Masked

I let out an anguished scream as I punched the cubby beside Marco. He didn’t even flinch.
“Get out.” Staring at me with the eyes of a predator he gestured towards the back door of the room. The tension between us rose gently and then came to an abrupt stand still. Silence. The spectators in the room awkwardly watched me.
It was obvious.
I was the outcast walking in the shadow lands.
Taking the hint, I grabbed onto my duffle bag and hoodie, stepping towards the exit. Marco’s voice rang out from behind. I stopped dead in my tracks.
“And Luke?” I turned to watch him say what I wished he never had to.
“You’re not welcome here anymore.” The words hurt more than any of my broken ribs.

Psychology would argue that the only reason we remember some of the most traumatic events in our lives is because, to put it simply, the body remembers pain. It remembers it so that we constantly remind ourselves how bad the said traumatic event felt, that way we avoid it and never dare be put in another situation similar to it.

Amazing how human nature works, right?

Then of course, contrary to science and all its laws of evolution, you have the masochist sons of bitches with a severe Jesus complex, the ones who constantly and voluntarily put themselves in the way of overwhelming pain. Calling it back like some sort of bad fucking omen.

Give it whatever name you want: omen, curse, etc... still, it always felt like a fucking blessing to me.

The small empty container lacking its so-called “angel dust” felt heavy in my sweaty palm.
Christ. I was sick and tired of feeling anything anymore. The negative space inside of me was too much to handle, the hunger for pain too overwhelming.

It had become a ritual ya know? Come home feeling sorry for myself, go into my magical secret stash, roll one up, dip it in, light it up, and fly far, far away from all this bull shit.

Only this time, it was different.

I had done it.

The ritual had been broken.

Within all of my struggling thoughts and ideas of what I imagined my life could be had certain “traumatic events” spared my childhood, I had over done it. Taken one to many dips, one too many lights, and one too many drags.

I desperately looked at the scene around me. At least eight burnt out “sherm sticks” lined the area looking like I lived in some bad crack house in Compton.
What happened next was obvious. The world went black and my body felt as if it was falling down into an infinite space.

All this time I wondered what death would feel like. All this time I avoided such a beautiful and calming sensation. It made me ill to think I put up with years of bullshit to circumvent this euphoria.

The space felt like it lasted forever.

“Luke? Luke! Oh my God! No! Luke!” The arms that wrapped themselves around my cold body were familiar.

Danny?

I had never seen her cry so hard in my life.

Slowly I was pulled out of the dark caressing world and into the reality of what my actions had caused.

I was a selfish prick.

I had taken something away that hadn’t belonged to me in years, my soul, my beating heart, my physical being, they all belonged to her, the girl I fell in love with and promised to take care of for the rest of eternity.

I fucked up.