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Torture to Her Soul

Torture to Her Soul


Description : Torture to Her Soul

Secrets are a funny thing.

You keep them bottled up, hidden thoughts nobody else hears. It makes it hard for others to get close to you—for them to ever really know you—when you hold the deepest parts of yourself back, only letting people graze the surface.

But some secrets, I think, are better left unspoken.

Sometimes secrets have the power to kill. The power to destroy. We each hold nuclear weapons inside of us, our fingers always hovering over the buttons for detonation. Most of us press them. Some of us don't.

I wish I had that kind of restraint.

I envy those who keep everyone at an arm's distance.

I'm weak.

Too fucking weak.

I let her get too close to me.

I heard this saying once, long ago, that I've never forgotten: three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead. I've spilled many secrets in my life, secrets that always ended up with somebody dying. Sometimes because of me, and other times... well... because of me. I think about them when I lie in bed at night, see their faces when I close my eyes, relive the moments the buttons were pressed and everything around me imploded.

I'm a haunted man.

Darkness surrounds me.

Figuratively.

Literally.

It's dark.

It's that heavy sort of darkness, the kind you can feel when you breathe, the denseness filling your lungs and slowly suffocating you. There's no relief in this darkness… only more torture. Sweat coats my skin as the summer humidity clings to the air, making it hard to find a shred offort. I toss and turn, restless, in and out of sleep, losing seconds, minutes, hours...

Every time I look, the clock in the bedroom reads something different, the glowing red numbers taunting me.

11:43 pm

12:11 am

1:45 am

2:09 am

Rolling over onto my back, I squeeze...
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