Th*rsty (Scomiche)

The First Cut Is The Deepest

"Help me dry the tears that I've cried."

The First Cut Is The Deepest by Sheryl Crow

—-

I sat with my back against the bedroom door and hugged my knees to my chest.

My head was pounding, my eyes were puffy, my nose was red and my throat was dry. My cheeks were stained with tears that ceased to flow around an hour ago.

It was a struggle even just to breathe. My heart broke with every beat. Every inch of me suffered in pain - emotional pain, but pain nonetheless - and yet I also felt numb.

The part that sucked the most was feeling helpless... powerless over my own thoughts, over my own body. There were so many voices, none of which were my own, telling me how stupid I was, how wrong I was, how I shouldn't have done what I did.

I thought about how people say that the things you will regret most in life are not the things you did or said but those you didn't do or say.

I learned the hard way that that was plain bullshit.

Because I regretted the words that came out my stupid mouth, and I regretted more what I did after that.

Once again I found myself talking to the empty room and wishing I could turn back time, wishing I could take it back, and wishing I chose a different path.

I closed my eyes and brought myself back to that day when all I had to say was one damn word. Or maybe three. Instead I whispered the wrong four words that catapulted me to the emotional black hole I was currently wallowing in.

I mentally chastised myself for destroying the best thing I had in my life, for sabotaging my own happiness, and for making the most foolish of decisions. 

I replayed our conversation, just like I have done a thousand times over in the weeks that have passed. 

The memory, as expected, drove another invisible knife to my core. 

*****

"Mitch, tell me to stay and I will," Scott pleaded while he held my hands in his.

The word 'stay' sat on the tip of my tongue. It was what I meant to say. It was what I wanted. Instead I found myself gently pulling my hands away. "No, go. Goodbye, Scott."

He gazed for a couple more seconds and his eyes searched mine for an explanation.

I didn't have any so I looked down and said nothing. 

After a while, Scott took a deep breath and then stood up, turned around, and started to walk away.

From the corner of my eye I could see his retreating figure. I panicked and so I began to move with every intention of getting up. 

He stopped when he heard the rustling of my feet, his shoulders tensed and he looked back. His eyes caught mine and he silently begged for me to stop him.

I froze. Air refused to move in and out of my lungs and the words were caught in my throat. As a single tear fell from my eye, I shook my head.

He released a deep sigh before starting to make his way out of the door.

Out of my life. 

*****

By some miracle I found enough energy to get up and walk over to the bathroom. I stood in front of the sink and studied my reflection in the mirror.

Who I saw staring back at me was a man I barely knew - a man who had lost hope, a man who was living in regret, a man in so much pain but who also felt dead on the inside.

It was such a pathetic sight that my eyes filled with hot tears again.

I hastily opened the drawer and found the piece of steel that's been calling out to me the past few days.

A sense of calm washed over me as I pulled it out and held it against my wrist.

I smiled as the first sight of red made a beautiful contrast to my pale skin. 

It's going to be over soon.

—-

A/N: This is a short, hot mess that totally doesn't make sense because it doesn't have an actual story (probably because I've deleted thousands of words trying to come up with something) so I apologize if I wasted your time.

I wish I could blame the weather, or Shonda Rhimes for Grey's Anatomy, or Ian Somerhalder tying the knot, or the Pacquiao-Mayweather fight but... meh.

I promise to try to write better stuff when I can.

Twitter/Tumblr/Instagram/Snapchat/Kik: evekatalbas