Opia
aliz: it was all his ***ing fault
"Fine, I'll go. But a word of advice? You really shouldn't confuse infatuation with love. It puts you in bad situations, like this for example."
It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. We were supposed to kiss and it was supposed to be like all my pieces would all smash together and my bones would melt and mold themselves around him and we’d both just… be.
I paced around the living room furiously, my blue pen occasionally ripping the paper a bit as I scribbled while a few tears ran freely.
The journal flew against the wall and I slowly broke apart onto the carpet. Everything here reeks. Everything here reeks of shit and cigarettes. I could practically smell my father’s cancerous tumor growing. A strange taste filled my mouth. I could barely breathe. Pain radiated from somewhere, I couldn’t tell where; it grew and spread, my own personal cancer. I wanted it to kill me as fast as possible.
Three fucking weeks. I died every night, and every morning, I woke up and saw his face in my mind’s eye and I felt alive for once. Like how I imagined we all feel when we take our first breaths, and our last. He was a lungful of air that wasn’t stagnant. He killed me and made me feel alive, so of course I love him…
Right?
Fuck him. Fuck him for showing up in my life, fuck him for being alive, fuck him for being so beautiful and amazing. Fuck him for being my reason to live and my reason to die. I slammed my hands against the living room wall. I desperately needed to destroy something. The sound of shattering ceramic dishes made me shiver in delight as I screeched incoherently, thinking of that fuck-faced piece of shit and thinking of how his lips felt against mine, however fleeting that moment had been, and I smashed nearly all of the plates and bowls in the cupboards. By the time I laid down on the cold kitchen floor, I had a few scratches on my hands, beads of blood ran sluggishly down my arms. The stinging felt nice. I watched the walls grow darker and darker, eventually I was left in almost complete darkness with my heart pounding too hard and fast. The front door opened and my father greeted me with one of his coughs. He rushed over and tried to help me up, but I pushed him off and ran out of the house before he could grab me. Hands stinging, blood dripping, tears flowing, ragged breaths, aching everywhere. I walked to the cul-de-sac and sat at the end of Stellan’s driveway, hoping someone would run me over before he noticed I was even there.
It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. We were supposed to kiss and it was supposed to be like all my pieces would all smash together and my bones would melt and mold themselves around him and we’d both just… be.
I paced around the living room furiously, my blue pen occasionally ripping the paper a bit as I scribbled while a few tears ran freely.
this is getting to be too much. this need, this want, for your skin. to dig, claw, invade, infest. to carve. i crave. i want you to slit open my wrists and dig in with your teeth, rip my veins out one by one and tie them around my neck. i’ll tell you now, i’d like to break all of your bones and reassemble you into something less destructive; you don’t even fucking try. i’ll make you into something i could never hate.
The journal flew against the wall and I slowly broke apart onto the carpet. Everything here reeks. Everything here reeks of shit and cigarettes. I could practically smell my father’s cancerous tumor growing. A strange taste filled my mouth. I could barely breathe. Pain radiated from somewhere, I couldn’t tell where; it grew and spread, my own personal cancer. I wanted it to kill me as fast as possible.
Three fucking weeks. I died every night, and every morning, I woke up and saw his face in my mind’s eye and I felt alive for once. Like how I imagined we all feel when we take our first breaths, and our last. He was a lungful of air that wasn’t stagnant. He killed me and made me feel alive, so of course I love him…
Right?
Fuck him. Fuck him for showing up in my life, fuck him for being alive, fuck him for being so beautiful and amazing. Fuck him for being my reason to live and my reason to die. I slammed my hands against the living room wall. I desperately needed to destroy something. The sound of shattering ceramic dishes made me shiver in delight as I screeched incoherently, thinking of that fuck-faced piece of shit and thinking of how his lips felt against mine, however fleeting that moment had been, and I smashed nearly all of the plates and bowls in the cupboards. By the time I laid down on the cold kitchen floor, I had a few scratches on my hands, beads of blood ran sluggishly down my arms. The stinging felt nice. I watched the walls grow darker and darker, eventually I was left in almost complete darkness with my heart pounding too hard and fast. The front door opened and my father greeted me with one of his coughs. He rushed over and tried to help me up, but I pushed him off and ran out of the house before he could grab me. Hands stinging, blood dripping, tears flowing, ragged breaths, aching everywhere. I walked to the cul-de-sac and sat at the end of Stellan’s driveway, hoping someone would run me over before he noticed I was even there.
♠ ♠ ♠
sorry for the lateness, i hope this makes up for it c':