akathisia

the enamel of her teeth ache in the far corners of the universe. she has been trying to explain the dream for exactly seventeen minutes (watching the clock).

Christina says, "you're being a little childish right now," and turns on the ball of her foot, shifting her back away from the light. Natalia is on the couch, tapping her closed lips. the pain is radiant. little beams of it mutter and crack and shiver beneath her tongue.

"I think maybe it's time you went to see a doctor."

Natalia looks up and Christina is standing by the window again, her arms folded across her chest. her eyes are dark and narrow. she has a neat flooding of freckles on either side of her nose, below her eyes. it is difficult for Natalia to move the muscles of her throat, to unclench, to allow any sort of noise. any explanation would be better than this.

"I feel cold," Natalia tells her, but it is more than that. there is a rumble behind her sternum which sends periodic tremors out to her fingers and toes. she is the static in the air before a storm. her pulse is the kinetic rolling of an earthquake. last night, Christina spread her hand over Natalia's pelvis, above the pubic bone, and put an ear to her chest. "your heart is pounding," she mumbled. "your heart is going to explode."

they have been sitting in the living room for twenty three minutes. the nightmares started six days ago, two days after she stopped taking the medication. selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor (synonym for headfog, lethargy, emotional dead space). when she told her mother on the phone, she cried. her mother cried back and screamed and hung up without saying "i love you."

Christina said "I love you" when they first moved in together, but she does not say it much any more. She was used to Natalia the clumsy artist, the mediocre oil painter, the defiant Christian, emotionally turbulent. who, then, was this numbfingered cheery-eyed high-laughing woman? her lit up eyes, the way she organized the coffee and tea on the counter by the gradations of the color of their packaging? who was this woman who shook hands with everyone, shrugged her shoulders when she saw anti-gay protests on the television, who smiled uncomfortably through rape jokes, because it was the polite things to do?

Natalia grinds her teeth together and winces. there is movement, like a feather on the wall, and Christina is sitting next to her, pulling Natalia's head into her lap. her and me and her and him himher - Natalia confuses pronouns in her head.

"why don't you tell me about the dream?" Christina asks.

when Natalia says, "I can't," she means 'I won't.'

she means, 'your arm was lying three feet away from your body on the pavement. there was no blood and the sky was exorbitantly dark. the whole sky was shaking. it started to hail and I was crying and my four year old cousin was picking weeds from the ditch in her yellow dress, and her skin was tearing off. you were already dead and I realized I couldn't love you because you were already dead.

and Christ came to me and whispered "it's time to go now" but I couldn't because I knew I would have to leave without you.'

Christina kisses her temple. Natalia pinches the skin of her wrist and breathes.