Every Little Thing
Pain
I practically ran to me bedroom when i got home. I dove across my bed and lay there; feeling numb but crying at the same time. I felt unloved, alone. Stupid fucking Ally! Why is she such a whore?! Does she realize how much she fucking hurt me?!
I got up; tired of self pitying myself. I wondered down the hallway and into the kitchen where dad kept his alcohol. Dean was in the lounge room playing the play station it looked like. I snuck my dad's nearly full vodka bottle up my jumper and into the waist band of my skirt. Juice! I grabbed a shot glass from the cabinet and my orange juice from the fridge.
Back in my bedroom, I turned on my stereo and played my Bullet fro my Valentine CD. I poured myself a shot of vodka and downed it. The burn of the drink on the back of my throat was welcomed. I sat on the floor of my room, surrounded by school books, clothing, and my TV unit. I looked up at my TV unit. On top was a picture of me and Ally, at that party that ruined what we had. We were smiling, holding hands; we were happy. I'm an idiot, it’s all my fault. Why the fuck did I kiss her? Ebony. She even has a stupid name. I poured myself another shot and drunk it down. I grabbed the picture and stared at it. Those smiles weren't fake. They were real. We were happy; truly happy. And I fucked it all up.
I look up from the pictures and stared at my reflection in my TV.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" I screamed at my reflection over the acoustics of Matthew Tuck; lead singer of Bullet, belting out Room 409.
The lyrics filled my head.
"I loved you! (I need you...)
You hurt me! (I loved you...)
I loved you,
You, hurt, me, bad!"
At that, I threw the photo at my wall hard, smashing the glass into thousands of pieces, sending glass flying all over my bedroom. I felt it cut my face, my neck, my arms. A larger piece landed beside my foot. I looked at it. So pointy, so sharp, so inviting.
I tipped half the bottle of vodka down my throat and held the sharp piece of glass over my wrist.
I got up; tired of self pitying myself. I wondered down the hallway and into the kitchen where dad kept his alcohol. Dean was in the lounge room playing the play station it looked like. I snuck my dad's nearly full vodka bottle up my jumper and into the waist band of my skirt. Juice! I grabbed a shot glass from the cabinet and my orange juice from the fridge.
Back in my bedroom, I turned on my stereo and played my Bullet fro my Valentine CD. I poured myself a shot of vodka and downed it. The burn of the drink on the back of my throat was welcomed. I sat on the floor of my room, surrounded by school books, clothing, and my TV unit. I looked up at my TV unit. On top was a picture of me and Ally, at that party that ruined what we had. We were smiling, holding hands; we were happy. I'm an idiot, it’s all my fault. Why the fuck did I kiss her? Ebony. She even has a stupid name. I poured myself another shot and drunk it down. I grabbed the picture and stared at it. Those smiles weren't fake. They were real. We were happy; truly happy. And I fucked it all up.
I look up from the pictures and stared at my reflection in my TV.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" I screamed at my reflection over the acoustics of Matthew Tuck; lead singer of Bullet, belting out Room 409.
The lyrics filled my head.
"I loved you! (I need you...)
You hurt me! (I loved you...)
I loved you,
You, hurt, me, bad!"
At that, I threw the photo at my wall hard, smashing the glass into thousands of pieces, sending glass flying all over my bedroom. I felt it cut my face, my neck, my arms. A larger piece landed beside my foot. I looked at it. So pointy, so sharp, so inviting.
I tipped half the bottle of vodka down my throat and held the sharp piece of glass over my wrist.