by Ally Sky
The last post is from twelve hours ago: The Mirror’s online newspaper. They are really curious, huh? I open up the site and my jaw drops. My picture from my blog is there, spread over a quarter of a page.
Oh God, this cannot be good. It’s one thing for my readers to know who I am, but now I’m in the paper? Fuck! I’m going to get into trouble with the whole world. Again.
I begin reading.
“Talula is revealed.
“The intriguing blogger, who for the past few months has accumulated readers at a dizzying pace, is Talia Blum, a twenty-six-year-old Israeli living in London. After years of posting under an alias, she has chosen to expose her true identity, revealing her picture and name. She no longer wishes to hide behind masks. Whether it was done as a marketing gimmick intended to attract potential advertisers, or whether a complex girl is behind it all, as portrayed in her blog, the number of her readers has grown dramatically. There is no doubt we are talking about a talented and creative writer.
“Her descriptions about her sex life, her bipolar disorder, as well as her eating disorder, have become topics of conversation around the water cooler in offices all over the city.
“Her open invitation to her readers to take an active part in her life, to suggest ideas to help her win over her man’s heart, has produced a wave of creative reactions and prompted ongoing updates as to their success. Thus, her followers have been granted the privilege to see their suggestions take shape in her bedroom, at her work place, or at sneaky suppers.
“Even if we cannot verify the details, and it may well be a blog produced from her own creative imagination, there is no doubt the buzz she has created will force her to expose herself on her return from her holiday in Barcelona.
“You can read more of her adventures at the following link…”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the hell are they talking about? The topic of conversation, where? Why are people talking about me? This isn’t good. Danny will die, one second after he kills me. And Ben…I’m in trouble. I’m in big trouble and I am never leaving Barcelona.
On her return from her holiday in Barcelona…Do they think I’m on holiday? This isn’t what a holiday looks like. I’m running for my life, now more than ever.
I close my laptop without posting anything new. Things are now officially out of control. Okay, I’ve had enough to eat—a terrible snack, which is now sitting heavy in my stomach—and a Diet Coke. I have to get back to the hotel.
I’m hiding from the world, from everything I’ve done and from all the angry people back home. Danny has been looking for me the entire afternoon. He must be furious, and Ben as well, rightly so, I think. I don’t know what to do.
The phone rings again. I can’t ignore it any longer. I’ve done what I’ve done, and now it’s time to deal.
“Hello,” I mumble into the phone with a quivering voice.
“Jesus, Talia.” I hear a groan on the other end of the line.
“You’re upset.”
“I don’t know what to do with you anymore. The surprises just keep on coming.” He sounds tired and despondent, because of me. Another reason not to go back.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed.
“What are you sorry about?” he asks. “Your revealing blog, the article in the newspaper, or what you did to Ben? The phone hasn’t stopped ringing and we were forced to disconnect it.”
“What happened to Ben?” I ask in a panic.
“Talia, the guy might have made an error in judgment, but he doesn’t deserve what he’s going through now,” he answers firmly.
“What is he going through?”
“What do you think? You were so explicit in your blog that everyone knows who he is. His phone has been flooded with calls, the journalists won’t leave him alone, and getting to work has become intolerable. Everyone wants to catch a glimpse of him.”
“I never meant for this to happen,” I whisper, and the familiar tears start again. “All I wanted to do was to write…”
And then it hits me. Maybe I did want to destroy my life, but I ended up destroying his as well.
“Didn’t he come to work today?” I wipe my tears on my sleeve.
“How could he? Can you imagine what’s been going on in the office? You’re on holiday there in Barcelona, while here, life has been turned upside down.”
“I’m sorry.” My silent tears become loud wails. “What have I done?”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Come home, we’ll sit and talk about it all, and we’ll see how to move forward from here,” he says resignedly. Why does he still want me to come back?
“I’m not coming back, certainly not after this. Everyone hates me. I hate me. I’m a monster.” I can’t stop crying.
“No one hates you, we’re just exhausted. This has gone far enough.”
“I’m not coming back. Not now and not ever. I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Talia—” he tries one last time, but I cut him off.
