Unbelieving (A Johnlock Fanfiction)

Shriveled

Chapter 4:

My knees buckled and I fell onto the cold, hard ground, my body hollow with sobbing.
I couldn't go on like this. I couldn't go on with life. Everything reminded me of him.

She was so beautiful, and she reminded me of him. Of Sherlock. I saw his eyes in hers and his smile in hers and I saw his light in her presence and felt him when she laughed and all the reminiscences came flooding like a river, when the floodgates opened. I couldn't get her out of my head.

As if one wasn't enough to kill me.

I rubbed my eyes and got up, still unsure if my legs would take me further. Instead of going home, I turned and went to into a pub. I don't remember walking there, nor do I have any memory of entering or sitting down, or ordering anything. The only thing I knew was that there was a glass of whiskey in my hands, and a sharp piece of tile in the other.

I can't go on with life.

I downed the whole glass in a gulp, and teetered to the bathroom.

As I struggled with the knob of the cubicle, everything started to appear white. There was light everywhere. Bright white light, and just a blur. My mind was racing to catch up with the changing surroundings when the door knob finally rattled and came off, falling at my feet with a clang.

"Shit.." I cursed, as the door of the cubicle flew open, and a fist flew to my face. I reached out for the piece of tile which flew from my hands as his fist landed on my face once again, but he pushed me further away.

I deserve this.

I staggered back, cupping a hand upon my mouth and nose, which were both bleeding profusely. I savoured even the last bits of the pain, as I was hit once more, this time in the ribs.

Yes. This hurts. This hurts so much. This is right. This feels right.

After a while, I couldn't differentiate between the pain evoked by one blow from the other, and that felt right. Red liquid bubbled out of my mouth, but I said nothing. I let him rip me apart, fill me with pain, with marks. I didn't even know why he was doing this, but I was thankful he was.

I was going to die anyway. It's worthless. My life is worthless.

Each blow sent me further back, until I lost balance and was lying on my stomach, when a hard shoe came flying and landed on my ribs with an audible crack.

That was the line, and I couldn't take it anymore. I cried in agony as pain consumed every inch of my body, but each time the shoe came down harder, until I was numb with pain and covered in blood.

I don't remember what happened after that, but a loud bang, and the man came down in a pile of limbs.

I had lost any sense of being. My thoughts and senses were uncoordinated and I knew that was too much for me.

I felt light. Like I was levitating. One last time I opened my eyes wide enough to take in the hazy surroundings, and shut them as I realised that everything was strange. I couldn't recognise a single object or a person, except for one face. One face that had driven me into all this, one face that had been stuck in my mind, attached itself into all my memories, and had stained every piece of my mind. It was warm and solacing, and oddly painful to look at. Those eyes that pierced through my soul and lips that I had seen everyday. Seen, and longed for them. Those beautiful curls that perfectly sprawled over his forehead and the chiseled cheekbones that I had once noticed, and never forgotten after that. The face that I had strived to see day and night, and loved every moment of my life after seeing it, craved the warmth and comfort in it. There was nothing I would not have given to see it just once more, and it was in front of me, and it disappeared as quickly as it had come, and I missed it instantly.