Beautiful Casualty

Chapter Eight

I laid on my back on "my" oh-so-comfortable bed, staring up at the bumps on the building, creating many different pictures out of them. My light stayed off as tears rolled down my face like a waterfall. I tried to keep the small sobs as silent as I could, but it was nearly impossible.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to go home.

But where was home?

Definitely no wherever Tiffany was. She was the reason this was happening to me.

You need to go down there and apologize to him. He didn't do anything wrong. This is all you. I tried the voices in my head with music, but the radio placed sad, slow songs that lied. Lied about love, lied about life. I turned it off.

Those people, they don't know what it's like to have to live a life full of nothing but disappointment. They act as if it's a choice, like you choose to have this kind of life. From an early age, I was disappointed by my life. I didn't have a childhood like most people did. I was still beaten, even when my parents were "happy" with each other. My mother always hated me, she used to tell me that it wasn't her choice to have me or not--that when they found out she was pregnant, they didn't have the money to pay for an abortion. My dad, however, was sort of nice before he started drinking. He'd sometimes take me down to the local park and let me play with the other kids who never seemed to want to play with me. Why? Because my hair was nappy and oily and I didn't smell too great. My parent's didn't care enough to teach me to bathe everyday like other parents did--they didn't even bother to feed me properly, which was why I was so skinny.

Like I said before, I rarely had good memories to look back on. I hated thinking about the past. But how was I supposed to forget it when it was the only thing I could remember?

"Tess," Marc's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Tess, can I talk to you?"

"What is there to talk about, Marc? I think we've said everything we needed to," I said, not making any movement to unlock the door.

"Tess, please, let me in," he begged. I closed my eyes and sighed. I sat up and made my way to unlock the door. As the door opened, I made my way to sit on the edge of the bed. Marc joined me shortly after closing the door. "Tess," he sighed. "I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but I know what you're going through." I scoff.

"Do you now?" I said, unbelievingly.

"Yes, I do," he leaned forwards with his hands folded in his lap. "I don't know why you did what you did, but I know the way you're probably feeling. I've felt it too."

"Marcus," I said, stopping him. "I don't want to hear your sob story. It's bad enough that I already feel like shit and you want to make me feel some sort of pity for you too and I"--my voice cracked--"I really can't handle that right now.

"Oh my God, Tess," he bolted up in rage. "That is not what I'm trying to do! I'm trying to relate to you! I'm trying to care! Why can't you just fucking let me? Why can't you understand that not everyone wants to see you hurt?"

I stormed up as well. "Maybe it's because they--Marc--you don't. You think you care, but why the fuck would you? You don't fucking know me!"

"Tess," he said softly, moving closer to me. He placed his hand on my arm and started rubbing it. "You don't have you know someone to care about them." I could feel him trying to look into my eyes, but I wouldn't let him. I couldn't. "Please, look at me." Tears started to fill my eyes as I looked up at him. I tried not to stare directly into his eyes because I knew that if I did, it'd lead somewhere I didn't want it to. But... I messed up.