“Is any of it fiction in this one?” He tilts his head with a knowing smile.
“The plot,” I respond.
“But the feelings are yours,” he points out.
“Aren’t writers the owners of all the emotions they write as creators of them?”
“I think so. Will you show me the photographs you’re using for your current work?”
“Yes.” I stand to find my phone and settle back on the couch, opening the images. Bodies touching, I begin to show him all the pictures. A sensation builds like a buzzing over my skin with the feel of his body brushing against mine with the tiniest movement.
We talk about the views, the rocks, and the energy that swirled when I visited this site. Matthias gets it. He doesn’t laugh or scrutinize me when I talk about something otherworldly, he adds to it and brings his own insight and thoughts. Talking to Matthias is a luxury I don’t have with just anyone I meet. Being this open with someone is something I only ever wished for upon shooting stars.
My idea of relationships has been jaded for a long time. I never really opened up to anyone completely. Not enough for them to see the real me. I’m a chameleon in a way. I camouflage just like the animal I’m terrified of. Oh, the irony of life. It’d always been easier to merge and transform to be like others than deal with the fall of being myself. How fucked up is that?
I never fully understood who I was in order to make someone else understand. All I knew was that I had weird thoughts at times, a different understanding of the world. I started learning there are other people who view life like me. Those are the people I found and held on to.
Now I know myself, but I didn’t always. Before, I was kind of lost and morphing from one person to another, shedding each skin as I transformed. From certain clothes to jewelry, I focused on the superficial. I would stop writing poetry when I met a guy. Never confess the parts of me that were in pain. Instead, I’d smile. A temporary fix to my fissured heart. They couldn’t fix what was broken long before.
I talk about them as if there were so many men in my life. There haven’t been. Not serious ones at least. One boyfriend was serious, and he was my last real relationship. Many years ago. Yet, we didn’t stop when our hearts did. We drove ourselves into a grave of disappointments.
I used to have sex with my ex-boyfriend in a car, hidden in the shadows of parking lots. We had already broken up, but I wanted any chance to be with him. It was dirty and shameful. I didn’t feel good about it afterward, but he held on to my soul, the false pretense that he cared about me. Because why would he still want my body if he didn’t want my heart?
Naïve, naïve girl.
I hated myself so much afterward. It was years that I held back. I lost a bit of myself more each time I’d meet him for our secret rendezvous. He’s no longer a happy memory of young love. We destroyed that when we used each other for different reasons.
Then there were a few others. I got lost in them. I don’t remember their names, just how their bodies felt. They are nameless faces I used to prove that one man didn’t control me. He did. For a long time. But I was determined to prove he didn’t. I allowed men I didn’t care for to bury inside of me in hopes one would make me forget. I ruined friendships over it. Good friendships. Deliberately. It wasn’t my best time. Too much alcohol, some drugs, no regard for other people’s hearts. I barely cared about my own.
When I used to think of what I’d tell people about myself, about my relationship status, I’d blank. I hated people for asking. What was I supposed to say? I have a fear of commitment that won’t allow me to move forward. That I was stuck on my ex-boyfriend for ten years, unable to move on. Giving him everything he wanted of me just to keep a connection. A dying hope that he’d see me again once more as the woman he loved. Then, when I was ready to break the connection, he wouldn’t allow me. I trained him that way. He held on in any way, snaking his way into my life, reminding me of how good we were together. A snake. That’s what he was. But he wasn’t always all bad. And I held on to that idea. It’s really not fair to make him the villain in my story. I pushed for it. I pulled him in and held on tight. We were drama induced people, unable to let go of our first love.
I would lie to myself that I was afraid of committing when in reality I was determined to burning myself with the body of a man that tore his heart away from me.
It took years to break away, down to blocking him physically from my life. His phone numbers, messages. I wanted my freedom. I wanted my right to heal myself. I couldn’t do that with him because it was always easier to escape in his body than to be happy in my own skin.
The darkness of a car never shone a light on my secrets. His hands could brush away, for a quick second, my confusion.
But when doors opened, and lights shone, I’d feel worse than before, adding a layer of his body to the already growing hatred I had for myself.
The day I finally released him is a day I’ll always remember. To no longer feel the need to hide in someone was a freedom I was grateful for. It was time for me to make myself a priority. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to begin healing, but I’d take it little by little.
I never wanted to fall into that cycle again, so I stayed away from dating. Only one other man took my time after him, but I never gave him my body. He had to prove he was worthy of it. And he didn’t.
I wouldn’t allow just anyone’s hands to land on my body anymore. This time, I’d make the choice out of love, not out of manipulation to keep a man by my side.
I worry I’ll fall into that with Matthias. It’s a part of me I’m still working on. The fear of abandonment greater than the fear of losing myself again.
I shut my eyes tightly, shaking away memories. With him, I have a choice. With him, I make the decision.
My stomach contracts. The confusion grows wilder as I try to find a balance between what happened and what I felt in the past. I fell victim to someone else’s victimization. He didn’t know any better. He was just acting on what was taught to him. We were kids that had fallen into the burning hands of twisted adults.
