Scarred ✔

two

.two.

"Don't change it," I said, shaking my head. "It looks good on you."

Her widened eyes snapped up to meet mine in surprise as she stuttered, "I-It does?"

"Yeah," I smiled. She returned it hesitantly and adjusted the fedora on her head for the hundredth time.

"Hey, leave it alone," I said softly, slapping her hand away, causing her to pout and me to chuckle.

"Fine . . ."

We were going to a frat party with a few of my friends, and it was new seeing her so conscious about how she looked.

Fifteen minutes later, all of us were in the frat house, and we left the girls to hang out till we got them drinks.

"So, how are the both of you?" one of my friends asked me, with a nod towards my girlfriend.

"Fine," I said with a forced smile. It wasn't any of his business. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he shrugged, and I narrowed my eyes at him. Getting my girl a drink and one for me too, I returned to where the girls were. But as soon as I went near them, I knew that something was wrong.

My girlfriend was fuming and there was an embarrassed look on her face; one of my friend's girlfriend had a furious look, too. She was a bitch, everyone knew that, but my girlfriend was a sensitive person, so whatever that bitch had told her, she probably took it to heart.

"What happened now?" I asked in exasperation, and she snapped at me.

"Why don't you go and ask her?"

"Little Miss Prude here is afraid to show her body. She says she can't swim," the bitch smirked. "Didn't find a better excuse to not wear a bikini, did you?"

My face hardened and my fists clenched, tiny black dots dancing in my vision with anger, and I slowly turned towards the watery eyed girl.

Great . . . Now there'll be tears and drama, and I'll be the one to resolve everything, like always.

Our relationship was almost five years long, but yet there was not a single person that I could lean back on or depend upon. I was the one on whom she was dependant for everything.

I had no one to turn to. Dead parents. No close immediate relatives.

No one.

Not even friends to turn to.

They didn't know about her situation. How she was suicidal.

But I couldn't blame her . . . Her so-called friends left her; called her a freak; made her life living hell.

Some friends they were. She had no one but me.

But I was alone. Alone . . . Stuck with a ticking time-bomb.

She got up and brushed against me, murmuring, "I'm leaving. You can stay here as long as you want to."

Before I could even realize it, she was gone.

I turned to that bitch who had a smug look on her face, anger and fury blocking everything else off my mind.

I leaned forward to come face to face with her. "Fuck you," I spat emphatically, and her eyes widened.

I rarely swore.

My girlfriend didn't deserve this. Any of this.

But you don't deserve this either.

Not even half an hour had passed at this party, and all the excitement went down the drain.

In a panicked and rushed state, I drove fast through the traffic, millions of negative thoughts racing through my mind.

Knives . . . Glass . . . What next?

Finally reaching our small apartment, I kicked the door open, but the sight in front of me made me stop very unsteady in my tracks.

What I was expecting to see were broken things on the floor, a small trail of blood somewhere, silent sobs cutting through the air sleekly but so painfully that you could feel the agony.

And then finally, she, either crouching in a corner hugging one of my belongings, or passed out on the bathroom floor with a bloody razor, a bottle of sleeping pills discreetly hidden somewhere.

But what I saw was completely different and unexpected. My heart pounded in my chest and my jaw dropped when I saw her sitting cross-legged on the couch, watching some TV programme, as though some bitch had never told her off for not wearing a bikini and parading around almost naked, with all the scars on her stomach on full display.

"Hey," I said stupidly.

"Hey," she nodded at me, turning her attention back to the TV.

What?

"I thought I told you that you could stay at the party as long as you pleased?"

"Excuse me?" I said in disbelief. Was she kidding me right now?

And then she sneered at me, "What? Did you think that I had something ready to hurt myself with, here at home?"

Shut up.

"Or that I couldn't handle one stupid comment from that brainless skank?"

Please.

"You thought that I would create a new fresh scar which you would heal with your kisses?"

Just stop talking . . .

"Did you-"

"YES, I DID THINK THAT!" I exploded suddenly. "And why shouldn't I? It's like a routine now! Why should today be any different?"

"Y-You don't mean that," she stuttered, suddenly afraid.

That's what she was afraid of - reality.

But I had had enough.

"Well, guess what? I do!" I shouted, anger surging through my veins.

I wanted out.

I wanted to leave her.

Leave her right now.

Not give a damn about her.

And then I did it.

The main door of the house slammed shut with a deafening bang, and I could practically hear her flinch horribly even through the closed door.

The car was started, and my brain, clouded with nothing but hot, pure anger, told me to drive to what seemed like the perfect place to be in, at that moment, at that time.

A night club.

****

Hey guys! Just wanted to tell you that the story does NOT have a specific plot. So the chapters won't have a flow or anything.

Please vote and comment . . . I put in a lot of effort to write this; it's something different, and I haven't read something like this anywhere before, nor written . . . So it's a totally new thing for me.

And if you haven't voted on any previous chapter of 'Her Words, Their Story', please do! Each and every vote matters a lot!!!

Have a good day ahead :)

-Crazy