vermillion

part two of two (a continuation of oxblood): there are two sides to every story sensitive subjects: suicide, abuse

Sometimes, I fantasize about telling him that this is the last time, the last walk. That in the morning, I will be gone, whether by suicide or by fleeing. I fantasize that he will cry, ask me to stay, pledge to start anew--but I know none of those would happen, for he has & always will see me as an abuser. Someone that I drew in, like a cigarette drag, & puffed out when all was done.

I think tomorrow, I may finally tell him. I think tomorrow, I will phone my mother. & I think tomorrow, I will disappear.

Or perhaps, it’s all just a fantasy, for the vermillion haze has blanketed my vision, foggy like cataracts, & drapes light in darkness everywhere I look. Like a cornea-burn from staring at the sun a little too long, it will always inflict

& blind me.

· · ·

I met her in a back alley across town. She stalked & found me vulnerable in the chilled aisles of a local grocer, staring mindlessly at an empty shelf of sprinkled coffee grounds & loose barcodes. The moment I looked at her, I felt a deep knavery from within--I was empathetic. She lured me close to the crumbling bricks on the side of a mill, between a dumpster & damp boxes.

I heard her but I did not listen. When I tried to listen, I could not hear her. She told me a grim tale, a master plan, that I did not want to be a part of, so I blocked her out. I looked each & every way, avoiding her low face, breathing slowly to stabilize my heart rate. At some indiscernible point, I snuck under her pleading gaze & ran away, leaving my forgotten groceries to rot by the dumpster. I would soon leave my soul to rot there, too.

I laid in bed that night, scratchy sheets pulled up over my chin. I was semi-sweating, half shivering from the chill. I hummed a lullaby until I was almost asleep, only to be jolted awake by the choppy, one-sided conversation filled with doom. It flowed in & out of my consciousness like a siren’s song, lips pressed close to my ear:

“I would like you,

to do this favor for me. 

It involves some…

talent.”

I staggered awake again, disturbed once more by the whispers. I sat up slowly in bed, & leaned my head back against my knotted wooden headboard. As a reflex, I opened the nightstand drawer, pulling harder when it caught on a crack. I grabbed a small metal frame & turned it over in my palm. I did not have to look at it to see it--the smiling face of my once-mother, our rosy cheeks pressed against each other. 

“You will see her again. 

Help me,

 help you. This is,

your destiny.”

· · ·

I was always told by my father that I had a sort of fire in my heart that attracted twilight beings--those that needed a ladder to the light. I am & always was a stepping stone to a greater cause, a bigger plan. I had feeble bones, those that monsters would crunch on, leaving me in agony but leading them on. I was submissive. I knew this at a young age when my parents would use me as a scapegoat for their mishaps, alleviating the guilt of the other. I started to see the vermillion haze at that time, clouding my judgement & my path in life. I chose the wrong doors, the wrong people, the wrong emotions. I watched my mother leave, without a glance back at me.

I then became my father’s focus of attention. Now I was bruised & battered, still blamed for the wrongdoings of others. I sunk into a pit of wretchedness & dashed hopes, growing a new skin that lacked the same shine. These reasons of mine are not justifiable for what I have done, so I repent. 

I met her in the same back alley to sell my soul. I do not remember how this happened, for I was blind with vermillion haze.

· · ·

I sought him out a few days before I made a move. I found him sitting on a stone wall, bright, crimson lips, puffing out angelic smoke. He was with a few others, corners of his mouth curved, showing some teeth to huff out a coughed laugh. I wanted to know him, but I was to include myself while also removing myself. I had to be the ladder, but not climb up. I knew this all too well. 

He was hunched, lanky, but proper. He had a craned neck like an ostrich, but held high like a peacock. He had dark feathers that he did not show anyone, I could tell this much. He had depth. I was to not

climb in.

· · ·

I stared at myself in my smeared mirror a few nights later, wiping the dried blood from my broken nose. I had put on a sheer blouse, but it was ruined. I sobbed as I threw it on the floor, crumbling it up like a piece of unwanted paper. I shouldn’t have tried so hard, anyways. I was to involve, but remove. Involve, but remove. Involve, but remove.

It was murky inside. I found him leaning up against a soiled, wet bar, covered in sticky residue & peanut shells. His elbows perched up on the ledge, pursed lips against the tip of a bottle--I could tell it had been empty for hours.

The lights were dim, with a slight flicker, & the music was loud. Everything pulsated together: the lights, the sound, my heart, his glance. I walked towards the bar, eyes down low, footsteps sloppy. I hid my face between my choppy hair and pointed chin, taking my fuzzy bodyweight & leaning over the bar. I held up a gentle finger, paired with a quick nod, then turned towards him. I opened the gate. I held up one stagnant hand, leaving behind the wave, & he returned the favor. 

It began.

· · ·

We spent many inseparable months together, just as I was asked. But I had a secret, 

I was in love.

I had never felt acceptance before then. I peered over the edge of his depth, restraining myself from climbing in, but I could hear this echo with each moment we spent together. This taunting voice was telling me to climb down & discover the treasure that lies beneath. I restrained myself, over & over, but with each shared glance, each hand brush, each candle lit, I felt myself slowly peering too far, until one day, I fell in. If you stare into the abyss too long, it eventually stares back. 

This was not the plan. 

I began to spiral & stall, avoiding the deal. I crept around corners, hoping she wouldn’t seek me out. I spoke of running away together, chasing our dreams, chasing our destiny--our destiny, oh our

destiny.

Until one night, she found me.

Small & frail, but she was a mighty force. She threw me against the brick wall of the back alley, splitting skin at my temple. She made my nose bleed like my father did. I screamed, 

I can’t do it! & she hit me harder. 

