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After crying so hard for hours until my body physically couldn't anymore, I passed out on their bed.
Suddenly it's Sunday already. Evening.
Her pillow is wet and slimy. I'll wash it once I get better.
Now that the rage is completely gone, I'm left with despair. Why is he still not home..?
Something's definitely up. I don't like this.
I rush out of the dark room, going into the hallway.
Staying inside what once was their safe space makes me feel sick.
"J-Jisung," I stutter, my throat on its last straw. Sore like never.
Nobody answers. Not like I expected someone to.
Looking around, I try hard to stop bawling like a damn baby. I rub my eyes until they start hurting and I lose my vision.
How unlucky.
It's been a while since I have eaten and that's because of the amount of grief I'm in.
No motivation.
Hell, I'm still in those not-so-fancy Friday clothes.
My body feels dirty. My hair is greasy and messy and all over the place.
Just like back then— during those brutal depressive episodes—shit, I don't want to feel like that ever again. Especially because of someone who shouldn't mean this much to me.
Talking about him, I realize there's a heavy thunderstorm outside. Probably why I woke up.
What a dumbass. Now he's stuck outside, most likely dying of a heart attack.
And I'm even more of an idiot, because I start combing through the cramped closet, looking for some clothes to go out.
No, I won't look for him. He left on his own.
But I need to take some air. I need to refresh my lungs. My thoughts. My all.
As I look for my favourite hoodie ever that Jisung wore and stained a while ago, I realize it's nowhere. Same with some jeans I got him.
"You fucking bitch." I murmur and take out some random ripped clothes, going into the bathroom.
By taking a hot shower I freshen up, the steam turning off my mind as if on cue. Subsequently, I finally brush my teeth.
Hygiene is the most important, my mother used to say. I know that.
Depression, however, ruins everything. Ruins people. Ruins life. Ruins love.
Whatever. I need to get a grip on myself. Get used to the idea that he left me.
If he does come back though, I'll welcome him with open arms.
