"Do you even have limits?" I forced myself to glare half heartedly at her.

"Of course I have limits. I haven't completely lost control." My voice shook, but I'd be damned if I was going to let her see me break. "I don't do hard drugs or prescription pain killers. I don't do anything to land me in an emergency room. I calculate everything. It'd take a .33 BAC to kill me and 8 shots of my drink of choice to achieve that. I stay below that. It'd take 1400mgs to send me into a seizure or heart attack. It's 10 Excedrin to make it not worth it taking more. I calculate everything. I have limits."

She stared at me blankly then reached up to sweep the pad of her thumb across my face. she said my name and sounded so broken. A voice in the back of my head reminded me she was broken because I made her that way. I realized I was crying.

"Why are you so intent on killing yourself?"

The million dollar question. The one I'd been running from. A pained groan ripped through my throat. I didn't want to deal with this.

"I want to forget everyone I've lost. I can't stand being coherent around people, but I can't stand to be lonely. When I'm drunk or high I feel okay for once. I'm running from so many things, and if I die doing it it would be worth it. Nothing matters anymore. Maybe it never did, but once I was loved and could love. I had a family and dreams. What does it matter now? Noone would miss me."

Half way through my rant I noticed the air around us change. Electric, angry energy shot from her like arrows.

"It doesn't matter? What the fuck do you mean? You think this life here doesn't matter? All of the people who talk to you every day and hate the way you live doesn't matter? That I don't matter? I sit here and watch you die. I turn you on your side so you don't choke to death on your vomit. I pull blankets over you and hold you when you're shivering from starvation, and you think you're unloved? I would trade everyone I know to make you less depressed. If you die do you really think I won't?'

The look in her eyes told me she didn't mean to include that last part. Some things are a bit too raw to say aloud. I pulled her close to me and she sobbed into my coat. I wondered if she can hear my heart racing, so scared of the idea of taking her down with me.

"I'm willing to compromise. I'll give up excessive caffeine. I'll show you every cut and let you tend to them. I'll stop taking so many goddamn pills. Just please don't make me sober up. And please never leave."

She pulled away and sighed, pressing her forehead to mine.

"It's a start."

So, I'm writing in my room. I've hardly slept in 3 or 4 days. I'm shivering. I realize I'm writing a book, and for a moment I'm proud of myself. Then I realize that I haven't eaten all day and barely ate the day before that. This disturbs me so I get up and weigh myself, to find that I weigh 5 fewer pounds than I did 4 days ago. I wonder if I'm manic. I don't feel manic. I wonder if I'm losing it. Likely. I wonder if this is what being a starving artist is. Starving author? It's funny. I never considered myself to be good enough to deserve the title "Author" because I put out shitty ramblings like this. Now I am wringing so much that I'm sleeping less and my will to write has replaced my will to eat. I still feel like I don't deserve that title. If I don't feel like I deserve it now, will I ever deserve it? And are Real Authors this insecure? I know Franz Kafka would criticize himself and hardly pick up a pen for months. But he was good.

