He and I are walking up the hill towards my house, snow all around. I am so sad inside, and it runs deep. I can feel it in my bones. The cold air doesn’t even raise bumps on my skin because I am so numb. All I can think about are your final words to me… Cutting through me, like broken glass… He turns to me, and pulls my face very close to his. He kisses me, so I return the gesture, but I feel nothing. Because nothing really matters. We part at my driveway and I go inside. My dad says he has to go out to get milk, and if I’ll be okay alone. I tell him yes, that I’ll be fine.
I go to my room and I go to my Facebook, and read your messages over and over, and I cry so hard. “This is my story and you aren’t a part of it. I’m done. Have a nice life”. I grab an old notebook and write out what I want to say, what’s going through my head. I crawl to the bathroom and lock the door, turn on the shower and sit in the corner on the floor. I dial your number, so ingrained in my brain.
Ring… Ring… Ring…
“The person whose number you have dialed has not set up a voice mailbox yet.”
Click. Dial again.
“G.. Greg? Please don’t hang up… Please just listen to me… Please…”
“I’m really busy…”
“Please… I… I just want you to listen…”
” … ”
“Greg… I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry… I don’t even really know why you’re mad at me… I just… I need you… To listen… You are my BEST friend… I literally cannot… I don’t know what to do… Or think… Please just give me a chance… I don’t deserve it… But please…”
“I can’t. I don’t give second chances. I have to go. I’m helping my parents move shit. Goodbye.”
I drop my phone to the floor because I am shaking so bad. I cannot think, or speak. My chest hurts because I am so overwhelmed with sadness, and with loneliness. Tears flow indefinitely down my face. My heart is broken. I hear my dad come in. He knocks on the door. “Are you okay?”. I try my best to steady my voice, but it hurts to try to talk, because it feels like there’s a lump in my throat. “Yeah… Fine…”. I hear him leave, and I get in the shower, and let the water run over my numb, shaking body.
I get out and dry off, and return to my room. I shut my door, and I grab a razor blade out of my desk. I cut three lines into my arm… Cut… He… Cut… Hates… Cut… Me.
It has been almost three years since then. And I can still remember it as vividly as if it were yesterday. You don’t know most of these details because, quite obviously didn’t give a shit. Sure, you’ve come back a few times to be my friend. But you always leave… I will never blame you for the scars on my arm, I can only blame myself for those. But those pains were there and gone in a week… The pain from that first fight still dwells inside me, a demon refusing to part… I’ve only once brought it up since it happened, and you laughed in my face. For months I thought I was completely worthless, a simple piece of flesh to be thrown around and stomped upon, not worthy of being anyone’s friend. The boy I kissed? We dated for 5 months, and most of the time I wasn’t really there. Although to be fair, neither was he, constantly being under the influence. And to be quite honest, to this day, part of my subconscious still tells me that I am worthless. My current boyfriend questions where all of my insecurities come from, and I tell him I don’t know. But I do. Because of that day, that goddamned day that you turned my entire world upside down, and made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be.