I love him! I cried, & she stopped. 

She looked at me, with a slow-burning soul.

“Don’t you understand? I do, too. He is my boy.” she huffed. I stared at her, wincing, clenching my bruised chest. 

Why would you do this to someone you love--your own son! I finally choked.

“Because we need to rid the world of a monster & my son needs to learn how to live without me. He needs to feel pain, grief, & suffering. He can no longer walk this earth unscathed. I am his mother, 

I know best.”

I watched her walk away, head down low, & I found myself wondering if she saw the vermillion haze, too.

· · ·

Caught in the heat of a sticky, humid electronica oasis, I was unapologetically me. Hair frizzy, eyelids greasy, my glitter shadow trickled down to my cheeks. I moved to the music, raising my hands up over my head, bending my knees, & fluttering my fingers in front of my face. My smile beamed, my eyes were daggers. I point over to him in the corner. Arms folded, he looked at the space around him, befuddled brow, me? he pointed to his chest. You, yes, you! I nodded slowly, smile blooming & eyes glistening. I trotted over to him, pushing bodies out of the way, & put out my hand, palm facing down, limp fingers, pushing my chin back over my shoulder. He grabbed it, reluctantly, & I grasped, quick enough so he couldn't change his mind--hard enough, so he couldn’t let go. I dragged him on the dance floor & pulled him close. I could smell a combination of clary sage, cedarwood, & cigarettes. I looked up at his inkwell eyes with tiger stone sheen. They terrified me. I closed my own & fell back into my groove, a smile rising back to my face.  

Sweat droplets fell from my scalp down my forehead & I tasted it on my lips. I licked off the salty syrup & opened my eyes to find him dancing--unapologetically himself. Smile wide, showing his crooked teeth, sweat stains sunken deep into his cotton t-shirt. I had never seen him so alive. The night before, we sat knee to knee, facing one another, cross legged. I told him of “my” machination--some truths, some lies. He wept, he couldn’t fathom it, but he had seen his mother’s suffering with his own eyes. & then I realized, he, too, was a ladder. He, too, was a stepping stone. As I was being used, I was in turn using, & it felt completely horrible. I made myself purge all of the food in my stomach, I didn’t want to feel alive. I thought about climbing to the top of the mill & flying. I could just end it all.  

But here we were, the happiest we had ever been, just hours before the slaughter. For once, I couldn’t see the vermillion haze that clouded my vision. I could only see the glow of his smile, beaming ear to ear, reaching out a hand to welcome me. I stepped through.

· · ·

She told me that if I did this, I could see my mother again. That she had found her a few hours outside of town, & that she told her of her own master plan. She said my mother agreed & would be willing to reconnect if I went through with the task. If it meant losing my father, the Ox, I would do it. But in the process, I found it meant possibly losing him--then I wasn’t so sure. As we crept through the house, gleaming knife in his hand, I could see the cold fright on his face. It felt like it’s own being, it’s own presence in the room. I wanted to grab his knife & stab myself--anything to get me out of this situation. But I needed to remain collected, for afterall, this was supposed to be my idea--what I wanted. But right now, I wasn’t so sure anymore. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to see my mother. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to murder my father. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted him to hate me. Before I could say stop, he had already turned savage. He had fulfilled our “destiny.” My heart crumbled to the floor as I saw the man he once was rise up like a phantom soul leaving his body.

· · ·

It turns out, my father was right. I have a sort of fire in my heart that attracted twilight beings--those that needed a ladder to the light. I am & always will be a stepping stone to a greater cause, a bigger plan. I have feeble bones, those that monsters would crunch on, leaving me in agony but leading them on. I was submissive. 

We left town right after, just as his mother had planned, & she never returned my calls. She never followed through--I never found my mother. She may have lied, she may have not. I am unsure, to this day, of what she wanted. I’m not sure who or what was out to get her, what nightmare she was living, or why she had to choose me. Or why she had to involve him.

· · ·

I walk to the garden, & I can tell with each night, he is letting go. He is letting go of me. I want to ask him, Do you still feel it? Do you still remember? But instead, he asks me,

“Do you remember when we first met? At the club? So many years ago? 

Do you think we could ever go back there? Start over?”

I want to scream, I want to fall into his arms & tell him everything. But, I can’t bring myself to it, I am a coward. I cannot fathom the thought of him knowing his mother was dark, when he cherished her for his entire life. I cannot let him know he did this for nothing. 

I respond,

No. We have chosen this path. The blood is on our hands.

& I die a little more inside.

I know that if I ask him how he feels, he will say it’s gone. But I bite my tongue, for he is all I have left, even if he resents me. 

· · ·

Every night, after our walk, I stay behind until his shadow has faded. I fall to my knees, amongst the grass, & scream out into the melting sky, dripping into the rising sun in shades of marigold & tangerine. I let the world know that I repent, that I am here, with open arms, asking for my pain to go away, by whatever means possible. I do not want to live a life like this. My face, sopping wet. My eyes, blurry with fog. Ever since that night, ever since we all lost, it’s blanketed my vision, foggy like cataracts. I look down at my knees amidst the grass, & there’s vermillion haze blinding me. 

I rub my eyes, close them, then open again--but it’s still there. Then I hear him, the footsteps.

I look over my shoulder, blurred vision, shaky hands. He is looking at me with worry, a face I haven’t seen in so long.

“I know,” he says, “I know.” & falls to the ground with me.

Author's Note

please let me know what you think about this piece, I am open to all critiques and questions! please note that this is part two of my first short story, oxblood.