Beginnings • c.h

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Eight

Megan POV

Is it so wrong that I constantly have the overwhelming need to be loved? What is it about me that makes me want to have someone that cares about me around all the time?

It felt like I was going crazy in my own mind. Just when I thought everything in my life was going smoothly, I just had to go and fuck it all up. God, why was I so much of a screw up?

Just when I thought that everything was slowly but surely falling into place, I had to go and fuck up one of the best things in my life. 

My best friend was slipping away from me, and it wasn't like she was fading into the background, it felt as though she was cut from my life entirely. All at once.

It felt like I was slowly loosing her, but then suddenly; she was gone. And it was all my fault. I was the one that pushed her away, I was the one that was a complete bitch, I was the one that thought I could survive without her.

Fuck, what is wrong with me? My brain screams at me. I look into the bathroom mirror and study my reflection. Fuck, when did I even walk to the bathroom? I don't even remember getting home. 

I am definitely not emotionally stable. I really shouldn't be allowed to drive. Or love. Or live. I should just die already. 

I tilt my head and continue to watch my reflection. Lank hair that needed washing, eyes with bags from sleepless nights, and skin so blemished that make up couldn't even disguise the fact that I was falling apart. Dead eyes stare back at me, and I have to look away; not able to take staring at myself any longer.

My eyes flicker around the bathroom, and make their way to the cabinet in front of me. I knew what was hiding behind the doors. But I had been clean for the longest time yet. Was I seriously willing to give that up?

I had promised Mikey. I had promised Ashton. I had promised her. I had promised myself. But what was the point of making promises that you can't keep?

I had been standing in the bathroom for god know's how long now, but I hadn't made any motion towards the cabinet. I didn't know whether to be proud of that fact, or ashamed I was even considering the fact of grabbing my blades again.

Ashamed. You should always feel ashamed. Ashamed at the fact that you are a complete fuck-up. You screw up anything that could possibly benefit you in the long run.

"No I don't." I whisper to no one. I have begun to stare back at the mirror. I really wish I hadn't.

Oh, really? Name something you haven't fucked up yet. My subconscious sneers.

"My relationship with Mikey." I say firmly. My subconscious is quick to bite back.

But it is only a matter of time.

"He said he loves me."

You are only children, what could you possibly know about love? You don't know what love is, and you never will.

"You're wrong!" I scream, smashing my hands into the mirror.The glass cracks from the force of my fists hitting it, and the sound ricochets throughout the bathroom. The tiled surfaces amplify the sound, and I can bet that the sound travelled through the rest of the house as well.

I look at the cracked surface, but I can still see a warped reflection of myself. Unable to stand the sight of my broken expression, I slam my hands into the mirror again. 

This time the glass shatters, and a searing pain shoots through my hands. Pulling them back, i can see shards of glass stuck into the side of my fists, where I hit the mirror.