Smelling like Fear


– So, you say everyone smells… – Dim lights in Greg’s living room created the ghostly atmosphere that always excited me. Hanging out at his place was always a hope that one day I will be able to reach his heart. – Tell me, you are surgeon, you know better – I wanted a conversation, my head in his lap, my heart pounding in aspiration to meet his eyes and to have the connection beyond his penis.

 – Of course we do, Vixen – he was watching nightly news, mechanically running his fingers through my hair.

 – What do I smell like?

 – Sex and fear

 – Do you like my smell?

 – Yes, very much.

He was right, I felt scared. Fear bears neediness and attracts weird people into our life.

 – You gotta understand people, like all mammals, sense fear, and if you are scared, they will be after you, they will get you, they will take advantage. – Greg shifted his glance from the TV screen to my face. Tired look, expensive glasses, – Be careful, Vixen.

That night, driving home, I was trying to spot the fear in my body. I found it in my strep throat, it felt like pain, 103°F fever, dizziness, lack of safety and the desire to fall into tears. I waved aside Greg’s “go to emergency luv”, I needed silence to look inside and get to know the funky feeling that has been guiding my life.

Feeling scared felt like following the mind talk, being unable to separate self from the tiny recorder that kept rewinding “It will never get any better” over and over again.

Feeling scared felt like the inability to flow through the reality. The desire to control everything got me panicky; I could not be in charge, things did not work my way, and I got scared. It took me a while to realize that control is illusory, we do not even have control over our own life and death, how can we possibly control others?

Feeling scared felt like being impulsively hooked up with people in order not to be by myself. It was my silently explicit cry for help: “come and stay, give me warmth, solve my problems”. It obviously never worked that way. Being responsible for fixing own mess was the only way out.

Fear was there, the feeling was neither pleasant nor disgusting. I accepted it and slept well through the night. The next morning, my throat felt better. The mind started playing same old “things will never work your way”, I shrugged my shoulders, silenced the inner tape recorder, and went out with my son to catch the sunrise.

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