Changing Past

Chapter 16: Never ending

Quote of the Chapter:
'It might hurt to walk away, but that will never compare to the pain of staying. Don't let the fear of being alone, keep you in a relationship where you are alone.'

I couldn't hear anything except the occasion sob and my loud breathing. When I got back to the beach house I ran into the living room and sat on the floor and cried.

'How did it all end up so badly?'

The denial part of my brain ridiculed myself for letting him back in when I knew what damage he already caused. I didn't want it to be true. I was stuck in my own fantasy and some random girl just brought me back to reality. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I slowly walked back over to the couch, and started to remember the memories that we had here.

Filled with desperation for clarification, I stabbed the pillows and couch multiple times. Pillow stuffing went everywhere and I started to cough and choke from the loose pieces flying around in the air. The debris looked like snow, something we never had and I had never seen in person being from Texas and now LA.

The glasses and the cups in the front row of the cabinet were from a shop that was hidden. We found them when we spent the day on a roadtrip.

He gave me one that said:

"I love everything about you. You are perfect in every way and I love you. I love your smile and your laugh because they light up the room without you even trying. I know I say it a lot but I love you I love you I love you."

His said:

"You are so special to me. I would give up anything to be with you. You're crazy and so am I and that's what makes us perfect for each other. I love you more than life itself and I can't express it enough to you. I love you Michael Andrew Drake and I will never stop."

I threw the glasses against the wall and watched them shatter into a million tiny pieces.

Everything he ever told me was a lie:

Every 'I love you.'

Every 'You're so beautiful.'

It was all a lie.

My face, chest, and lungs burned at the facade. Through and through, my skin itched and all of a sudden went cold when the smell of his expensive cologne lured me back into the bedroom. His favorite shirts were neatly folded on the edge of the bed up, yet in seconds they lay at my feet in estranged pieces of torn fabric.

For a second, the sight frightened me, but the circulation of images that happened tonight stripped away the anger and replaced it with nothing. Not bitterness, not sadness, not confusion, just nothing. I felt sure of nothing but one thing.

'I'm done being the good girl.'

I sunk to my knees and began silently crying. I gripped onto my hair in frustration to the point that my scalp was sore and sat on the bed.

At this point, my makeup and hair were a mess. My makeup was smudged and my dress was wrinkled beyond belief. I grabbed the pictures of us off of the shelves out of every room in the house and broke the frames and the glass. I put our pictures on the dining room table and cut each of them up so that I was on one piece of the film and he was on the other.

I went into the bedroom and sprawled my clothes into a purple duffle-bag and headed for the door.

I had my hand on the handle before it started to slowly turn.