candy shop. Reason being that arts and crafts were our secret indulgence.

It pains me to admit my frail humanity. But my desire for art was originally ignited by Mithras.

.......................

He was a true visionary.

Even as a child, his charcoal skills rival that of educated adults.

Which has always intrigued me the most.

Why, of all mediums, must he be drawn to shadowy blurred-up charcoal?

Children always gear towards fantastical vibrancy of colors.

Yet he thrives and reign supreme in the unbending realities of charcoal.

"Because it's reality," he said. Yet the only time he ever used colors is in his portraits of me.

Curiosity desperately begs for immediate answers.

Leaning my paint-splattered cheek on his rolled-up sleeve, my unabashed eyes beg for his undivided attention.

That mischievous wolfish grin graced his sun-kissed face with a knowing head rub my way.

"Because you, Amaris, are my only dream."

.......................

Splash from the speeding Honda provided distortion of colors, like an acrylic explosion of emotions decided to be displayed in my side of the passenger window.

As if the vivid vibrancy of the night would equate to deafening contrasting noise.

Yet...

All I hear is static.

Deafening, mind-numbing static.

.......................

I hated the secrecy. This emotionally complex reciprocity is infuriating.

Yet Mithras insisted we know each other only by nicknames.

"It's for your safety, Amaris. Never forget, I'm always doing this for your sake. Your safety, above all us."

.......................

Even on our last encounter, I begged him to know his true name.

Yet he refused, for my so-called safety.

What kind of secrets does he have that would put me in danger?

I didn't understand because he lacked the empathy to want to communicate!

With unbridled burning fury, threatening to reveal my identity. The undeniable urge to break my treaty with him with the revelation of my true name was evident.

Feet firmly planted on the ground, filling my lungs with raging strength to rival his inexplicably stern implications of secrecy. Readying myself to risk whatever safety he was so determined to protect.

Mithras held me tight, desperate to soothe my fiery temper, with half-ass compromises.

Under the full moon, surrounded by lilies of the valley, I was finally silenced by the collision of his tender pleading peck on my stunned tear laced lips.

A wordless soul crushing plea to not tempt him to look for me after tonight.

Knowing my name would have him driven mad to know my whereabouts in the future.

Knowing who I am would make it impossible for him to let me go.

Emerald tears trickled down my cheeks, my last desperate plea to not let me go.

With a chaste forehead kiss, Mithras wiped my tear-stained cheeks and pulled me in a final agonizing embrace.

His charcoal fingers gripped the back of my ivory sweater, the other softly caressing the back of my ribbon-tied chestnut hair.

Cinnamon and vanilla filled my nose as I nuzzled deeper in his burgundy turtleneck sweater.

His silvery grey eyes were filled with conflict and fire that my desire to stay or pain from him unspoken reasons to go.

Tips of his raven hair brushed ever so slightly on my blushing cheeks and forehead as we savor the warm remnants of home we only feel in each other's arms.

Hoping and praying that time stands still in our midnight garden.

Unwillingly peeling each other off of our rose-colored fantasy, with hands intertwined and heads hung low, Mithras walked me back to Gran-gran's back gate entrance.

Under the willow tree, he handed me a final gift.

Lilies of the valley encapsulated in a resin keychain.

My doe eyes couldn't help but cry my little broken heart out.

"Please wait here!" I begged him.

Running as fast as my little feet can take me, I dashed up to my bedroom and made a mess looking for my unfinished present.

Wiping my messy tear stricken face, I hurried back outside only to be welcomed by the hooting owls above.

Mithras was gone.

Like a thief in the dead of night, he took my hopeful heart with him.

.......................

Filled with my first taste of volcanic rage, I fled towards our midnight garden.

Left my present in the hollow of our favorite wisteria tree.

Scavenging under the fleeting moonlight, clawing through the weeds for a flint rock.

Etched in the trunk, "from your Dream" and carved an arrow towards the hollow.

Hoping for a miracle that Mithras would get my heartfelt promise.

.......................

"Ms. Obsidian? Ms. Nikita? We've finally arrived at the airport"

Dante's worried expression was all I needed to bring me back to my well-curated life.

"Thank you for everything, Dante. Please expect a package from me within the week. I want to extend some big sister tips to dear Maurice. Send my love to her."

With a grateful nod, Dante went around and opened my car door to help me with my backpack.

.......................

Giving Dante a final hug, he wiped the single tear I didn't notice trail my left cheek.

"Ms. Garnet was right, you know? You should be open to letting someone in." Doing my best to give Dante a reassuring smile, my saddened eyes failed me terribly.

"That's asking a bit too much from me, don't you think? In case you haven't noticed, I tend to lack healthy role models in that department."

Strands of chestnut cover my low-hung face, Dante pulled me in a hug for the very last time.

"I am in no position to comment on that but what I can say is this. You can be your role model and head towards your happiness. Allow yourself the chance to experience the great things life has to offer. You are not a marionette, Nikita."

.......................

As we silently walked towards check-in, Dante ruffled my hair and said,

"Once love comes knocking on your doorstep, asking for your permission, would allow yourself to let it in?"