Looking down from heaven

Table 23

Leela's pov
I sat down at table 23.

The table we agreed on.

I looked around to see all the couples giving each other romantic doe eyes.

I sighed.

Unlike them I'm waiting knowing he probably won't show up.

All I can do is sit and wait.

Hanging here like a bait.

Waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting-

Not much else I can do.

Consistently, I scramble around my pocket for my phone.

Consciously checking when each minute has gone by.

It has already been 20.

I stare and stare at the sign of 23.

Table 23.

I didn't want to be here much longer.

On table 23.

Rain started to drizzle down the windows.

Representing the tears that were slowly starting to trickle down my face.

I can't complain.

It's all my fault anyway.

And now I'm stuck on table 23.

85% of me shouting at me to leave -

To go-

To get the hell out of here before I get even more embarrassed.

But the other 15%-

Telling me to stay right here-

On table 23.

And that part of me clung on -

Clutching my heart telling me to rely on him.

To never give up.

But my brain-

It knew he wouldn't come.

I guess I listened to my brain more.

I stood up.

Calmly, with self control.

Even though I wanted to run away.

Far far away.

I swiftly walked to the toilets and stood stiffly in front of the mirror.

Mascara smudged down my face and the rest of my makeup I'd perfected, 1 hour ago now.

I grabbed a tissue and wiped it all away.

My imperfections jumping out of the mirror.

Spot here.

Spot there.

My lazy eye on the left side.

My bottom lip that had been busted by my older brother.

The scar on my head from where I cut myself on the school gate when I was 5 and I had to have stitches.

And then I looked down at my arm.

And when I pull up my sleeve, the crimson cuts standout from my pale skin.

No one knew that I cut but ever since my parents found the cocaine, I started to.

After I did it for the first time, It felt so heavenly- so amazing. A burning sensation kindled inside of me.

But then I realised I'd have to cover it up.

The thing is about cutters, is that people think we're crazy.

That we're not normal.

We're mental.

And we're not like normal people.

That we're the broken ones.

So I promised I'd never do it again.

But once you start you can't stop

Your skin begs you for it.

Cut me.

It distracts you from your pain and your guilt.

The guilt that I still can't accept.

Cutting is an addiction.

The darkness called addiction crawls down your back and snaps at your heels like rabid dogs.

You love it, but hate it.

I couldn't bare it anymore, I shoved down my sleeve again.

Before the taunts of my arm beckoned me to cut again.

I reapplied my makeup and took a deep breathe.

I opened the door and scanned the room for table 23.

Maybe I would wait a little longer.

On table 23

But then-

I didn't need to.

Because there on table 23-

Lucas scanned the room for me.

And are eyes locked.

We could be together, at last-

On table 23.