“I don’t want to talk. Bye, Danny.” I turn off my phone, sobbing as I pull up the blanket, holding it tightly to my chest. What have I done to everyone—to Danny, to John, and to Ben, to their friendship and their jobs? I’m sobbing, terrified by the fact that my actions have snowballed and I can’t control what will happen.
By the time I dare leave the hotel, it’s already evening. Suddenly it hits me, this terrible fear. Anyone in the street could recognize me and know what I’ve done. I walk with my head down, trying to be inconspicuous. I’ve turned everyone’s life upside down. I find a corner in a side alley, sit down on the edge of the pavement, and light up a cigarette.
I’m even afraid to sit in the Plaza Reial. A pathetic and worthless creature, that’s what I am. And I thought he could love me, but after everything I’ve done to him, he must despise me now. I just wanted to love and to be loved. And now this. Everyone hates me and I hate myself. I deserve to die. I deserve to hurt like this, the same way I hurt everyone else.
A horrible need, old and buried for years, rises within me, a need to feel something, a need to feel pain.
I’m not doing this to myself again. It’s forbidden. But the pain and despair are consuming and obliterating, and I just can’t deal with it. In that side alley, on the edge of the street, there’s no one to stop me. I need to get it out of me.
I draw deeply on my cigarette. I want to release the pain. I hold out my wrist, turn the cigarette around in my fingers, and press it down hard. It burns bright red and singes my skin. You deserve it. Let it hurt you. Then I press it down again and again. Silent tears and three, burning sores. All the pain is now focused on my wrist; it has accumulated in one place. At least I feel something. My hand burns so bad…
On the way back to the hotel, I stop at a small pharmacy. I go in with my head down, take a pair of scissors off the shelf and pay the disinterested saleslady. I sniff and wipe my nose on my sleeve. When I return to the hotel, I take the elevator to the second floor and close the door behind me. I sit down on the bed with the scissors in my hand. My wrist burns so much. I didn’t think to buy a bandage at the pharmacy and now I’m tortured with pain. I don’t want to be me anymore. I don’t want to be this terrible creature who did all those bad things. But I can’t escape it.
Crying, I get off my bed, go into the bathroom, and look in the mirror. I’m disgusting and ugly, and no one should love me. I lift a lock of curly brown hair and bring it closer to the scissors. Ben used to love my curls. It seems like a lifetime ago. Now he doesn’t like anything about me, and rightly so. I close the scissors on a big chunk of hair and let it fall to the ground. Very good—this way no one will want you. No one will hurt you either. I snip off another curl and then another and cut my hair short, very short. The curls fall all over the white tiles in the tiny bathroom.
Standing in front of the mirror, I run a hand through my hair. Short, brown, and uneven tufts peek out at me. Serves you right. No one is interested in you anyway.
I g
et into the shower and let the hot water wash away the remaining strands of hair and the tears, which never seem to stop.
I sit on the bed in my grey sweatpants and loose-fitting shirt, staring at the wall. My wrists burn. Without my curls, my neck feels strange. Bare. And I’m tired, so tired, of my life, of myself. I just can’t deal with it anymore.
August 5th 2012
Fatigue
My body is falling, collapsing inwards like a building waiting to be demolished, waiting for the explosives and the fuse to implode in perfect timing into one, big pile of rubble.
Everything hurts, inside and out. Every muscle is opposed to moving, protesting against any attempt to do so. There isn’t one ounce of energy left in me.
All is empty. My heart is in torment and my soul is dead. I am almost a flat line on the monitor, almost there, in a place where there’s no more hurt. I am not scared anymore. I’ve found myself in an abyss before. I no longer wonder how bad it can be. I already know, and it’s all I ever feared and more.
I can quietly sink and allow the yawning darkness to envelop me and save me from myself, from the remnants of what was once my life.
Everything has been sucked from me like a vacuum; I don’t have another breath. I could fight it, but what for? To hurt even more? To get angry? To love?
