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Rabbithole -- a hybrid by Adelie O. Condra

In my dream, my boyfriend, Joseph, was getting emotional and grieving his mom 

  • (who passed away four months ago)

when I came out of my bedroom. Jordan

  • (my mom’s fiance after four months)

was standing in the hallway, but so was Justin

  • (her ex-fiance of two years)

  • (and I’m currently in the weird stage where I think I still love Justin, but I don’t know Jordan enough to love him

  • (even though he loves me and ties the three words to the end of his goodbyes so there’s an awkward silence when he leaves

  • (I even asked mom if Jordan loved me because I was questioning whether it was genuine or obligation

  • (in fact, I almost convinced myself he was conning us all. Pushing to get married so soon just to find out he’s abusive or a murderer, but maybe that’s just because I feel like we’ve let a stranger into our house, consenting for him to marry our mother with 

  • (possibly)

  •  less time than we should’ve taken.

  • (To be noted: Jordan is great

  • (though, I do hate his dog.)).).).).

  • It happened this morning and each time he says it an uncomfortable pang of guilt reverberates in my chest/heart

  • (if I even have one at this point

  • (especially since the “fireworks” I’m supposed to feel when I have my first kiss are jammed, fizzing sparkly ash in the wrong places. I want them to explode! 

  • (but keep the kerosene away from me. I don’t want to 

  • (accidently)

  • light myself on fire. Or admit to Joseph I felt nothing during our first kiss except his saliva on my lips.)).).)

I hug Justin. My heart pulls me in and I squeeze hard. I’ve missed him, even now that he’s unrecognizable without his beard. He begins to tremble the longer we embrace and eventually pulls away to keep from crying. The picture of him in my head is so accurate

  • (a sad, broken man, suffocating in heartache and clinging to desperation),

I think I'll cry. 

But if we’re focusing on the present, then I should mention I don’t recall comforting Joseph at all. I watched him grieve, feeling too helpless to try.

I feel fucking disgusted with myself. 

  • Again.


 

Adelie O. Condra is a 17 y.o. living in a small Virginian city, currently foraging the literary world in search of outlets for her surrealistic, thoroughly weird, or dark writing. Her work appears in BarBar. Her poetry/short story collection is forthcoming later this year. 

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