Am I... The Villian? {~Book One~} {~2021-2022~}

Chapter Twenty Three; {~Broken Little Drummer Boy~}

{~01/05/2022~}
{~Unedited~}
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Ever Enough
{~Book; One~}
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Third Person Pov~
  It had been hours, hours since Peter was left alone on that hospital bed to rot. Hours since he last heard someone's voice, someone's soothing heartbeat. He shouldn't have been upset, he didn't have the right to being so. After all he was the one who had screamed for them to leave, barked at them to get out of this room, out of his life. Peter never meant it, he was just conflicted on what he was currently feeling, what he was currently experiencing. How could you blame him? He just received news that his arm would be severed after all.

  Peter couldn't help but stare at the dark ceiling that seemed to loom over his unmoving body. He noticed how it picked away at his skin, his very bones even. Leaving him with this empty and more then scared feeling.

  It was then that Peter realized something. The worst type of crying was the silent one. The one where you can feel it within your throat, like something heavy and rough is seated there. The one where your eyes become blurry due to the endless amount of tears that is building up in them. The one where you just want to scream as loud as you possibly can, a desperate cry for help, one that your never able to sound. The one where you bite your wrist and clutch your fisted hands around your stomach in order to remain silent. It was the type of crying that took away what little breath you had. The type of crying that stripped you of any and all reasoning for believing you were anything but broken.

  Because this crying, this so called phase, was when you realized that you are, and forever will be, broken.

  There were nights however where you didn't cry at all, didn't make a sound because there was this overwhelming sensation of happiness just radiating off of your very bones. Those are the nights that everyone can sense that your happy, that your... better. But you know better then to believe such petty excuses. You know your not happy, you know nothing will ever change. Sure there were nights when the endless darkness and rampaging sea of timid thoughts grew more manageable, but those were rare. Oh so very rare.

  It's almost as if after you fool yourself into believing your happy, it strikes. You cry so hard that your no longer able to silence the pleads for help. Your body aches and trembles with each whimper and your forced to hide away with a pillow pressed to your face in order to silence yourself.

  Then there's the times where you don't entirely feel anything at all. You know you should, your body reacts to emotions that don't seem to be there. Silent tears continue running down your rosy cheeks but there's no reasoning for why your crying. There's no gush of overwhelming emotions that drag you down.

  The worst part about feeling nothing, not being able to realize what is triggering this sudden sea of uncalled for emotions, is when your just lying there. Letting it all out without knowing what your letting out. Your staring lifelessly at the ceiling like your expecting it to give you some sort of answer, some sort of clue on why your heart is aching so terribly. There's so many tears that you can barely breath as every time you open your mouth to gasp for oxygen, your find nothing but salty tears.

  After awhile you can't cry anymore, your numb to it all yet at the same time oh so very new. Your unable to cry as you've already shedded to many tears. Your stuck with the combined feeling of pain and numbness, one that is almost impossible to lose. You think of your past in those moments, you thing of all the pain. You feel as though you are helpless, as all you can do is think about all the shit that made you this way. All the shit that made you shatter. Your forced to live through those memories, over and over again. Repeating it endlessly as your own way of punishing yourself for allowing those things to happen to you in the first place.