Three Sips

Anything more will tear the throat apart.

Lately I've been really thirsty for water. I crave it. I wake up in the middle of the night just to have it, wake before the sun for it too. My mouth dries, my throat aches, and all I can think about is water.

But I don't drink much.

No matter how parched I am, no matter how greed consumes me for just one sip, I can't swallow more than three sips.

One.

Two.

Three.

Any more and it feels like my throat will tear itself apart.

I've never liked water this much. It had always been nothing more than a requirement, another tedious thing I had to do to keep myself alive. I only ever reached for it when I truly, truly needed it.

Now I think about it constantly.

Ice-cold. Colder. Cold enough to make my teeth ache, my tongue go numb, my throat seize around it. I want it freezing. I want it to burn with cold. I want every swallow to sting, to leave my chest hollow with that sharp, aching chill.

Yes.

Just like that.

Just one sip.

Then another.

Then I stop.

Still thirsty.

I'm tired. Leave it. It's fine if I don't go and have water.

Go.

Go.

Go drink.

I drink one sip, two, three. Stop. Four. Now I've ruined it. My throat hurts, I can feel it becoming sore. I should stop. I don't want to stop. It feels good passing down, so cold it almost hurts. I should stop.

No, just one more sip. One more sip, that's all. Then another, because that wasn't enough. It never is. My throat burns now, every swallow scraping against it, but I keep reaching for the glass as if the next sip will finally satisfy whatever this is.

Water... it's placed right where my mother sleeps. Water, she almost always asks for a glass whenever I grab a bottle. She's more sophisticated than me, doesn't drink it unless it's in a glass. I don't care about that. I'll drink it straight from the bottle, standing half asleep, hair a mess, eyes barely open.

I'm too much of a contradiction to her choices.

Water. She likes it in the perfect balance between hot and cold, mostly stays away from a sip too cold. Says it'll hurt her throat. It hurts mine too... What nonsense.

---

I always remain desiccated, she says. Still you remain so...

"So what?" I never really hope, or want, to know the rest of the sentence. Brittle. She always finishes it anyways.

Water. It keeps me full a lot. I can't seem to eat much anymore. She laughs a lot. Mostly at my pathetic intake of something she's aware I can't seem to wrestle with.

Don't you, my dear?

"No."

"I don't. I really can't.."

I don't enjoy the state of it. If I let my greed be fulfilled, it makes me sick. Water... it's never tasteless when it leaves my mouth. There's always something left behind, something that keeps me reaching around. To wash off the acid off my tongue, "can I have some more, please?"

"Water."

"If you share water from the same glass, it raises the reasoning of the heart."

What? She would ask. "Nothing."

"Water?" Yes, she says.

I bring her a glass. "Half of it spilled." Fill it up again, then. "Oh. Alright". Here, have as much as you can.

I meant to give it all to her. I held the glass, thinking of the heart's reasoning. Then I drank, one sip, two. It spilled. Did it? Yes, it did. It spilled into me.

---

Water. I can't have much of it. A glass filled to the brim is almost a dream, too unrealistic to ever become anything more than one.

Mother likes to complain that she's not getting enough water, I think, with how much water she drinks, her veins must swim with the ocean instead of her body.

Jealous? She would say.

"How can I be?" What a weird thing to ask..

Water? "No, I'm not thirsty enough."

I never did like the glass of water she kept beside her bed. Always too warm, how does it even go down her throat without her getting sick. How can cold water go down your throat without being scratched? "I dont know, I suppose I never did find the time for such a thought.."

---

Mother doesn't ever seem to get as sick as me, though. Unfair. Water, it never makes her desperate. I'd say it rather keeps her in good health, her mind fresh. Her voice smooth until I ask her for..

Water? "No thanks. I can't seem to digest it very well at the end."

My mind becomes a lightwave when it hits too much. Shit, isn't water supposed to keep you up? It spills across my head, makes my brain struggle against the waves. No, it won't stop until I have a taste again.

Water?

No.

Not water.