Pen Pals

Darkness

"You need to stop with this."

"Mm." I grunted.

"I'm still amazed as to how you seem to scar so delicately. You're never left with an ugly scab let alone scar." The small man said intrigued.
"Seriously though, you need to stop with this." He repeated.

I didn't look at him, I looked past him, in the direction of my gifted piece of art. I was feeling off the radar, but I guess that's what obsessive drinking does to you. If my liver isn't already damaged I would be extremely shocked.

"Why do you do this? Is it some kind of ritual?" Weng persisted.

I ignored.

"Seung, or are you that depressed you're self harming?" He said in an aggravated tone.

I just looked at him, seeing he had a frown as well as worry displayed on his face. His eyes become glossy as if he were going to rage out and cry, but despite his sensitivity I knew he wouldn't dare. Despite him being the closest to a true friend of mine, he knows his place.

"Yes..? Is the answer yes? Is this your way of self harming? By cutting your left peck?" He bombarded with questions.

I said nothing. What does he want me to say or do for that matter? Confide in him after telling the truth? If so, that's never going to happen. I need to visit my mother, without saying too much she can read me like a novella. That's why I distance myself from her, I hate how she involves herself in my affairs without me saying a word, or herself even asking. It's like there's a spy watching me and tells my mother every single detail about my life. I hate it. But I think now is the time I go for a little visit, just to hear what she has to say.

"Go home." I stated simply. My voice was blunt and as smooth as a pebble.

Weng's face turned in confusion, followed by hurt. "But.. but-"

"Go the fuck home." I said a bit aggressively.

Hurt overpowered his expression before he slowly got up, picked up all the blooded cloth and wipes, disposed of them, then left with a slam to the door.
I just sat there, hair in my face. I need some sleep and I needed to fight. No I needed a distraction!
My hands patted my pockets for my phone. Once accessed, my fingers fumbled to find the name of an easy distraction. Before my thumbs crashed down onto the screen to select the name I thought would've been of use, I hesitated.

Emerald will help you get your mind of Hannaiya, said by conscience. But it felt wrong. Emerald is a next kind of drama. She's a spoilt girl with an obsession and right now I don't need that on my plate. Maybe music will ease my mind until the later morning, where I shall bring breakfast to my mother.

Slowly, stumbling to my grand piano made everything the more painful. The longer I abandoned it the greater punishment I felt I had received. Lack of practice would seize up your fingers, no longer making you perfect, but I was a perfectionist. No wrong note was to be made unless I intentionally made it. It was the way I was taught, if I messed up I was punished. So from childhood discipline I haven't made a mistake. The cracking of my fingers mentally prepared me, rather than physically helping the stiffness of my fingers. My fingers were flexible like the stream of water, with a soft icy edge. I tend to fiddle with my fingers before meetings or when I'm simply thinking, habit I guess, but it certainly developed from when I used to go into piano competitions or play for people. I slouched, the drunkenness' fault, whilst my bare feet wandered for the sustained pedal. Unable to know if I had my eyes open or not, I decided to proceed. The room became darker as I couldn't see a single thing around me. Quietness created its own chill to my large space, the only warmth and sound being my breathing. I inhaled a sharp breath before my fingers took control and enveloped me in my own mind. I was gone. Chopin sonata no. 2 in B-flat minor Opus 35 took me away and guided my current state with much hurt and aggression.