It had been a late night, and she'd been working on an essay for her final. She stretched, clawing the air and stood from the wooden chair at her kitchen table. She grabbed her keys, and she exited her apartment into the dark city. She soon became aware that she was being followed. As she made to turn her new shadow she was yanked into an alley by him. Straining to see his face, she saw he was indeed a man. And he was putting a handcuff on one of her wrists. "Hi. How is your evening?" She stood in shock. "What the fuck? Who are you? Let go of me!" He smiled and, in any other situation, it would have seemed polite. "I'm Sinclair. I'm kindly kidnapping you." Her confusion and shock grew. "Kindly kidnapping?" The man wordlessly revealed the other handcuff was on his wrist. "Yeah. I figured it's a better term than 'polite person snatching"' She became aware of her helpless situation all at once. She decided to make the best of it and at least figure out why this was going on, so she asked him. "Why are you doing this?" With his free hand, he adjusted his backpack strap. "I need friends, and no one in my neighborhood is friendly. I was thinking we could get some food. Maybe we could go to the Chinese restaurant nearby." Now she had questions, but first, she wanted to go home. "No. We're going to my house, and-" He interrupted her. "I thought you'd rather go somewhere public, you know, in case you think I'm a creep." She shook her head and began to pull him in the direction of her apartment. "Nope. I'd rather have home field advantage than be publicly attacked in a city where no one would stop you." He thought for a moment, trying to keep up with her as to not hurt his wrist. "I guess that makes sense. Hey, I never asked. What is your name?" She looked back at him as she got her keys out to open her door. "Sarah. It's Sarah." They moved into the living room, and stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. "May we sit? I've been on my feet all day." She looked at his worn tennis shoes. "Yeah. You said you wanted take out? Your buying." He smiled, thinking of her statement as an improvement. She thought of it as making the best out of a very bad situation. "Yes! Sure. Of course. Can I borrow your phone?" She handed her phone to him, and he dialed the number to the restaurant by memory. He placed an order. Quietly, he asked her for her address, a reassuring sign he hadn't been stalking her. When he hung up the phone, he took his laptop from his bag. "Do you like musicals" I have pretty much everything from the last 30 years." She paused. Hesitantly she replied, "Yeah. Do you have Hamilton?" As the doorbell rang, and they stood he replied: "Of course." She hid behind the door as he paid for the food. They sat and began to eat after he put on Hamilton."Do you like what I ordered? I didn't know what you wanted so I figured bourbon chicken and General Tso's chicken would be okay." She nodded, mouth full. When she was through with that bite she began her questions. "Why don't you have friends?" He looked at his food as if embarrassed. "I'm mentally ill. The inner-city hasn't been to nice to me because of it. People don't like my stimming, and lack of social skills, so I don't have friends." She looked at him with more curiosity. "Okay. That makes a little sense. You know what?" He tilted his head at her. "Because of you decent reason, I won't kick you out. You can't stalk me or anything though. That would be too much." He smiled at her widely. "I agree. So, can we be friends?" She appraised him carefully, measuring his intentions. She noted his ragged clothes and his tired eyes. "Yes. but I'm going to bed. I have classes in the morning. You don't have to leave because you don't look like you have a place to go. My room will be locked. I'll give you a blanket." He began to take his shoes off, thanked her, and padded to the kitchen to put up the food. She went to find an extra blanket. By the time she found it and returned he was already asleep on the couch. She laid the blanket on him and quietly wished him a goodnight.

I saw her today. This time it was in the face of a girl from Kentucky. I was at a speaking competition in D.C. My dumbass walked up to her after a speaking round and said "Who are you? Sorry, it's just that you look exactly like my dead ex." Brilliant. She took it well though. She smiled, and I swear she had the same expression as Lexi. I spent the afternoon with her. She saw me shaking and chugging energy drinks, and she got concerned, so she bought me lunch. We ate soup and a baguette together. She gave me her number and kissed me on the cheek at the end of the night before we went back to our separate hotels. I know I can never call her. I can't fall in love with the image of a dead girl. Not again. I'll think about her though. I'll think about how for those sweet moments I could pretend that I was with Lexi again. I could pretend my love wasn't buried, and that she was living on in the guise of a speaker from Kentucky.

My heart is feeling heavy

Your hand is on my arm

You try to keep me steady

And make sure I do no harm

I want to say I'm sorry

To tell you you're too late

The damage now is done

Tonight I meet my fate

Just take me to our bed

And know I will not wake

Please know I love you still

But there are things we cannot take

No water under bridges

No people on the roads

In the air, there's something heavy

Pouring concrete down our throats

Night comes to Mississippi

And it falls upon your eyes

You are bound to pull me under,

But I refuse to be surprised

So take me to the basement

At the bottom of your mind

And break me if you feel like

But if you kill me please be kind

I am a burning. A fire suffocating, but one good wind away from burning down the forest. I'm a quiver of a stranger's lip at the realization of tragedy. I am the feeling in the air before lightning, and I am the scorch that follows. I am survival. I am the darkness left behind when one does what it takes to survive. 

It's life or death now; I shouldn't meddle with her fate

My hand is forced though; I'll choose to save her or to break

I'm not attached though: A lie I whisper when she weeps

But if I'm honest, I hear her crying in my sleep

This isn't love; this is just an ultimatum

This isn't love, but can I really live without her?

And when she falls it feels like gravity pulls me

and when she starves I feel the hunger that she seeks

She's feeling lonely, so she comes limping back to me

With one word only, I'll watch her world fall at my feet

I see her breaking with brittle bones and ruined teeth

I'm not her savior: I'm not the one she wants to meet

This isn't love; this is just an ultimatum

This isn't love: soon I'll have to live without her

And when she dies I wash away my guiltless sin

And when she's gone I know there's nothing left within