Stitching Hearts [Hoennshipping]

Mutilated

May's Point Of View

-x-

⠀
Mutilated. I felt mutilated. The tears that I shredded last night was unbearable. My cheeks were red and faded from color, eyes puffy and stinging. I didn't eat the dinner that was left outside my bedroom door, nor did I take my medication that I was suppose to use each day. My thoughts flooded with how terribly my breathing would be later on at school, or if my heart would beat rapidly before failing on me. No one would care if I were to pass out or plain out die right before their eyes, I was a piece of trash ready to be thrown right into the garbage can.

⠀

"I hate you, Brendan."

⠀

It was all Brendan, Brendan, Brendan. He was the flames that played inside me in anger, I wished he'd burn from the fiery depths of Hell. Okay, maybe not that far of hatred, but enough that I hollered at the top of my lungs. But it wasn't such a good idea, for I collapsed onto the floors, breathing heavy and oxygen trying to knock passed the brick walls of my throat. It burned, stung. I was cried even more, biting into my bottom lip as I tried to stop. The flesh from my lips tore to skin, blood oozing out slowly till they trickled down my chin.

⠀

"You liar."

⠀

"You don't know how I feel."

⠀

"I saw you as someone else, but I was mistaken."

⠀

"I thought," I choked on my words, "I thought you were different."

⠀

Suddenly, the wood flooring of my room brightened its shine. The once dusty and dark wood seemed as if an angel was chasing the shadows away. It was want to be beautiful, perhaps the world wanting me to get back up to my feet and gave this world. To stay strong, to crush this mutilated, painful disease that made everyone turn their dreams and hopes away─ to overrun and overcome the disease, no matter how long it took. But then, I felt I didn't have such strength to do so. For the last many years, this disease has brought me down on all the things I wanted.

⠀

Many told me that I would turn this disease around, but they said that just for show. It meant nothing, and they knew it. People actually believe that feeling sympathetic would make everyone feel better, wanted, cured. But little did they know, that it only shook their world and told them that living wasn't an option anymore. Like normal and healthy people, they had two routes in which they could choose to walk. But for the ones like me, one route was the one you walked. If you don't choose to walk this road, it was like an ending to your life and you'd die. No words of protest.

⠀

Walk the path, or die from your own mistakes.

⠀

I knew once I looked at the clock beside my bed, the numbers would reflect the time. It was seven o'clock, the time I was meant to be awaken and set out for school. Mom would usually push the door open, flick on the lights, and kiss my cheek once before leaving to do her things. But little did she know that I wasn't leaving for school. I don't want to be next to Brendan, he would only crush me. Crush me like a bug on the floor.

⠀

And I was no bug.

⠀

Sighing, I rose to my feet and let my fingers brush gently against the doorknob of my room. My instincts told me that I shouldn't, wouldn't go to tell Mom what I had gone through. But it was only normal for me. Even if I had died that day to a weapon meant and known for cutting, tearing, slicing─ it would probably better than dying from the lack of oxygen in my system. It would've been a quick and easy death, one without pain for a long period of time. I wouldn't have to suffer, only fly above the clouds and finally be free.