That Boy... [Short Story]

Hi guys! So this is a short story I came up with the other day. It's a bit depressing but I hope you guys like it :) 

Please comment your thoughts below and don't forget to vote :)

-MarshmallowFever♥

That Boy...

Five months have passed, and I still can't get over it.

I fell in love with him, but his answer wasn't the best.

I remember the days when we did stuff together, but didn't talk about our feelings. The day that he said I was pretty, was one of the best days of my life. He said he cared, when he really didn't. I was such a fool. Why did I even go up to him that day? He just said why was I there, meaning that my presence bothered him. The first in half a year that I have seen him and he didn't even bother to say hi before anything. Why did I waste my time over him? Why did I even think about him? The only thing that would always be there was my Diary.

Oh Diary..

You saw everything that passed, you could see the moments of happiness and thoughtfulness, when it was all a lie. All a fucking lie.

That day was the first time after a month that I cut myself. At first it stung, but it felt awesome. I knew it was wrong but I couldn't help it. I watched as the blood fell from my throbbing wrist, that was the moment that I regretted cutting myself. But it was too late.

People asked what was the thing that I saw in that boy, I remember smiling widely and looking elsewhere. Those where the days. Wasted days. And the worst part of all, is that they're never coming back.

I even remember the day that we had a school project going on, I was the first one to chose who'll be in my group. Everyone watched intently as I thought in between my best friend or the lovely boy that haunted my imaginations. The teacher threatened to pick another person to chose a group because of my long time thinking. After a little while my mouth talked for itself, blurting out the precious name of the boy. He frowned at first because he wanted to be with one of his friends, but then he smiled. His smile. A smile that someone would never forget.

I think I have done lots of mistakes lately, he doesn't love me and he probably doesn't care of my state either.

I have thought of committing suicide, but I don't think that's the answer.

Yet.

My family gave up on me a month from now. He doesn't know what he has done to me. He really doens't.

Just thinking about him gives me a huge pain in the chest.

Should I cut myself again? Is that the fucking answer? Shouldn't I end the pain, end the suffering already? I really don't know... I don't even have a friend to talk to. The few that I had decided to move on. They didn't care about me either. But that's just another story...

Fuck. Why did I have to land my eyes on him in the first place? Why? Just... why?

The thought of killing myself is getting on my head constantly, apart from his presence too.

You may be wondering where the hell am I. Well, to answer your thoughts, I'm in my bathroom. In my house. Alone.

I haven't showered in a week or so, there is blood splattered everywhere, looks like someone was murdered in here, but I don't give a shit.

I haven't eaten in like forever, and when I do, I just throw up all the time. I guess my insides are as hurt as my ego.

Pictures of him hugging me, kissing me, laughing with me, or just having a good time with me keep showing up in my head, but my subconscious keeps reminding me it was all an act, which leads to another day of sobbing and crying in my bathroom floor.

Fuck. His friends where there. My "all so loved' friends too. It was so humiliating. I felt so misplaced, so...lost. He was a jerk, a big ass jerk.

Maybe I should move on in my life, pass this stage of him, stop the memories, but I just don't think I'm capable of that.

For the hundredth time today I feel tears pour down my face as long as unwelcomed sobs, the pain is right there.

Just like every time, I reach for the bloody knife. For a swift second, instead of burying it inside of my wrist as I always do, I stare at it. The knife is full of blood, dry blood. I just stare at it for a moment. 

This is sick. I'm sick. I should be ashamed of me, for being so weak, so stupid, for being a coward.

Just as I am about to cut myself again, I decide to stand up and wash my face. As I am about to turn the water faucet on, I turn my sight to the mirror above the sink. In front of me is the reflection of something. Someone I have never seen before. Someone very familiar to me, yet not so familiar at all. It has a once white sweatshirt, stained completely with blood, when you look at this person's face you see brown swollen eyes and bags underneath them, along with dry tears. Her long black hair that looks like once it had a shine is all a tangly mess. She looks sad, very sad. She looks like she's suffering, and worst of all, that person that is in the mirror in front of me, that girl, is me.