hemophilia

prologue

❛❛ 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬? / 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬? 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐈'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 / 𝐈𝐟 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐦 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 ❜❜

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The lit-up screen on my phone showed a time that made me feel nauseated to be awake. 3:33 am. Everyone was passed out on the couch, the empty bottles of cider and beer scattered all over the coffee table, and I sensed my stiffened body lying on the fluffy rug with a large pillow tucked under my head. I had no memory of covering myself up with a blanket or if one of them did it for me, but it definitely made falling asleep on the floor feel less uncomfortable. The TV screen was the only source of light I had despite the large windows taking up nearly the entire wall, the darkness outside intensifying the placidness overtaking the room.

The astounding sobriety and loneliness I felt being the only one awake was taking an unwanted toll on me, as I slowly got up and tiptoed back to my bedroom at the end of the hallway. Tears began emerging from my eyes and flowing down my cheeks, dripping from my chin before I could even close the door behind me. I was holding back my sobs like a hostage hiding from a burglar, the pressure on my chest weighing ten times the sun, my lungs burning, and every breath I tried taking stopping in the middle of my throat. I dragged my feet and pulled the window open, not bothering to brace for impact as the late autumn chills immediately crashed against my dampened skin. My lungs filled with cold air through a much-needed gasp.

I crawled up in the middle of my bed, bringing my knees to my chest as the waterfalls pouring out of my sockets gave no sign of running dry anytime soon, but what was I to do?

All I could do was pity myself and cry over all that I'd lost, including myself. Saying I had lost him was nothing but pathetic, he was never mine and we both knew it. I belonged to him while he belonged to himself, and I dedicated myself to him like a deer entrusting a lion. He consumed my bones, my blood, my tissues, and the sinews that bound me together. Suguru enjoyed me as a meal, taking his time savoring the texture of my skin, the meat, all the mangled bits of my body. It was the last supper, offering my bread and wine, well aware that it was all a smokescreen for how I was about to be torn apart like a pomegranate. And what was I crying for? I used to admire him as he gnawed and licked his lips after another bite of me.

But there was a strangeness to it. I couldn't be digested. Every mouthful made his stomach tighten and lurch. This adoration had turned gangrenous for both of us, but I was the one who ended up with a phantom limb - a love I once had but could no longer find.

What was I to do with all of this love that had turned into an inconsolable grief? It kept overflowing out of me with no intent of stopping. I was left to carry the burden of my failure to fix something that was broken beyond repair, and I'd succeeded in destroying myself as well in the process. How comical was it, relating to characters like Harley Quinn and how she ruined herself for a man she was supposed to save?

I wiped away my hot tears and reminded myself that being poetic was not going to help me move on. Maybe with time. Maybe with maturity, or wisdom achieved over time. There had to be a way, and I had to find it. My friends hadn't abandoned me, so the least I could do for them was not abandon myself. I needed to stitch myself back together, no matter how hard it was, and how rotten I felt.