Isla Accardo falls into the stereotype of the girl that binge-watches Netflix series and eats pizza for every meal. She classifies sleeping as her career and swearing her nature. But Isla was not one to fall into male's traps.
Especially Damien Pier...
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My body hurts.
My body hurts, my mind hurts, every breath I take hurts and my heart hurts so fucking much.
Figuratively and literally.
Honestly, the amount of grease I've been eating makes my heart feel like it's on fire and my arteries feel like they are going to burst with oil streaming out. But I still continue eating because the physical pain is overtaking the emotional pain.
It's been two weeks.
Two weeks of me staying in my apartment. Two weeks of me deleting nearly everyone's number. Two weeks of me watching Netflix so I don't have to see his face getting swarmed by paparazzi on television. Two weeks of me ignoring each one of my friends knocking on my door and staying there for hours.
Two weeks of me trying to forget him and his touch, and voice and how much I craved him.
God, is this even healthy?
Of course not, but it's worth it.
It's even come down to me ignoring my parents' calls. I know my dad will kill me and I know my mom is scared shitless but I know if one word utters out of my mouth, I will lose the cool facade I've been keeping.
Well, not exactly.
I've been crying myself to sleep up until yesterday. Every time I come across my mirror in the bathroom, my skin looks pale and I look like I belong in the cast of a Tim Burton film. I've noticeably lost a bit of weight and I feel like a living sloth. I've vomited at least five times in the past two weeks which isn't exactly healthy, but oh well.
I remember seeing the petrified look of the taxi driver as I step in with makeup running down my face, God I must have looked like a runaway bride. But I didn't care because all I wanted to do was stuff my face in a pillow and dream all my problems away.
But dreaming didn't help. Because I was reminded of him.
So I haven't been sleeping much so that I don't have to be reminded of him.
I haven't been doing much with paparazzi standing outside my apartment building every morning and night, waiting for me to come down and greet them with smiling faces and answer all the wonderful questions they have to offer. I've even had to come down to disguising myself when receiving my pizza order after the one time the teenage girl wanted to stuff her camera down my throat.
Let's just say her face was ghastly pale when her phone was thrown three floors down.
I mean, she should've seen it come.
So that has been my life in a summary.
There are moments where I do just want to come crawling back to my friends and act like nothing ever happened and just be there with him. But it'll never happen. Not after I literally cursed his name.