No, I’m leaving it all behind. I’ve had enough. I get it. I’m not the girl who can be desired. I’m that thing, that despicable creature you only want to hate, to use, to abuse. I’m an empty vessel. But now the empty vessel is full. There is no room for anyone or anything to get in. I’ve closed the lid. Leave me alone. I want to be a line, a shadow on the bed, quickly forgotten, a dull and meaningless memory. There is nothing left of me, only thin lines and burning wounds on my wrist: old and new memories. I’m letting me be. I understand the game and I want out. I am not playing anymore. I forfeit.
Talia
I turn my phone off, lie back, and let the darkness engulf me.
Some things are better left a secret. And some fears, no one should uncover or know. And some days the sun refuses to shine and refuses to set in the sea. And the suffocation in one’s throat is so overwhelming it threatens to give in to the bursting tears.
And there is a love that consumes. The kind you cannot live without. The kind that has touched our lives, if only for a moment, yet is there forever. And we fight the urge to do everything, just so long as it doesn't go away. And we are willing to suffer, to hurt and be tortured just to hold it close, so close, like a breath of air.
I have paint on my hands and scars on my wrists, and love threatening to burn me with fire.
My heart pounds and I allow my demons to show up and to light the match that will burn everything I know. I allow them to celebrate around the fire in circles, jumping and praying that the flames will get big, big enough to burn it all.
After the demons and the fairies and the burning love, everything will change, as do the seasons of the year. At the end of every wonderful summer, winter comes bringing with it extreme cold, a numbing chill and rain pouring down from the sky to wash away all that has been left of my life.
I’ve been burned—by love, by cigarettes and by hope. I’ve died and been reborn. Now I’m again a dead woman walking, like one condemned to death on the gallows.
No matter where I look now, all I see is defeat. Flashing images of my life, bursts of happiness, deep pain, and empty words whispered during nights of passion.
The park, the meadow, and my paintings lying on the basement floor—they’re all distant memories of the life I had. They’re all just a flash of light, passing in a split second. If I blink for a moment, they will all disappear.
I close my eyes, giving in to the fatigue, the confusion, and the pain. I close my eyes and hope not to open them, just to find out it was all a dream.
Don’t miss the next installment GOLD AND INK coming Dec 2018
You can preorder it here!
Acknowledgments
This part of the book is always the hardest for me. Mainly because there are so many people I want to thank, who have been there over the years as my family, friends and readers. I'm going to do my very best to not forget anybody.
To my husband, who saw me for who I am all those years ago and didn't let any labels come between us. Thanking you seems almost impossible, because what we have cannot be put into words. Thank you for being my love through the bright days and the dark. You are my light.
To my children, who slept through the night while mommy was writing and had no idea what the future would bring, thank you for accepting my fatigue and my dreaminess, I love you forever.
To Tama, you've known me since my turbulent teens, quickly became the sister I never had and you’ve been there for the past twenty six years. Understanding me allowed you to understand Talia and give me the most valuable insights. This book would never be the same without you.
To Nevo, thank you for all those hours you listened to me go on and on about this book, for your laughter, endless cups of coffee and countless ideas.
Ya'arit, who was the first to fall in love with this story, you made me believe everything is possible.
To my "Pencil Club": Meital, Ofri, Yehudit and Ori, thank you for being the best beta readers, for all your necessary comments and for doing all the dirty work.
To my Miri, the conversations we had into the night and then every morning kept me on track, thanks for the brainstorming, for your effort and the mutual love.
To Francessca Wingfield for putting up with me while designing the covers, thank you for bringing Talia to life.
To my Anna Bloom, who started as my editor end became my soul mate, my rock, my person—love comes in mysterious ways and yours came my way.
To my street team for being absolutely the best, to Jenny and Michal who are running my readers group, to Rachel for your amazing support over the years, I could not do this without you.
To Dikla, for sticking with me through thick and thin, your love means the world to me.
To my nothing-short-of-brilliant PA, Lainey Da Silva, I would be lost without you. Your words of encouragement make it possible to believe in myself. Thank you for being there and running this show and above all being a true friend.
To all the amazing women I met on the way who read my books and got hooked, I will forever be grateful for your endless love. You are the reason we are here.
And last, to E.L. James for inspiring me to dream and to write. Thank you for creating Christian Grey, who allowed my old scars to finally heal.
Ally