Broken

Surprise

Chapter 23

It has now been 184 days since the death of my beloved.

6 months.

I’m so scared.

I can feel myself slipping away, slowly, and bit by bit. My mind becomes blank at random moments, and I can’t recall things that have only just happened. I can’t even recall my day yesterday, or the day before. A stream of colors and faces flashed in my mind, not taking form or connecting to faces.

Just a constant blur behind my eyes.

I feel empty and alone, more so then ever. As if I have no human interaction and am on a deserted island on my own, slipping gracefully into death. That’s what I most fear, is that I’m slipping into death’s oily grasps. The part about being dead does not actually scare me, but what does is the process of it. Will I die in my sleep? Will I start to slowly go blind and death?

I feel as if there should be a certain moment in time in which you know death is coming to you, in which a warning is strictly made to tell you to enjoy you’re last days on earth in this body. For most people would fear dying, but at this point, I welcome it with open arms.

I have nothing left to live for in this world, for those who were supposed to love me does not, and not even my own parents know I’m here, in the very house they live in. You would think that they would recognize that their daughter has became hallow and unresponsive, but they do not.

They do not even recognize that their own daughter is slowly draining herself of her own blood, making her life source slip away with each pass of her blade. Nor do they notice that there only daughter is in the throws of depression and is slowly sinking to the very depths of it, never to return.

I walk through the empty hallways of this dreadful school now, wondering aimlessly through the twists and turns of a system that seems created to make students late for class.

As I am now.

I do not care though. This dungeon of hopeless dreams and crushed expectations holds nothing for me. For six months I have lived in turmoil but have faithfully gone to this hateful place, for six months I have endured looking at happy couples that roam the hallways with their hands wrapped around each other and their lips pressed into chaste kisses against one another’s cheek.

It sickens me.

I want to tell them to enjoy it while they can, and that it will all soon be over and that they will be left like me.

An empty shell.

I have not even my wolf to comfort me anymore, for she has left me since the death of our mate. It seems that she simply vanished from my mind when she realized there would be no happiness for us, no fairy tale ending waiting on the other side of the rainbow.

Traitor.

I hear the class bell ring, singling the end of the first half of the day. I have not gone to any of my classes. There is no point. I keep walking in the direction of the door that leads to the outside, feeling the perverted grasp of hands at my behind, trying to gain my attention in hopes that I give them pleasure.

Stupid boys.

I ignore the crude remarks and grasping hands, still heading towards my destination. I push open the rusty doors and stride quickly to the woods. The same woods I last walked with Darian.

That one thought brought me a wave of sadness, adding another layer to the melancholy that constantly surrounds my body.

I kept walking, trying to outrun the depression running through my form. I heard soft voices, and me being the curious one, I followed them.

Quietly, I crawled on my hands and knees to the bushes that were outlining the clearing that two people were vacating.

The very same clearing I met Darian in.

I looked more closely at them, trying to figure out what was happening. The woman was of medium stature, but very beautiful. She had long dark hair that swished down her back, large brown eyes, and hands that were elegantly pressed to her mouth in a shocked gesture, showing me her long sculpted fingers and red painted nails. The man, on the other hand, had a woodsy, new book smell and had short brown hair and sparkling green eyes. He was down on the ground in front of the woman, holding a black velvet box while kneeling on one trouser-covered knee, and had his hands outstretched in a giving manor towards the dark-haired woman, with the box nestled safely in his outstretched palm.

How sweet, Eric’s proposing.