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Maybe it could get better?

Tears welled in his eyes as Alexander stared, speechless, choking on his sorrows. "No... I-I should have said it sooner..." his voice a whisper.

In front of him was the ruins of his living room, a Land Rover plowed through the front window, debris covering every last place that's intact, the front windscreen blanketed in blood, brain matter and pieces of clothing lodged in the crevices. The corpses lay lifeless, unrecognisable as they were so dis formed it almost looked like two bodies fused together in a fleshy pile of blood and internal organs.

The driver was nowhere to be seen. Not one footprint left in the dirt, not one fingerprint or spot of blood left in the drivers seat. Alexander choked back the tears and begrudgingly walked over. "They... they left me." were the only words he could produce without bursting into tears or throwing up from the repulsive sight. "I thought they loved me..." Tears ran down his cheeks as he turned away from the scene, running upstairs.

Days passed, Alexander was sat, curled up in his bed. He couldn't take it any longer. Suddenly, he jolted out of bed, dragging himself to the bathroom. He pried open the medicine cabinet above the sink, taking a razor blade used for his father's razor, unhesitatingly striking his arms multiple times.

"I... I'm not depressed... right? No. I-I just need to be decorated! Yeah." He kept repeating the words over and over, trying to get himself to stop because of the stinging pain coursing throughout his body, blood gushing down his arms.

He forced himself to throw the blade down the toilet, flushing it. He could hear the repeating thoughts in his mind that it was his fault. That he wasn't good enough so they just left. He faded in and out of consciousness but somehow managed to regain it. Slowly, he dragged his feet out of the bathroom, his arms limp and heavy by his sides.

Slowly, he traipsed to his room, dragging a bag from under his bed and shoved it on, yanking it open. He pulled out a bandage and wrapped it around his arms, wincing in pain with every moment of contact it makes to the cuts.

The night grew cold, yet it was silent. No birds, no crickets, no car horns, just the deafening silence and blinding darkness, haunting Alexander's mind, pulling at the seams of his sanity. Nothing could drown out the thoughts. Tears filled his eyes and he pulled a pillow over his face, screaming his lungs out, followed by sobbing.

Days passed. Alexander didn't move a muscle, in a foetal position on his bed, his pillow stained with tears, sheets stained with blood. He couldn't live like this anymore. Suddenly, he shot up, his eyes swollen with tears, heavy bags under them, slammed his feet on the floor, pulling himself up; he trudged to his closet, swinging the doors open then pulls out a blue hoodie, jeans and yellow converse.

Reluctantly, he got changed and closed the door, his deathly reflection staring back at him but he didn't say a word, just look away, turned and walked downstairs, grabbing a bag.