Death Eyes

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

While riding the train all I could focus on was the warmth of his hug. I hated that I was feeling like that. I like girls so this made no sense.

"When in despair any beauty seems like the most amazing one" I remember reading this somewhere. "True", I thought as I got out of the train. "I mean I am pretty desperate since I can never meet HER again, I know. No wonder he felt so warm since he was pretty cute and also very kind."

I reach my house and unlock the heavy wooden door. I remember having difficulty unlocking it in the first place. I found this house right after I was kicked out of mine and since it was deserted I decided to make it mine. The government was a bit beaurocratic about it but I never let this case rest so they finally gave in. Of course they never gave me keys so I made my own. I also decorated it after I found the money. There are still some rooms that remain locked or undecorated but the Goth aesthetics I achieved are not in need of further adjustments. So even though I have enough money to fix the door, or even buy a new one, I still stick with this old 19th century, wooden one. "Whatever" I think as I walk inside, turning the lights on since it is already dark outside.

I get in the kitchen and make some tea. Earl Gray. Her favorite was vanilla caramel. She loved sweet things. Fuck! There goes my mind again. Overthinking. I decide to sleep early so as to force the negative thoughts away, so I head off to the bathroom, for a quick shower.

As I walk inside, I step into shattered glass. I sigh. "I have forgotten about that". I turn on the light and see the bathroom mirror broken and millions of pieces scattered on the floor. I start picking up the shards and cleaning the blood. Yes, I have, once again, broken my mirror last night, since my whole existence disgusts me. I know this sounds pathetic... Also expensive, since I end up buying a new mirror every week.

After I was done I looked at the remaining pieces above the sink, projecting a crooked picture of myself.

-Fuck you! I say to myself as I remove my clothing never stop looking at my hideous form. Scars, burns, marks, signs of abuse and self-harm, starvation and hate were visible even through the broken glass. They were pretty to my eyes. What I hate are not those...

I get in the tub, slowly sinking in the boiling water. My wounds sting. I like that sensation. Physical pain. The only pain I can control. The only pain she deprived me from. It was 3 years ago I started cutting again. It was 3 years ago, my pain become unbearable. It was 3 years ago SHE died.