Never Lose Hope.

criminal minds & josh groban.

[grett]

untitled by Dulcette on Flickr.

[asthentic]

[oneblackturtleneck]

I truly felt my blood boiling in the intense heat of the moment I was reading. She loved him. Or lusted after him at least.

[oneblackturtleneck]

I was all out energy to piece back the parts of me he broke.

[oneblackturtleneck]

His eyes raised. He looked at me. I mean, really looked at me. I felt my head fall in shame. “Look at me” he said calmly. I obliged. “What did you say your last day was, again?” He asked intently. “Friday,” I said, swallowing a lump in my throat.

[oneblackturtleneck]

His arms wrapped around my waist. I shrugged back away from his hands. How could he hold me and love what he felt?

[oneblackturtleneck]

What do you mean I can see you again? Did I need your permission? I said, jokingly. He got serious, his eyes softened but brows furrowed. “I don’t think I can wait for dinner, can we just go get lunch instead?” He asked. “Yes” I said, wondering where this was leading us.

[oneblackturtleneck]

I turned and saw him sitting at his desk. I delivered the papers to his secretary and left the room seething. If he would not give me the time of day then I would not give him one more thought.

[oneblackturtleneck]

“She’s so broken” I told him sadly. “Who?” He asked. I realized I couldn’t tell him.

[oneblackturtleneck]

I leaned back, sitting flush against the bookshelf behind me. I couldn’t believe my eyes. In my hands were some of the most fascinating words I had ever read. I did not think this was a book I could check out, it was a diary of sorts left by a patron to Middleton. I was not sure who left it—I did not see any indication yet. But I had to investigate further. I tucked it into my messenger bag and went to the counter with the remaining books I thought I needed for the paper.

[oneblackturtleneck]

I had to trust the timing of my life, she said weakly. If I had not been abroad I wouldn’t have met the truest love of my life, but I also would not have been tortured. It’s the dichotomy of life. I had my highest high before crashing into the pits of hell itself.

[oneblackturtleneck]

I opened the pages of the book and saw water soaked pages, not from water damage but what seemed to be from tears.

[oneblackturtleneck]

Opening:

Quiet “amazing grace” on cello that builds in strength and volume. Montage of swamp scenes, alligator scales close up, water, sunlight, dark hospital hallway, beeping machines, sirens for tornado warnings.

[oneblackturtleneck]

The night blanketed us in secrecy. It was just she and I left in this world. I tried to stay calm and focused on her words. I watched her lips. I avoided looking at her scarred wrists and thin frame. I continued to listen, even as she broke my heart, word after word.

[oneblackturtleneck]

I could see in her eyes that there was a world in her past that haunted her. I told her that, to which she responded coldly “not a world, a person. James Bray.”

[oneblackturtleneck]

I felt like time was running out as the darkness spread eternally through the halls of the office. There was a deafening noise pounding in our ears from the incessant winds beating against the walls of the office. We hoped the worst of the storm had passed over us. I didn’t hear the rain anymore, but that did not mean that we were safe yet. I held my knees to my chest and shut my eyes as tightly as I could. My blood felt cold even though the heat in the hall was thick and sickening. I did not want my mind taking me down a path I could not come back from.

You know how we are told about the concept of core memories? I knew that in this moment I was not only making one, but was about to take another person’s soul crushing core memory with me. I was terrified, but I knew I had to stay focused and listen and take her quiet words with me because she was not going to make it, and we both knew that I would.

[oneblackturtleneck]

I felt vulnerable and cold. The weather outside twisted and contorted the trees outside my window. The barren branches cast shadows on the wall of my small, Uptown bedroom. If I had not just looked at the clock, I would have sworn it was approaching nightfall. I pulled the sweater off the wall and pulled it around my body in an effort to ward off the unusual chill of our November air. My final paper of the semester was due in just two short weeks and I had all of a title on my page.

“Below the Line” was the name of my semesters research assignment. I had spent months researching the aftermath and government response to Hurricane Katrina. I had a special focus on the Lower Ninth Ward, a predominantly impoverished area of New Orleans that was flooded as a result of the 2005 storm.