Lies - Scomiche

1. I loved him the most.

I don't remember how exactly I ended up here, walking down this oddly quiet street. The only sound heard is the sound of my heart, trying to beat its way out of my chest. The cool night breeze abusing my face with cold harsh slaps, painting my cheeks with blood coloured marks.

I can feel shivers traveling down my spine, lingering on my limbs. My veins turning into a darker shade of blue by the second.

I'm walking home, or at least so I believed. Earth is spinning faster than it should be, my head feels like it's hosting a wild night party. I want all the noise within me to calm down. I want to inhale a breath that's not so shallow. I want to exhale one that doesn't feel as if I'm vomiting my lungs out of my throat.

I pray silently to whoever is listening. I'll do anything, just please let this stop very soon.

As the noise in my head grow louder, my feet grow lazier, I need to sit down. It's cold, I'm cold.

I'm frankly convinced that the universe is plotting against me, as though I did something in a past life I'm being brutally punished for at this moment.

Salty taste on my lips, I think the sky is crying, or maybe it's just me.

My fall of tears roll down my cheeks so freely, without any permission or consent. I let my sorrow wash over me for a minute, maybe that way my wounds will get cleaned, maybe that way they won't burn this bad.

What have I done to myself? how could one manage to hold as much stupidity? I need to sit down. It's 2 am. It's not abnormal seeing a grown man falling onto hard concrete at this ungodly hour, right?

I'm just going to lay here until my numbing feet feel fine to walk again. I'm closing my eyes now, its pitch black, and fucking cold. It doesn't get cold here. I keep repeating myself because it doesn't fucking get cold here. I could've sworn it is the cold in my heart making me feel sick.

Oh God. I need to walk. I need to get home. I should ask for help, but there's literally no one around. Even if I wanted to, my throat is too dry to make up a sound.

I lift my arm up and throw it lazily over my head. I'll just go to sleep. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll die.

******

It is the next morning, I'm covered with a warm blanket. I look beside me, and there is a cup of coffee, my favorite mug too.

Last night was rough, dark memories flooding back. How the hell did I get home? Yes, I had to check and look around to make sure I'm in fact home, getting kidnapped by an illegal body organs dealer doesn't sound fun.

I wonder who made me this delicious coffee. It smells like life, the life I could've lost last night. The life I thought I would be better off without. The life I dared wish it was taken away from me. How selfish! My heart tenses at the mention, headache is striking back in full force. let's forget about last night, shall we?

The door to my room flies open, a familiar face and smile walk in. I can feel comfort surrounding me, I can feel the warmth and easiness.

"Hey" I say.
The soft voice hugs me with a "hi" back.

"How are you feeling, Scotty?"
My best friend asks me.

"I'm good."
I simply reply with a faded smile that I try hard to make look somewhat believable.

"What happened last night?"
I question, gaining a skeptical look from my best friend.

"You don't remember?"
She goes to continue, "You didn't seem drunk."