Already Gone

3

george

Do you just not trust me? You think I'm gonna screenshot and leave you and post it and laugh at you for thinking you could trust me, huh? Do you think I'm using you? Cause I'm not. I just want to be able to recognize you not just by your voice."

That must have hurt.

My own words echoed in my mouth, they left a salty aftertaste; my anger came from hurt and insecurities in myself, in our friendship. I wasn't really mad at him, but at this point, I didn't even care.

If I managed to squeeze even a few drops of emotion out from this conversation, it was worth it.

"Of course I trust you, but as I said before, I'm not ready to open up like that yet. I trust more than anyone. I'm just not ready for that. I'm sorry." He didn't snap. He didn't lash out. He didn't bite. He comforted.

"Why aren't you mad? I'm being a dick and you're not mad. What's wrong with you?" I asked, shying away due to the lack of reaction.

"Because your hurting. I don't know what's up, but I do know your hurting. Getting defensive isn't helping anyone."

For a second I wanted to pour my heart out, to let loose and open up. To tell him that I wasn't hurting, I just wasn't feeling. That I didn't really mean anything I said, that I was just trying to find something to make me cry. That I desperately wanted him to love me in a way that I knew he never could. That I'm broken and have given up trying to fix myself.

But I didn't.

"What are you even talking about? Just because I leave the calls without saying bye a few times makes you think that I'm hurting. You're so clingy." I launched back. That hurt a bit, I could feel icicles beginning to pierce my eyes slightly.

"Okay, you aren't hurting then. But I thought you were, all I was trying to do was support you. I love you, George, you know I only want you to be good." he says, in the same gentle voice as before. Why is he so patient with me?

"No you don't, don't say it if you don't mean it," I said, unsatisfied with the outcome of the conversation, and hung up.

The world stopped for a second. The pounding in my ears that I craved so badly began, my breath becoming unsteady and nauseating. The icicles from a few minutes ago had begun to melt and trickled slightly. I rushed to unlock my phone and plugged in my headphones.

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: YEAH RIGHT - Joji ───────────────⚪─────────────────── ◄◄⠀▐▐ ⠀►►⠀⠀ ⠀ 1:17 / 3:48 ⠀ ───○ 🔊⠀ ᴴᴰ ⚙ ❐ ⊏⊐

The thoughts started rushing in, why the fuck am I so desperate to feel something that I'm destroying a friendship that is so important to me. I couldn't comprehend the fact that he would still talk to me, even after just that conversation.

If I could go back to myself last year and warn me, I would. If I could have stopped myself from seeping into this endless cycle of nothingness, I would. The old George probably wouldn't have talked to the new George. The old George would have been afraid.

I got up to go to the stained mirror in my bathroom. Looking into it, I saw someone. Someone with pale skin and brown eyes and dark hair. Someone who looked like me, except this version looked degraded. I wouldn't accept that this was me. He wasn't me. He was someone from my nightmares.

Immediately, I wanted him gone. I needed him to get out of my mirror and out of my view; out of my life. Even though I knew that wasn't possible, I needed him to go. I hated him.

He looked at me with watery red eyes, pupils dilating. His eyebrows were stretched apart, trying to trick me into feeling sorry for him. He didn't deserve that and he knew it. He disgusted me.

I picked up the ceramic toothbrush holder that had been resting on the side of the sink. I had painted it when I was 6, it was one of my last physical memories I had left of my mother. It was her birthday, but she had taken me out to the small independent ceramics shop at the end of our road to paint holders of some sort. It was a tradition of ours - she would take me there every year.

This was the last holder I ever came home with.

Looking back at the hollow figure in the mirror, I let go of all attachment I had to that toothbrush holder for a split second, I flung it pathetically at the glass in front of me. Watching every piece of the creature shatter into a thousand bones only granted me temporary satisfaction.

Suddenly, a wave of realisation crashed over me; that pot was more that a pawn for me to use as a quick way to feel.

That pot was my mother telling me she loved me.

That pot was my mother kissing my forehead and pushing me through the gates to school.

That pot was my mother pretending to be okay, just for me.

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: Supermarket Flowers - Ed Sheeran ───────────────⚪─────────────────── ◄◄⠀▐▐ ⠀►►⠀⠀ ⠀ 1:17 / 3:48 ⠀ ───○ 🔊⠀ ᴴᴰ ⚙ ❐ ⊏⊐

And I fucked it up. I destroyed all of her efforts that she put into raising me well, she tried her best, she really did. But I was too selfish to even consider that.

The melting ice in my eyes from before was now a flowing river, eroding it's way down my face. Not even giving a second thought to the shards laying beneath me, I crouched down and sat, leant against the wooden door.

My heart was in my throat, my lungs in knots. The breaths that followed were shaky and inconsistent - at every heart throb I felt sick and panicky.

I couldn't do anything other than mourn upon the fact that despite my efforts, the monster was still there.

WORD COUNT: 1008

Alright den. George really should just pick a struggle already jeez🙄
Anyways, kinda feel like I did something here [I'm hyping myself up here - I don't write]

I know I'm pulling out the big guns even though it's chapter 3, but idc, I haven't read a ff that's made me cry in the same way that Retreat has yet, so I'm determined to make one.

VOTE I BEG OR ELSE