Page 131 of Reaching Avery
So, I told him what was on my mind.
“Know what I think?” His expression turned thoughtful, and all signs of the goofy Mav were gone. “You’re worrying so much about how the truth will be received that you’re giving yourself writer’s block. Stop thinking about anyone reading it and just write. The fear of being judged can hold people back. Throw all the writingdos and don’tsout the window and write how you feel.”
“Thanks,” I said, getting out of the chair and going over to him. He tilted his head, exposing his sexy Adam’s apple, and I kissed him. “You’re always surprising me.”
“Got to keep you on your toes,” he said, looking up at me with a lopsided grin. Only he could look so freaking handsomeandadorable at the same time.
Returning to the chair, I looked at the screen.
I needed to block everything out and just write my truth. I started a sentence before deleting it again. Then, something changed. Words began floating into my head, but they were more than mere words. They were my feelings—thoughts I’d never told anyone. Things I hated about myself and fears I’d never said aloud.
This is my circus. These are my demons.
By Avery Kinkead
Do you fear death? I don’t. I fear life.
You see… death is easy. You get to slip into darkness, and maybe there’s something waiting for you on the other side, and maybe there’s just nothingness. If the former is true, awesome. If not, well, it’s not like you’d notice anyway.
But life? That crap is hard.
Going out into the world and facing judging eyes and judging hearts makes me want to just barricade myself in my house sometimes. It’s hard to escape the pain—not just a physical one, but the kind that follows me everywhere I go.
The demons in my head. I’m their prisoner.
And the only way to release them is by surrendering to the mercy of the blade I keep hidden under the sink in the bathroom.
Crazy, right? Blocking out pain by causing more. That’s where it gets complicated, I guess. I don’t cut to feel pain.
I cut to know I’m still alive.
How I deal with my pain is by dissociating myself from the world—becoming numb to everything. When I can’t handle the pain anymore, it’s like I leave my body and become a shell of myself. Like I’m floating outside my body.
The only way to bring me back is by cutting.
A friend once told me he feels like his life is a carnival ride; that there are twists at every turn and how he becomes lost in the chaos sometimes.
I’m the opposite. My life is more like a white room: white walls, ceiling, and floor. I can walk for miles in the room and still not get anywhere. Surrounded by nothing. Because Iamnothing.
Or… I was.
I’m not saying love is a magic fix, because it’s not. But finding my own Beatrice has shown me things about myself I never saw before.
He came into my life, and the empty white room now has an open doorway, leading to a wondrous world beyond—one full of color, light, and warmth.
He is the light to my dark, the yin to my yang, and the one person who saw me when no one else did.
There are moments when the white room still tries to trap me inside, but then he appears in the doorway, smiling and holding out his hand.
And I take it, knowing that wherever he leads me is the place I want to be.
The words blurred as tears pooled in my eyes. One look at Maverick, and he was off the bed and pulling me against his chest. With each kiss he placed on my forehead, cheeks, mouth, the sadness in my gut uncoiled and my heart soared.
“I love you,” I said against his lips, staring into his eyes. “You’re everything right in my life. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to say it, but I love you, Mav, and—”
I was cut off with a kiss, one so full of passion that my toes curled.
The laptop was forgotten as I guided him toward the bed and gently pushed him on the mattress. I crawled on top of him, straddled his hips, and leaned down to capture his mouth again. We didn’t rush the kiss. Instead we took our time.