I bite down my lips and suck in ragged breaths as tears blur my vision of nothing in particular. My body coils in, hiding from the past as if it would lash out and burn me.
We were just kids.
I feel the pain of others more than my own, the pain of those who were truly abused. Yet, the thought of someone’s hands on me right now is unwelcome. I need to work through this.
The rain has been pelting the windows all day. I want to get out. This Easter holiday has interrupted my work since everyone is on holiday mode. I’ve seen Matthias a few times since our trip to the Tor the other day. Today he’s with his family, and I am here working through my emotions so I can give us a real chance. No running. No hiding. Just Navia.
The book he was reading is still face down on the table, in case he comes back and wants to continue reading it. I walk to the bookshelf, grabbing the pink quartz and one of my journals. I’ll take Matthias’s advice and remove expectations and write what I’m holding in.
Sitting on the floor, using the coffee table as a surface to write on, I place the quartz next to me and open the journal to a blank page, adding the date and working book title.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply allowing the words to carry from my heart through my arm into the paper.
My body jolts and I peel my eyes open. My head rests on my arms on the coffee table. The journal under me creating an uncomfortable pillow. I hear the second knock. Lifting my head, I rub my eyes and lick my lips. I check the time on my phone. Six-thirty. I must’ve fallen asleep at some point while writing. I look at the pages of the journal and see my messy cursive scrawled on the three pages I have written. That’s better than what I’ve written lately on my laptop.
Another knock echoes inside my apartment. I stand, knees cracking and stiff, and stretch my arms over my head. I walk to the door and look through the peephole to find Matthias standing on the other side.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I open the door.
“I called, but you didn’t answer, so I stopped by. I wanted to see you.” I open the door wider, allowing him access into my home. “Were you sleeping?” he laughs.
“Yes, why?”
“Your face is creased.” He runs a finger down my face where I’m sure lines are marking my skin. Proof from the pages in my journal.
“Come in.” I walk in, him closing the door behind us. “I’ll be right back.” I leave him in the living room and go to the bathroom. I observe the marks on my face and shake my head. I wash my face and brush my teeth, waking myself up.
When I walk back into the living room, Matthias has the book in his hands. I sit next to him, peeking at the page he’s on.
“Why did you write her as a prostitute?” he asks.
I move to the side a bit to look at him clearly. “Revenge. It was the only way she felt she could control the other gender. That and self-worth. Or lack thereof. All she felt she was good for was her body. It was all control and manipulation.”
He nods. “Were you writing?”
“Yeah. Before I fell asleep. I haven’t read what I wrote, but I took your advice to remove my mind and let it all out.”
“Good.”
“How was lunch with your family?” I shift on the sofa.
“It was nice. The weather could be better.”
“I like this kind of weather.” I lean back on the couch. Matthias puts the book back down and puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to him.
“Tell me about your family,” he whispers into my hair.
My body tenses. “You know about my parents and my brother. He’s married and still living in Miami. I have a lot of cousins. I talk to some and not to others unless we’re in the same room for family events. Just how life has led us. Some of my family is more conservative and closed-minded. My dad’s intuitive, but I think he tries to block it most times. As if he doesn’t want to know everything. I get it. I used to be like that. What I don’t know can’t hurt me. Truth is, everything comes to light eventually. Secrets can only lie dormant for so long.” Nothing I’m saying makes sense. It’s jumbled facts.
“How about your grandparents?”
“They’ve all passed. I loved my paternal grandfather. He was my person, but he passed when I was young. I was five, I think. It took a toll on me. I have abandonment issues from not processing his death.” I swallow back the emotions bubbling at the base of my throat.
“Someone I worked with not too long ago pointed out that his loss hindered my sense of security and a male figure, despite having a great relationship with my father. It made sense when she said it. Things happened after that. I can see how I could’ve been left vulnerable without him in my life. I didn’t even see him often, as he lived in Spain, but I loved him. He was a hard man, but I’m also a hard person. We understood each other. It’s hard to lose someone like that as a young child and not fully understand it.”
“It is difficult to lose someone you love,” he agrees.
“What about you? Are you grandparents still alive?”
“My maternal grandmother is. She’s a strong woman. I’m very close to her. In my thirty-five years, she’s the one person who has let me go my way. Let me do what I needed to do,” he shares.
“That’s good. And your parents?”
“We get along. We didn’t always, but we do now.” I nod in understanding. “What can I say? I’m a bit of a rebel,” he chuckles.
“Me, too.” A smile lands on my face, and I place my head on his shoulder. “What’s your last name?”
“Taylor,” he doesn’t hesitate to answer. I can’t believe I hadn’t asked before.
His energy vibrates with mine as they mingle. My skins pebbles with him near. My soul expands. I feel an unknown sensation, yet Matthias is familiar. He doesn’t feel like a stranger I met a few weeks ago. Seeing him in the flesh is like reuniting with a childhood friend that knows all your secrets and loves you anyway. It’s like picking up after years of no communication and realizing it’s as if no time has passed. What is time in the grand scheme of things? Barriers placed by the human mind to create limitations and deadlines. When it comes to the soul, time is limitless. Time is irrelevant.
