7 Minutes ✧ Syndisparklez

3 a.m.

~~3 a.m.~~
The specific hour of day when time seems nonexsistant. When the world stands still and there is nothing but darkness, quietness, and your thoughts.
Your thoughts.
Your damn loud thoughts that have to ruin the peace and quiet, interuppting any chance of sleep that may have lingered once before.

The ceiling fan blew a cool breeze against my face, the fluffy covers resting against my skin. My breaths shortened as I thought about the thearpy session earlier today... Well, yesterday, I suppose.

Jordan and Tom started arguing after I came home with Bambi. Maybe, if I didn't come home they wouldn't have started arguing. But, that's not fair. Maybe they were arguing, cause they were worried.

It's not my fault.

I adjusted my arms, folding them over my chest, hugging the covers closer to me.

But if I had asked Tom to walk with me then Oliver wouldn't have...

It is my fault.

My chest heaved, an invisble weight pressing against my lungs.

~~3 a.m.~~
The specific hour of day when time seems nonexsistant. When the world stands still and there is nothing but darkness, quietness, and your tears.

Tears.

I hated crying. It's like liquid guilt; it's showing the world your vulneralbilities.

But at 3 a.m. the world isn't watching.

It's just you.

Warm tears licked the sides of my face, dampening the edges of my hair.

If I wasn't around they'd be happy right now; Tom wouldn't be aggressive, Jordan wouldn't be depressed.

I took in a deep breath, trying to clear my head. It didn't work, my thoughts remained.

My heart ached with emotions I've never felt so strongly before. I wanted to tear it out and stomp it to tiny pieces of ash and dust, and never feel again. Reaching for a pillow, I covered my face with the lavender-scented linens. I pushed my hands down hard, hoping to smother myself. I wanted to stop hyperventilating; I wanted to stop breathing all together.

However, my body's instinct to breathe far outweighed my wishes to cease existing, and pulled the hindrance away from my face.

There are so many thoughts, each stabbing my gut with a hint of poison slowly draining my will to continue.

"I'm so sorry," I heaved into the empty air, my ugly sobs coating the quiet air in an uncertain sadness that was not there before. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry..."

Hurling the covers away from my chest, I stumbled to the bathroom. Shaky hands reached for orange pill bottles, struggling to remove child-proof caps. Handfuls of little white candies sat a top my tongue, their bitter taste crawling down the back off my throat as saliva penetrated their tasteless coating.

Red puffy eyes stared back at me through a piece of glass. A stranger with mangled curly hair and a tired heart whimpered as she threatened to overdose on prescription drugs.

~~Looking Back~~
Re-watching this now, I can honestly say I was so distraught when this happened that I forgot about it. I had no idea I once tried to bring my story to a close, rushing to my inevitable ending earlier than expected. I don't quite remember what made me not do it.
I wish I remembered.

The spat combination of wasted pills and mucus spiraled down the loo, taking with it the rotting sadness that once sat inside. The sadness may have been gone, but an emptiness remained.

An emptiness that only seems to appear at 3 a.m.