Painful Love

Dave Strider ran his slim fingers through his blond locks and sat up in bed, glancing at the green numbers on his bedside clock, which read "4:38 a.m." He wasn't getting any sleep tonight, he knew that for sure. His thoughts were consumed with images and bad things and good things and just... Things. Too many things. He needed to clear his mind before he had to start his first job. He stood up and stretched, his white v-neck stretching above his boxers, showing off his visible v-line. His choice of nightwear was simple. A random shirt he pulled out of his dresser drawer, and his boxers. He didn't need anything else besides that. Not anymore.

His apartment was of nice size. He had a full kitchen, a decent sized living room, a medium sized bathroom, and a masters bedroom. He has to work two jobs to pay for the place, but he believes it's worth it. He quite enjoys living there. He slowly walked out of his room and into the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, grabbing the nearest cloth and wiping the water off. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was a wreck, to say the very least. Eyes red and puffy, dark circles outlining each of them. Hair shaggy and in need of a trim, and he was paler than usual. His eyes narrowed slowly, picking out each and every one of his flaws. Soon enough, he became angry with himself.

        You're such a fuck up, you can't do anything fucking right. You lose everyone you ever care for. Rose? Fucking gone, you dumb ass. Jade? Hardly talks to you. And now you've lost your fucking boyfriend as well.

His arm pulled back and his fist slammed into the mirror, the pieces of glass shattering around the sink and floor. His knuckles were bleeding, but he didn't care. He couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything but the emptiness that was growing inside him, each and every day he laid alone in bed. Fingers tangled in his hair, he sunk to the ground, refusing to let the tears fall. He couldn't be weak. he had to be stronger. He had to prove to anyone who was out there, watching him, that he did not care that his heart was smashed, trampled on, and cut into pieces. He had to be okay. He was Dave fucking Strider, for fucks sake. He HAD to be perfectly fine. Cool with it. Act as if it didn't bother him, when in reality, it killed him. He never knew a break up could be this painful.

Not even a month before, they were happy. Smiling, laughing, kissing, LOVING each other. What happened within that month that made the man he loves walk right out of his life, as if he didn't matter at all? Dave didn't know, nor would he ever know. He stopped trying to guess, his last guess being that maybe he wasn't enough for him anymore. He shakily stood up, wrapping his hand in a wet cloth. He leaned against the sink for support, taking a deep breath. It was time to begin his day, again, with the same routine that has been going on for weeks now.

He cleaned up the glass, and dumped it in the trash. He got in the shower for 5 minutes, doing everything he needed to do in that time. He couldn't bare being in there for too long. The memories the shower held were too great for him to deal with. He got out, got dressed, and ate a few bites of an apple before throwing it away, unable to stomach much. He shoved his shoes on, pulled his shades down, and walked out of his apartment complex, locking the door behind him. He then went to his first job. He was there for several hours, and then he came home. He undressed, ate something small for dinner, then prepared for his second job. Cover up for the dark circles, contacts for the red eyes, slutty outfit, and he was ready to go. Once that was done, he came home, undressed, and laid in bed, looking for new ways to hate himself.

Weeks turned into a couple of months, and even Rose called Dave to see how he was. He didn't answer though. Oh no, he couldn't answer. He wasn't worthy of talking to them. They deserved the other Dave, not the shell of a man they used to know. Jade stopped by a few times, but Dave never answered the door. She left letters though, and he re-read them a lot, hoping to find something about the man he loved written in between the letters and words, but it was all the same.