*WARNING : Contains Mature and Explicit Content
"You sure you know what you're getting yourself into bambi?"
"No. But I can't wait until I find out."
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Life is a series of coincidences thrown at us by the universe. What happens after is completely d...
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TW | violence
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ONE OF THE INDIVIDUAL light fixtures resting above the bathroom mirrors flickered faintly, the life of it slowly dying out. The brightness of the room overall wasn't that intense to begin with but it was just assisting in pointing out the obvious fault. You would think that with it being a new club's opening night all the lights in the bathroom would be working and yet here it was, the something that goes wrong in seemingly perfect situations. The rogue pawn forcing itself to lose the match The killjoy of an experience. The rope hanging on by a thread.
My fingers curled over and gripped at the edges on either side of the sink, my knuckles blurring to a faint white at the pressure. I gazed down at the white bowl in front of me, my body pushed forward slightly while I focused on the leftover water resting inside of it from when I had splashed some onto my face upon first walking in here. The remnants of my calming tactics dripped slowly from the faucet, each droplet taking at least ten seconds in between each other before the next. I had been counting silently in my head to try and distract myself.
Sometimes my attention to detail was a positive thing, but not always.
In a fatal attempt to control my breathing I shut my eyes tightly trying to close off any possibilities for my mind to get the best of me.
"Just focus on breathing," I whispered through quiet speech to myself, though it always came out more mumbled than anything.
It shouldn't have to be this hard. It should be easier right? After all this time? After three years, I should be able to control this and not give it the power to affect me as much as it does. Although it seems that no matter how hard I do try, it's always there just two steps behind me, ready to drain me of any progress I've made.
There were times when the urges were less intense– where the urges could be easily subsided with a quick splash of water to my face or by smoking an entire pack of cigarettes. But tonight it was like my nerves were working on hyper-speed, scratching away at me from the inside out.
A recovering alcoholic inside of a club surrounded by its only temptation. How ironic.
The pressure emitting from how tightly my eyes were shut was released once I opened them, looking straight into the mirror once again. Dark circles surrounded them, and a dull hue was etched on the inside. I knew it was from lack of sleep–another thing to add to my list of problems. I took another deep breath in but it was like an activation for it to become uneven. The skin on top of my knuckles became even whiter and if I really had the desire to, I felt as if I could break it. I bring one of my hands up to run it through my hair quickly and wipe the outside of my mouth with my thumb and forefinger.
