Another warm cloud of smoke escapes my dry lips as I lay, nearly lifeless, on my cigarette burnt, unmade bed. I held to myself in my dark, foggy bedroom only lit by the three A.M. moonlight. The calmness of my satisfied addiction masked the heart stopping mental illness blazed through my head like a forest fire. The murderous nicotine finally silenced the voices of a broken mind just the same as you did with each lash of pain. It's a nasty habit, I'm aware, but I only seem to find tranquility in the endangerment of my own life and mental health. The smell of the weapon between my fingers could only remind me of you. It's all the same, The way I hold onto it this addiction like I held your hand through your personal heaven and hell. I cared too much for you, as you were the one the put your hands on me, your blood stained hands. I once was a teenage girl with high hopes and confidence, but all of the good lost in the forest of madness and depression you caused. Now I'm a mere shadow of the girl who could call herself her own. Our love was tragic, or am I even allowed to call it that?
The green and brown of the leaves of the gradually dying tree outside the open window, like hazel eyes that locked what was left of my serotonin and dopamine up in rusty chains. They were praying for a smile to free them from the prison of those who did nothing.
In the back of my heeling mind there those vacant chains lay, with the image of you, and the sledge hammer you swung at my porcelain heart. But, I still needed you. Every bruise, every drop of blood fueled my attachment. I strictly believed that you were the Prince Charming that came to pull me out of my lowlife, never. You were the witch of my fairy tail. Why did you mean so much harm to an innocent girl? I did nothing to deserve the torment that left behind emotional and physical scars that will last until my last breath.
Memories of hands tightly on my neck and degrading whispers float around my cluttered bedroom, the same bedroom you used to steal my freedom. You would lock the solid oak door, hiding my anguish from my ever so oblivious parents.
Many times you brought your hand to my cheek, never soft or caring. That hand was only delivered with a harsh crack, leaving behind the marks that would make my loved ones shutter. But you never thought about that, did you? Kicks to my abdomen, gave me bruises I couldn't, for the life of me, excuse. Yet, after all this pain, I still loved you. I still cherished every moment my poor soul spent with you. I looked into your eyes the same as those who put a tiara on my head. I held you to same standard.
There were still those rare moments, when your lips touched mine with such a sweet taste no one can mimic. When you held my hand, it gave me a sliver of normalcy. I can't doubt, at times I was your world. I loved you, solely for those moments. The times when the air was full of love and peace masked the blood and bruises. It allowed me grow attached and dependent on my tormentor. I never saw the danger of you. I never saw myself falling apart from underneath you, as I should have.
I know trama all too well. I know pain just the same. But somehow, My name is still under yours. If, one day, you decide to show your face at my door, I would misguidedly invite you in.
Your maltreatment of my paper skin is the last thing need in my crumbling life. But, the smile you wear once in a blue moon, is all I want.
I was digging for months to find love in the panic you instilled in me. But now I've learned, love does not exist within fear. It has made a home in trust and altruism, two factors of a functioning relationship you never showed me.
Now that you have locked the door behind you, the physical traces of you have healed, but the emotional ones still linger. Taking my time, I'm learning to walk on my own two feet once more. You're are just a damaged soul I could not muster up and ounce of forgiveness for. Rot in your place, my love.
YOU ARE READING
Violation
Short StoryDear Asshole, I finally wrote about you, happy? - A stronger girl
