Chocolat Chaud

put the gun down

except he didn't say it like that

it was more like

put... the gun... down.

the words were like that hot chocolate mum bought me in France when i was little. comforting and commanding all at once. very grown up

i wanted to sink into a bath of that chocolate, and i could sink into that tone, too. a firm hug. a welcoming hammock to catch me

my hand trembles. i remember im holding a gun. it feels heavy, all of a sudden, in my hand. wait. why am i holding a gun?

i want to give myself a little shake. as if that's all it would take to clear the fog. but i can't, because I'm holding a gun, and it's heavy, and what if it goes off?

but why am i holding it if i don't want it to go off?

...down.

i can't remember. i must remember. that's very important. it must be important. otherwise i wouldn't be holding one

i can see the man with red on his shirt. dark red telling tales of a hole in his skin, a bullet in his body. i'm not sure if I'm really seeing it, if it's a thing that's really happening, or if it's Intrusive Thoughts again. something that's going to happen, maybe. the bad thing in the future. how can i tell? was there a bang? but i can see it, i can see the wound, it's harsh and ugly and it looks real. it looks real scary. but I didn't hear a bang?

if the blood and pain aren't real, maybe the gun isn't real either? but i can feel it. it feels thick and oily in my hand. and heavy. unreal things don't feel this heavy. i put my other hand on it, and the room flinches, and i flinch, too, and everyone gasps, (oh) and oh it's like the pressure building to an orgasm

i feel naked in front of all these people

normal people

pub lunch on a Sunday afternoon with the Labrador people

i need him to talk again in that velvety chocolate voice. please. because then I can hold on to it and follow the thread of it to a place where I feel safe and calm and things make sense. it's like a rope, thick and scratchy in my hands, and i am Theseus

is it a rope, or a gun?

i don't like all these people here. there's people after me, isn't there? that's why i got scared. that's why the gun. i don't think it's these people, but it could be. how would i know? i can't. they could be hiding here, mixed in with ordinary people...

...in this nice pub, family business with a thatched roof, dogs welcome, horse brasses over the fireplace... those kind of people

there's too many of them. it would be better if they all left, but i don't want them to move, NOBODY MOVE!

...people who combed their hair and pressed a shirt and shook hands with their brother in law and have nice, neat, normal lives...

i want that. i do. i want normal. but can't have it. and i don't trust it

it doesn't help they're all staring. at me. it makes it hard to think. i can feel them looking and breathing, and looking and breathing... pushing on me, pushing, pushing

i think i flinch. because i want to put my hands on my head. on my ears. block out the silent sound of them all looking (looking) LOOKING at me... all those eyes and all that breath, pressing on me from every side, piling up on me. too much, too much

but i can't because my hands are on a gun, yes the gun, this gun, and i have to hold it steady because it might go off. maybe it did already. i haven't figured it out yet

there's too many of them all around me. i can feel them all pulled tight between wanting to back away, run away, yes, go somewhere safe, don't be here when it goes BANG... and wanting to stay. glue their greedy eyes to the scene, lap at it with wagging tongues so they can parcel out pieces of it later...

you don't want to do this...

he's right, i don't. the pressure is huge and confusing and i just want to be small. run away, disappear. but he's wrong, because if I don't want to do this then why am I here, holding this thing (so heavy), how did I get here?

i think i want to be pointing the gun but not shooting it. that's it. but now i've got it in my hands, it feels like a coiled snake ready to bite.

that bath, so inviting, all I have to do is step into it... it will wash around me, hide me, keep me safe, hold me tight, hold me steady, hold me back...

stop me. make me not be doing this

there was a bang, i remember now. and a scream. was it me? i pull at the threads of what's real, trying to untangle it

the wailing sirens stop, and the bath-voice is telling me it's fine, it's fine, everything's fine, it's just doctors coming to treat that man's injury...

but there's a razor blade in the bath

HE'S LYING

i shout it at him, i shout: YOU'RE LYING

i shout because I want my voice to be a knife and cut through to what's true

i know he's lying and I have to hold on to that knowing with a death grip, and that makes my voice a loud bite, a sharp bark

he's lying because i can hear the clatter of too many doors for one ambulance. yes that makes sense, that's a thing i know, i worked it out

it's a true real thing, don't let it get away

and I can hear the clatter of crosshairs too. all zeroing in on me, and I have to do something

panic rising

pushing

pressing

so close

he's speaking again. more lies probably. i want to shout over him again, tell him to SHUT UP. but i can't because someone is crying. it's distracting. my face is wet. he's weaving that hammock around me, so soft, so gentle, and so solid, too. i can bounce off it. in a world of mist and mush, that voice is REAL, even if he's lying, the promise of things being real and making sense sings to me... sings to me that this is safe, I can just-

GOT HIM

where's my snake rope gun?

their fingers pinch and I feel like a bruise. everything is too dark and too bright at the same time. they're taking me, and now i remember who was after me. the needles, the hurting. they're experimenting on me, they're hurting me, and i so nearly got away...

the engine is rumbling, the wheels turn, the voices are all too loud

the voice, the bath, the hammock. the hot chocolate in france. clink clink of tiny cups on a cobbled street in the bright and innocent smiling sunshine... this. this is all i want. i hold the memory very tight. it cracks and i am trying to put the shards back together with red slippery fingers. they're shouting now. shouting and getting quieter. and I feel like a sigh