Destroyed

Chapter One

The apartment is cold without him. It doesn't feel like home anymore, it just feels like the skeleton of what used to be. I feel like a skeleton too.

I miss him. He's not here anymore. After three months passed the police gave up on finding him. Joe didn't, but every other cop in Central City did.

   I need to find my baby. He doesn't do well on his own, and his depression might start up again. Oh, God, what if he killed himse- no. No, I'm just being over dramatic, he is NOT dead. He's just missing. I'm going to find him.

    I get up off the couch and have to steady myself on the table when I get dizzy. I know why I'm dizzy, I just don't have time to care about something as stupid as food. There's more important things. More important people.

    I go to the bathroom, and as I'm walking out I see a photograph in a frame on a small table. The photograph was taken when Barry and I first moved in here. It was a selfie, with me holding the camera and Barry's lips placed lightly on my cheeks. We were both smiling.

    I suddenly had a gut wrenching realization. It's my fault.

    The night he disappeared, he was at Jitters. Why was he at Jitters? Because we had an argument. It was a dumb argument, but at the time I was so mad. I had found a cigarette package hidden under some clothes in one of Barry's drawers. He asked me why I was going through his stuff, and I said I was doing the laundry for him, which I was. And he got mad because I "went through his things" and I got mad because he had a cigarette pack. So he left, gave us time to both cool off.

     He left, but he never came back. Because of me, my fault. I continued my path but instead of going to the office like I planned, I went to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of rum, the first bottle I could see. I popped open the lid, and I chugged it straight. When the bottle was empty, I got mad because the alcohol hadn't settled in yet. I got so mad that I smashed the bottle over the corner of the countertop. I grabbed another bottle blindly and did the same thing. It tasted like vodka. When the bottle was empty I still couldn't feel anything, so I smashed that bottle too. I grabbed for the next one. Tequila. And I drank and smashed it. When I had finished smashing the tequila bottle, I stumbled backwards. The alcohol is taking its course.

    I felt fuzzy and warm inside. But I realized I didn't have Barry here to hold me like I normally do when I get drunk. This made me sad. It made me so sad that I used one of the bottle shards to do something I yelled at my lover for. The same thing I told him not to do. I took the sharpest, biggest shard I could find. And I mutilated my left arm. I slashed blindly at an area. When I ran out of room on my arm and couldn't see anything but blood, I took off my shirt and my pants and pulled my boxers up to show my thighs, and I destroyed them to. When I ran out of room, my stomach was my next victim. Then my chest. Then my shoulders. Then my right arm, which was kinda hard to do with my non dominant hand. But I did it. I fell to my knees, broken shards digging into them, but I was too fucked up to give a damn. I fell on my back, and straightened out my legs. It felt weird. I knew I was dying. I did, I recognized it. I understood that there would be no more Arrow to help people in danger. I understood that my friends would miss me. But I didn't care. I wanted to die. I had no place in a world without my Barry.

    So I laid back, shut my eyes and relaxed. I accepted death. That is, until I heard a knock at my door. Fuck.