No Angels

.chapter twenty-three.

Do you ever feel so alone that you start to doubt your own existence?

Or that you wish there were things you could forget, and just move on?

Sometimes, things are best left forgotten.

Life carries on, whether you want it to or not.

Everything has a purpose, and so does everyone.

Everything happens for a reason.

Things change, but that doesn't mean they'll be forgotten.

The one person whose voice I really wanted to hear was never coming back. I had a chance and I lost it. I had someone perfect and I couldn't hold onto him. I thought forevers were magical and pure - promises meant to be kept. But no. I wrong.

Forevers are painful.

I'll never forget him. You.

My Ravi.

* * *

It was that time of month again.

The time when every single one of my preservations ran out.

Which meant I had to brave the outside world once more and get more supplies.

I sighed, pausing in front of the empty fridge. I squatted down and saw - to my delight - a jar, pushed to the very back of the fridge.

Maybe...

I grabbed the jar eagerly, only to realize that it was empty.

Well, I tried. Time to be brave again, Leo.

I got up and threw the jar into the trash.

I headed out into the living room and stared at the mess I'd made.

A few days earlier, I'd woken up from a dream and had been in a dazed sort of frenzy. I'd gotten all my tools from the cupboard underneath the sink and had started to fix the broken piano keys.

I couldn't remember the dream clearly - the only thing I did recall was a haunting melody, inexpressibly sweet and sad at the same time.

It'd sounded like a goodbye.

I didn't know what had overcome me, but I knew that I had to get the piano working again.

So far, I'd managed to fix more than half of the keys that I'd broken.

The only downside was that I'd made a huge mess of my living room, and that I'd exhausted my rather limited supplies.

I tended to snack while I worked - it had kept me going for the past few days, and it'd kept my mind busy; away from unwanted thoughts.

Right now, without the excuse of a snack to keep my mind busy, I was forced into the cold, hard truth: once again, I was very much alone in a world I didn't view as my home.

I rubbed at my eyes. I needed sleep, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to. I hadn't slept well since...well, since he left.

I was always so paranoid that he'd come back while I was asleep, and I kept trying to stay up all night, just to see if he'd come back.

Come home.

But he never did, and I'd waste another night without a wink of sleep.

I found myself thinking about the past four months - and how it'd been a living hell on Earth for me.

I remembered how I was the night I found out he wouldn't be coming back.

I still had proof of my rampage on my walls - how I'd thrown a vase so hard against the wall I'd not only smashed it, but I'd managed to leave a sizeable dent in the wall; how there was still stains on the rug and the sofa from where I'd thrown the red wine I'd been drinking; how most of my pillows were no longer filled with feathers, because I'd cut them open with a butter knife; how the water heater had been busted open with a hammer, just so I was forced to bathe in ice-cold water every time.