Thursday, 13 February 2014

Kismet by AE Woodward BLOG TOUR

 *** Excerpt ***

Hearing murmurs coming from a corner of the room, I begin to stir. My eyelids are heavy, more than likely from all the drugs. All I ever do is sleep so I couldn't possibly be tired. In fact, I should be rested, but I’m not, for my sleep is never really restful. One horrifically painful memory, playing over and over again while I
sleep, isn’t exactly my idea of a good night’s rest.

The more awake I become, the more my curiosity grows, and the faster my heart begins to beat. The anxiety is slowly creeping in again. I do my best to control it, but instead I find myself taking quick shallow breaths. The feeling is all too familiar. I know myself well enough to know that I need to calm down. I’d done it before. In fact, at one point of my life, I’d been a professional at controlling my anxiety, and I know all the strategies to get myself under control. But those strategies I learned so long ago don’t do much for me anymore. In fact, they’re useless…powerless. Just a weak David pitched against an all-too-strong Goliath.

The gaping whole in my chest is just too much to overcome. They were the only things in my life that made sense, and their love for me was the only thing that kept me going. Without it, I wouldn't know how to go on living. Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, Michael had put me back together and Zoe had made me whole again, igniting something deep within me that I thought had been lost forever. I feel a tear prick my eyes. If I had known that morning would be the last time I’d hug her, I would have never let go.

Eventually, despite the urge to know what’s going on around me, I stop trying to open my eyes. Lying awake, with my eyes still closed, will have to suffice. I've

completely lost track of time. No one can talk to me about what happened because straight away I start losing it, and they have to drug me again. The two
people who loved me unconditionally, are gone. It’s bad enough that I have to relive it every day and night in my dreams, I don’t need someone talking to me about it in my consciousness.

It’s unbearable to hear about them, and the way they were taken from me. The words cut through my heart, slicing through all my hopes and dreams, and leaving cut up pieces behind. I can’t deal. I won’t deal. So instead, I scream to get them to stop.

Truth is, I already know what happened, all too well in fact. It’s something that I will never forget, no matter how badly I want to. I just don’t want them, or anyone for that matter, talking to me. I don’t want to think about it. To know that I finally got what was coming to me was punishment enough.

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