DISCLAIMER: I own the idea, not the characters ^_^

Helen's POV, Kinda dark

How many metaphors are there for life? Too many if you ask me…I have used all of them.

For life, for love, for friends and family, for myself.

So, if everything is like something else, then what happens when the words disappear?

What do you do?

Do you just stay quiet? Find a thesaurus and struggle to continue?

None of the above. You learn to enjoy the silence, the deadly stillness, the utter lack of noise…the lack of really living.

That’s what I do. I go through the motions, easy and flawless. Like a knife to butter, I slide through life, so smooth no one notices how I am about to crack inside.

There’s a simile. Not a metaphor…

I must be doing better after all.

It feels like I am doing better. I eat just fine and drink once in a while, I still go out and see a movie with friends, I sleep fine at night.

I can even fool myself into thinking I have never met you and my life is so solid, a rock, unbreakable.

It is a rock.

I am a rock.

I can still laugh….I am a rock, I am an island….

But what’s really funny is that I am that untouchable. The ribs become a cage, to protect my insides and cover my heart, a skull is my helmet…to protect my sanity.

Ah, but the emotions. Nerve endings, frayed and too easy to set off.

Skin isn’t enough to keep them safe. Flesh is just layer after layer, false protection, lulling you into complacency.

Then teeth bite in and your dying, your own blood betraying you. Leaving you to die.

I have grown morbidity. That was not there before you.

I saw a therapist. He was stupid…he did not understand at all.

The heights I wanted to jump from, the depths I swam through. To him, it was my father, a shadow in my soul.

I said it was you, just you…Your face haunts me, every night, driving me mad.

But maybe he was right, at least in that.

Daddy. That turns to Father, age speaking volumes of the unknown man in front of you….Father turns to bastard, until he is in a coffin….

And your tears wash down, they call for Daddy again.

I tried to call him once, long ago. But I stopped. Promised myself to never try again.

I work. I throw work at myself daily, I love it. The pressure, the strain, like jogging or dancing.

I like the sweat.

In the shower, I see you. You stand there, smiling at me, the water becomes too hot.

I tell you about work, about Father, about the therapist, about films and food, my car, my hobbies, my home, should I get a dog? Wear red tonight? Do you think I drank too much? Too little?

I had a theory once, that if I drank so much every night, soon I would pass out.

And in between heaven, hell, limbo…whatever…and I might see you again. No wings of angels or fire pit, no wise words from the great beyond, no soft voice that says ‘Go into the light’.

Just you.

And you would tell me, to my face, to get a life again. To live without you. To say you love me forever and we would always be together, at least in our hearts.

I would cry, like so many times before and try to hold onto you. But your smile would guide me to safety, lure me into the living world again. Your love would protect me and I would go on.

More movies and friends, more work and talk, more of life before you…I would forget you.

Nikki who? Oh, that woman…yea, nice lady…beautiful? Can’t remember really…

I told my therapist this before I went home today. He called it denial.

I said that was a river.

He didn’t laugh. Neither did I.

The phone rang and rang. I did not answer. I got rid of the answering machine so long ago.

I turned the lights off, I drank the bottle of alcohol, I took the pills, I locked the doors, I opened the windows, I turned on the stereo, I laid down on the floor and watched the lights from outside play on the ceiling.

And I talked out loud to you Nikki. I told you how much I loved you and wanted you, how you used to drive me mad sometimes, how I was sorry for all the things I used to say to you.

And I swear, you answered me. Asked what the hell I was doing, how I should get up and call someone, to help myself.

But we are all weak sometimes. Weak when we should be strong, strong when we should back down.

We were always at cross purposes. You reached the top before me, your hand reaching for me and I refused it.

Then I got there. Too late.

But not this time. You think I am crazy, maybe I am…but we will be together this time.

I’m not waiting, I’m not leaving it to chance.

I love you.

I need you…like the ocean needs the shore, night needs day, lungs need air, ice cream needs a spoon.

Those are similes for you and I.

And they never grow old or die. Metaphors don’t die either, my love…Words live on.

Like the letter you wrote me. Like the tear-stained ones I never sent you. Like the words we should have never said.

You say I am in denial. I laugh this time.

I choose the river, Nikki.