He Called Her Angel

Stitches

This is the shortest chapter I have written, it just works better as a short chapter.

Chapter 30

Stitches

Written in third person

She is a pile of broken glass, fixable, but never to be the same again. She thought they took everything she had. She woke up in his bed confused, broken, and bruised. All seemed hopeless. Though she tries to ignore the pain and focus on the right things to gain in this messed up life she just finds herself digging deeper into the core of reality. "There is more to life than this," she thought to herself. "And there's a lot I have missed, something beautiful and better than this."

She stared at him fast asleep. He looked so innocent as he slept. Something about how any trace of worry was wiped from his features made him seem surreal. She left him with nothing, but a note and a kiss on the forehead. As she wrote the nine scribbled words across the paper she tried to cry, but her tears were all dried up. She needed to purge this emotion from her body, but it's not as easy as sticking fingers down her throat or dragging a blade across her wrists. She was begging for a thread to stitch up the seams of where she had been torn apart, but nothing could fix the holes embedded in her heart.

"I can't love someone if I can't love myself." She wrote out.

When he saw the note on his bed stand he thought he knew what was coming, but as he read the delicate words strewn across the paper his breath hitched because he was used to being the one that ruined things. He almost forgot how it felt for someone to tear you from their bones and unstitch you from their veins and untie you from their limbs.

She returns to a house she can't call a home, with a parent she doesn't want to call her own. She's laying in bed with her iPod on full blast. The door is locked and her curtains are drawn. On the TV screen is the Notebook. An empty tub of her favorite ice cream lies on the floor. Smudged with makeup, her fingertips are soaked from wiping away mascara and eyeliner stained tears. She thinks to herself that this was all her fault and she'll never get him back.

He's on the edge of his bed and the door's locked. His room is pitch black from the absence of lights. There's a hole in the wall from when he punched it earlier. His headphones are about to bust from how loud the music is. No one can hear his sobs or see how messy his hair is from running his fingers through it, thinking and thinking. He's replaying the words on her note and thinking how this is all his fault and how she'll never take him back.

They lay their head on pillows of regrets and wrap themselves in blankets of shame. This is how they've made each of their beds, and this is how they'll lie in it.

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I think some really cool chapters are in the future. :D

So bare with me and my short chapters...