His hand runs up and down my arm, causing me to shiver against his side. The contact moves through my entire body, awakening parts I’ve been too afraid to delve into. How will it feel to have his hands on my body after accepting that I wasn’t always touched appropriately? No one has touched me since I’ve stopped lying to myself.
I tremble internally. Sometimes, I wish I was still lying.
I stand by the entrance of Chalice Well as I wait for Matthias to arrive. I called him this morning and asked if he wanted to come with me. It’s a nice day, and I wanted to be outdoors. No restrictions keeping me encased. I want to wander and breathe in nature. Get my feet soaked on grounding soil. Live amongst the history that stands as our foundation. When we see it in person, right up in our faces, it’s mesmerizing. How far we’ve come as humanity in some aspects and how much we’ve regressed in others.
I smile as I see Matthias approaching.
“About time you arrived,” I tease.
“Sorry.” He tilts his head to kiss me. “Are you ready?” One of his hands grabs one of mine and his other reaches for his back pocket. I place my free hand on his forearm.
“I already paid.”
“Why?” His lips turn down.
“I wanted to,” I shrug.
“Sneaky.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
As soon as we walk in, I leave behind the laden memories that have turned predatory since I met Matthias. Threatening my sanity but pushing my resolve to heal. One day I’ll look back, and the overbearing weight will seem minuscule. My strength will be my focus as I realize I can handle more than I thought. I’ll get there, I know that. Right now, I need to feel this.
We walk on a stone path with plants on either side of us until we reach the waterfall, the area covered in lush green plants and layered stones. The sound of rushing water fills my ears, and the undercurrent of sadness leaves me for a while as I become present in this space.
“This is beautiful.” I look around, a few other people in this section with us.
“Peaceful,” Matthias confirms.
We wander around, visiting the different areas. Standing in front of the wellhead, I stare at the wood and iron cover. The space here is small, a built-in circular bench made of stone rounding the wellhead. A few people are sitting around, some silent while others chat quietly.
“What is the meaning of the symbol?” I ask Matthias as we sit on the stone bench. The two overlapping circles must be significant as they’re spread throughout here.
“Vesica Piscis. The polarities of the feminine and masculine and perfect creation of our being, which would be the center where both circles unite. It’s also a symbol for twin flames.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that, although I can see the femininity tied to this. “And the stick in the middle.”
Matthias smirks. “King Arthur’s sword.”
“Cool.” I look at the symbol as people take photos near it.
That’s how the union of two people should be—sacred, like the symbolism of these circles. That is what I want. No more hiding behind meaningless encounters and quivering in the dark of night because I am too consumed by the ugly words I spat at myself.
I’ve worked too hard to get to this space, where I can breathe in peace and exhale negative thoughts that try to conquer me. For a long time, I’ve kept to myself. I’ve been a hermit, taking time for introspection. It’s necessary at times. I need to forgive myself as much as I do others, maybe more.
It’s weird. I feel like I don’t need to tell Matthias what led me here, about my choices. It’s as if, in essence, he knows my flaws and accepts them. He won’t pretend to give me a sanctimonious lecture about right and wrong. He has flaws, too.
We had rough roads to get here, but we arrived at the same time, which is rare.
For that, I’m grateful.
With him, things are different. I connect to him in a way I’ve never connected to another human. Of course, the reason for that is what creates this union between us so significant.
Warm lips touch the top of my hand.
“Are you ready to see another part?”
“Yeah.” I stand with him and we make our way to another section of Chalice Well. “Don’t let go.”
“Never.” His hand tightens around mine to reassure me.
We sit on cushions on the floor in my living room, using the coffee table as a dining table, and open the containers holding our Indian food. We spent the rest of the day wandering the town, stopping in shops where I bought more crystals to use in my sessions while working with others.
Now, with the moon shining outside, we eat with the television playing in the background.
“I loved this series when I was a boy.”
I look at the show playing, unfamiliar to me. “What were you like as a boy?” The curiosity of a young, rebellious Matthias seeps through me. I bet he was mischievous. His chuckle confirms my assumption.
“Terrible. I was definitely the kind of child to push boundaries. My poor mother. I loved to be outdoors, get lost. After a few times, she stopped worrying something had happened to me.” He looks down, sadness etched on his face.
“Hey.” I reach for his hand under the table. “What happened?” I speak softly.
“She should’ve worried.”
“Matthias,” his name is sweet on my lips. He shakes his head. “Come on.” I get to my feet, tugging his arm. He’s slow to stand.
I guide us out to my balcony. It’s colder than I thought and I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my sweater before gripping the ornate, metal railing. Matthias stands behind me, his heat wrapping me up like a wool blanket on a freezing, winter night.
“When I feel off balance, I like to stand under the night sky and stare at the stars. They’ve always been the one thing to bring me complete peace.”
All My Truths & One Lie Page 6
