Mosaicked Feelings

XXII: Dead To Him

So far, my hiatus with the romantic-storyship didn't seem to go as I had planned.

I hadn't expected nor imagined how difficult it would've been for me to move on, and simply forget about everything in a matter of moments. I couldn't stop but think of what he felt for me, or whether my absence bothered him at the very least or not. I had just done him an easy favour of getting rid of myself from his life before he could make out an excuse for how bad or incapable of love I was.

After I'd departed from the site, I hadn't heard or received any messages from him, which only deepened and carved the cracks inside of me. A part of me had secretly wanted him to follow back, apologised or, at least admitted, what he did was wrong and a one-time thing. But no, instead all I received was a very idle demeanour of him, void of any reaction or response.

Before I even reached home, I had blocked him from everywhere, WhatsApp, Instagram, blocked his phone number, in the thought of being able to forget about him, yet neither of those things was able to wipe off my remembrances. Every passing moment was as dreadful as before as if the moment intensified into a memory as time passed. They said time healed, but this didn't seem to be the kind of wound that would heal with time. It worsened. Because the wound was left untreated and without closure.

Finally reaching my house -- and leaving what I thought was home behind -- I chose to ignore showing up at Edward's workplace. I knew it was quite impulsive of me to be making decisions fast, but it didn't seem like I had any other choice. I just couldn't bring myself to see him anymore, and so I thought I was just better off.

Little did I know, how hard going through a heartbreaking phase would be, without anyone else with me, or to console me. I had been so caught up and sharply inclined over Edward and his charismatic blinding-me-from-anyone-else company, that I hadn't bothered being with anyone else.

Only to know that all of that was a one-sided dependency after all.

I had lost myself so much into him, that now that I'd lost him, I was unable to find myself.

Without thinking much, and simply wanting to blur away the pain, I rummaged through my bag to extract that trusty blue lighter that belonged to Edward. I flicked it with my thumb, the flame shakily glowing in the darkness wrapping around us. I undid the flame before flicking it again and slightly brought it towards the bare skin of my thigh exposed under my skirt. I winced as soon as the flame neared my skin and quickly retracted. The pain was sharp and throbbing but it didn't stop me from trying again and so I did. The skin surface shifted to a much darker shade, forming a hideous mark. I quickly withdraw the flame from my skin and closed the lighter. All my senses and pain seemed to have converged to a single point, and it instantly felt better.

I quickly palmed the fresh wound from my hand that seemed to be emitting pain, and I almost cried at the hurt that it felt. With that, I broke down again, crumbling into my arms.

I thudded back onto the bed in agony, and broke into a fit of tears, silently weeping again, as I cupped my eyes with the palms of my hands to stop, but didn't. The hot tears cascaded across my cold lifeless skin all the way in my hair, blurring out my vision. It was through blurry tear-stained vision, that I saw the hurting reality better.

I only wished someone was there for me. Someone to tell me it would get better, or someone to remind me -- even if it would be a lie -- that I wasn't as bad as everyone thought I was. I wished there was someone, anyone to give me that shoulder to cry upon unless I'd run out of tears to shed, and feelings to feel. I wished I hadn't pushed people away and worked hard on making better friends.

I wished I was a better person in general, and not so flawed to the extent of an unrepairable kind of broken.

Deciding to type out a text to Marilyn asking how was she on my phone, I cleared it up, feeling like it apparently would come off as a fake nicety. All due to my distant, stuck-up attitude, I couldn't even help myself with friends, and now that I needed help, I couldn't bring myself to ask for it. According to my inner critics, I knew it was all my fault anyways, and that would be what everyone would be saying in the end, concluding everything to be the consequence of my actions.