Mosaicked Feelings

Foreword

Stomping onto the smudged ashes of my sanity, the crumbs of the leftover cigarettes on the bathroom floor, I stumbled onto one of the chairs in the room, clearing my blurry vision. The fogginess of the disrupting reminders formed in my eyes, blocking my focus while I tried to catch my breath.

This was finally it. I couldn't wait to feel alive again.

The serene thought of lifelessness played in my mind, planning out a good trick to take me away from here, something that would actually promise me my happily ever after. Eternally. 

The cues for my desperation were their echoing words. Words that grazed and scratched my being, like sharp nails on a chalkboard, etching permanent scars. Words that looked like wounds in hindsight. How even must a person survive the aftermath of the bleed-out when exorcising such venomous words? They won't. No one would. 

"She's pathetic and lonely. No wonder she doesn't have any friends," I could still hear the snickers, all clear and loud in my head.

"Stop making everything about yourself. You're so dramatic,"

"You're crazy to even think we were something... And now you're going to play the victim card to seek everyone's attention,"

"We should beware of her, I know she's known as a relationship wrecker, "

"She talks to every other guy in class since she can't get enough of guys, it's actually so desperate."

"She's really not the kind of girl you should hang out with."

"Look at those slutty pictures she sends. She's definitely trying to sabotage our relationship."

"Why's she always smoking cigarettes? That's so not ladylike, it's gross."

These were the words that had seemingly paralysed me into a moment in past, and I couldn't comprehend an instance of time without them. I snapped out of my trance, with my unmoving jittery legs aching on the uncomfortable chair. Sitting deliberately, I exhaled out a frustrated huff and focused hard on obstructing any piercing thoughts that would come in between me and my saviour.

I was instantly cut off again when a banging on the door interrupted my reverie, followed up by a muffled voice. "Open up Michelle! Please don't do this."

My face contorted in a small surprised expression at him of all people, showing up and having the audacity to stop me.

Before it got too late, my frail body turned around from the door and my sight stopped on the small washroom, carrying a lingering stench of rottenness, which I assumed were the dead insects I had seen multiple times. The door hung open slightly, revealing an outdated white bottle standing erectly on a shelf as if waiting for its predator. Gaining all my strength and courage to take the final initiative, not that I needed any more of it, I gravely proceeded to the disaster-stricken cubicle and fetched the bottle almost tripping the thing from my trembling clutch.

My eyes lingered on it for a while longer at it, like any man would stare at food after starving for weeks. I slightly jumped at the next thunderous threat on the other side of the door.

"Please. Open the door..." The hopeless breathy voice trails around the silence-before-the-storm quietness in the room. "Please..." The thump of his hand sliding against the wooden door accompanied the cracking desperation. 

I shook off the words, refocusing on my saving Grace. Gulping the nervous bile formed in my throat, I took deep breaths and unscrewed the cap of whatever liquid it was.

The shuffling of feet was heard next, alerting me and I hastily brought the bottle to my lips.

"You can do this... trust me it's worth it," The other guy in the room, whose ghost-like presence had gone unacknowledged from me, reintroduced himself. He seemed to be eyeing my every move and was the only one who apparently was there for me all this time and even now. His dusky night-kissed hair in the dim ambience of the room shone, and his black eyes glowed with darkness reflecting tranquillity and peace. Passing him a small anxious smile in return, I peeked at him from beneath the lashes to interpret any uncertainty, but there was none. Only encouragement.

I readjusted my glance back to the bottle in my hand; the sweet poison to the poisonous memories and the ointment to my gashes surfaced inside of it. Inhaling the warm scent of unbroken promises of satisfaction, I smiled to myself and him one final time before I drank down the concoction.

The reaction wasn't instant. But it didn't take long for me to feel a sharp piercing pain in my stomach followed by a nauseating feeling building inside of me. Puke and vomit crept inside my throat, blocking my breathing along with the ache spreading through my body.

More voices stirred around, and my vision blacked out in no time as I fell onto the cold, hard, floor, embracing the calmness of the dark.