Even Heroes Have Scars

[54] Fix A Heart

*POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING! PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN YOU READ!*

~73 Hours Left~

"I must say, I wasn't expecting you to be here, Marissa." My voice was slurred as hell, though I tried to sound normal.

She blushed considerably, but more like she was just plain embarrassed. Her body turned to face me from her perch on the stool. On the counter, her fingers spun a water bottle in her hand.

"Ansley, I understand if you want me to leave, but I just want to talk to you about some things." She slid off the stool. "Are you drunk?"

I shrugged, setting my keys on the table. "Are you here to talk to me about Demi?" I questioned.

Based on her lack of response, I assumed that was a yes.

Settling onto the couch, I crossed one leg over the other and stared at her. She moved into the den and stood in front of me, fiddling with a bracelet on her wrist.

"You can't leave her like this." Her attempt at sounding calm was sickening.

I rolled my eyes. "Please. That bitch cheated on me. I would have been crazier not to leave."

She shook her head. "She needs you."

"She doesn't need me. Nobody needs me. What she needs is to stay the hell away from me and my brother. And maybe you should do the same," I mumbled through gritted teeth.

Uncomfortable, she shifted on her feet and said nothing for a moment or two.

"Maybe if you heard why she did it, you'd understand, and you guys could make up," she suggested.

I scoffed.

She rested on the armrest of the couch. "You don't have to get back together. I just think she's worth an explanation."

"She's not worth anything to me anymore." My gaze held in the direction of the ground.

"You say that now, but do you honestly believe it?"

"Yes, I do." I rose my voice, starling her to the point of standing up.

Her eyes widened at me. "Please just keep your mind open to her reasons..."

"Shut up!" I exclaimed. "I'm not forgiving her! Get out of my apartment! Please! I'm never forgiving her! I don't care why she did it! She still did it!"

Before I knew it, my hand gripped around the television remote, my fingers running over the buttons, and I lunged it at her. She dodged it, ducking, and it smashed against the wall in the kitchen, the back popping off. Batteries scattered on the floor and rolled into and under things.

Saying nothing, Marissa entered the kitchen, knelt on the floor, and gathered the batteries, inserting them back in their slots in the remote. The backing was broken in her hand when she stood, and she opened a few drawers until she found the one that contained a stapler, tape, a hole-puncher, and sticky notes. She lifted tape from the roll and covered the backing, then placed it back on the remote.

"Remote surgery," she giggled to herself as she shut the drawer.

My eyes remained hard, glaring at her every move. I found another remote that commanded the VCR (yes, those still existed) and hurled it at her as well. She couldn't move out of the way in time, so it nailed her right in the hip. A cry of pain arose from her throat, but she didn't collapse on the floor. I pitched a pillow at her as well, pegging her in the face. On the side table beside the couch, there was a tissue box next to a candle. The tissue box fit its way into my hand, and I lifted it above my shoulder, aiming for her head.