Under the Bridge

chapter fifteen-"cut the emo bullshit"

IRONICALLY, AFTER LIAM DROPPED ME OFF, it began to rain. I now sit in my bedroom, on my duvet which is still covered in dozens of mismatched pillows and blankets. The storm is brewing outside, in the large window that takes up nearly half of my wall. There's a space separating the edge of my bed and a bookshelf that wraps over it. It's about five feet by five feet, and there is a clear window, normally covered by my floral and red curtains. Today, I've not only pulled it back, but taken it off completely, as it lets me see the trees sway in the wind and the droplets fly against the glass pane through the grey sky. 

I've lit a candle. It smells heavily like peppermint, and it helps the room feel at least a little more calm. I've always been one to fake it until I make it, after all. 

I look at the Harvard poster on my wall. 

I want it gone. 

The photo collage that's stuck to my bookcase is covered nearly entirely by pictures I took at UChicago, or from camp, or with Hope. There's no Harvard, James, or things I've been convinced I should want, even though they only do me harm. 

The candy-cane candle suddenly smells sickly sweet. 

I blow it out. 

The only light in my room comes from the cliche tumblr string lights I hung nearly three years ago. They cover the shelves and the ceiling, and they are almost never off. I feel guilty for harming the environment so much. 

At least there are solar panels on my house. 

I discover that this feeling of emptiness is not silent, it pangs at my head and rattles my body, playing a symphony of destruction. 

So I take the first record I see and place it in my player. I've never really been a fan of vinyl, I always thought it was too pretentious for me, but my mother bought me the set on my thirteenth birthday, and I always thought it matched the aesthetic of my room, anyhow. 

It's Nirvana's Nevermind. 

It's been nearly a year since I've listened avidly to this band. I've quite outgrown grunge, though I've always loved it. The album is as sweet and melancholic as I feel in this moment. It echoes through the room, probably expanding past just my walls, and filling the empty house with something. 

As I return to my bed, notifications begin to pour into my phone, all from my social media. 

Surprised, I feel my heart start to race and my palms start to shake. I grab the device in my hand and see exactly what the fuss is all about. 

There, on my screen, is a video of James telling me all of those horrible things he said. 

300 Retweets. 

Thunder boomed from outside the window, and I began to feel every emotion trickle back in, blood bursting in my veins as though it was trying to jump out of my skin. My ears rang, the tears crashed harder than any of the hail outside the window, and I do the only thing I think possible. 

I open the window and throw my iPhone three stories down onto the patio. 

* * * 

It's noon. 

I'm not at school. 

All I did last night was cry until I was so weak my body couldn't handle it anymore, and I fell asleep. I'm staring at the ceiling, though it's completely clear and empty, so there's nothing there but a feeling of desolation. I haven't moved in hours. 

Everything I felt all those years ago has come back. 

I heard the maid come in about an hour ago, so she was probably still around. Knowing her, she thinks I'm probably at school. A couple years ago, I told Louisa that she didn't have to clean my room and that I'd do it myself, and she hadn't been in here since.