His Nepenthe | complete

3. Delicate

D E L I C A T E S C A R S

*

Smiles.

They're so fake.

In every photo, why do people need to smile? What's there to smile about? So what someone's got their camera in your face? That shouldn't change who you are. That shouldn't mean you should illustrate your lie in a permanently captured photograph.

I lifted the photo, staring at the frozen moment where my mother had wrapped an arm around my shoulder and laughed at something someone said that wasn't even funny. It was meant to be candid, but a set up could never be candid.

My expression remained unchanged in the picture, and anyone could tell that I didn't want to be there. Or anywhere, really.

I flicked open the lighter, igniting the flame as I brought it closer to the moment I held in my hand. The corner caught the flame, lapping up at the ink as it left ashen fingerprints of my actions on the floor.

And I continued burning memories of fake love, fake happiness. Those which there was nothing behind the eyes of the happy characters that smiled back to the camera. I scowled at the slow flams burning so peacefully while my brain tried to suffocate me.

It was captivating, however. Watching the fire grip the picture hungrily, burning through it, to only leave remnants of what was on the wood floor.

My mind was blank, my eyes glazed over with power as I decided what to burn.

After all, it was his room I destroyed these memories. His room where the walls were ruined, his room where the floors were scarred, his room where everyone forgot about him. His room where I bled and broke, where I tore and scratched, where I screamed and cried.

Piece by piece, day by day, I shredded myself in this room. From memories, to my arms, to my mind.

Bleed, boy.

Bleed.

I was ripped from my reverie with harsh spoken words from my older brother, "Man, what the fuck are you doing?" Marco asked, pulling me away from the frames, stomping out the fire, "Jesus Christ, what was that?"

I shrugged in response.

His eyebrows threaded together in absolute confusion at my indifferent reply - hardly a reply, at that. He rubbed a hand down his face, attempting to dissipate his stress, "I need a fucking nanny cam on you, I swear."

I rolled my eyes, standing up as I brushed the ash from my jeans, "Chill out, it's only fire."

"It's only fire, the fuck? If I wasn't here-"

"Where were you?" I asked playfully with an elbow to his arm, attempting to distract him from my self destructive antics.

From behind me as I began leaving the room, a sigh left his lips, "I was on a date, dude. With Romany. The Romany."