Do Not Fucking Touch Me // Reddie

Thirty Two

(Eddie's POV)

"You have to go to school, Eddie," my uncle said from the other side of the door. I had been up all night crying. He knocked again to make sure I was there.

"Go away."

He sighed. I heard his footsteps walk away from the door as the shadow of him disappeared from under the door as well. I slammed my head back into the pillow. There was blood on my sheets. The clean freak in me was shaking at the thought of how gross that it was and how hard it would be to get the stain out from my perfectly white sheets. The other side of me, the heartbroken, depressed, loser... that side took over and I forgot all about it. 

The stain was the least of my concerns. I was alone, after I thought I had found my soulmate. I thought Richie would always love me, and now I was considering the fact that he probably never loved me at all. Last night, amidst the sobbing and staring blankly at walls thinking, overplaying the day's moments over and over in my head, I cut myself again. I had been getting a lot better. I was three months clean at the time. I couldn't resist. If I didn't have Richie, nothing mattered anymore, certainly not the promise I made to him not to cut myself anymore. He broke his promise to me that he was going to be there for me, that he loved me. Promises just turned into lies. 

The etching in my skin still stung, and the R that was previously there and had faded a little turned into his full name, Richie. I stared at it, at the blood that had dried over each letter. The name haunted me. I knew he wouldn't even care, if he found out about the scar, either. He hurt me so horribly. The pain transferred from my mind to the razor in my hand immediately without much thought put into it. He was probably at home, making out with that slut. She probably put out for him, or something. I wasn't good enough. 

I was going to stay home the whole day and drown in my sorrows. I didn't know what to do next. I had no plan for the future. It seemed like my whole world was crumbling apart. The phone rang, again, probably the fiftieth time this morning. Last night was even worse. The sound of it ringing was etched in my brain and replayed its annoying tune on repeat. 

I ignored it, of course. I knew it was him. I didn't want to hear another word from him, not after what I saw. I didn't care about whatever excuse he was going to come up with to make it seem like it was okay to cheat on me. Maybe he wanted me back, maybe he was going to confess cheating, or try to make it better, but I didn't care. I couldn't. I couldn't let him see the mess he'd made me into or hear me crying over the phone. I wouldn't let him see me in school either, or run the risk that I'd run into him and Greta, holding hands, ignoring my existence. 

He had ended my life, without a care in the world. My happiness was gone, and I had nothing else to live for.