Inhale

Chapter 43:

Corey looked around gently at the shops, he knew joey would be wondering his whereabouts since he snuck out and didnt tell Joey where he was going, but he wasnt ready to return.

It was raining. Corey hated the rain. It unnerved him but it would unnerve anyone who associated it with what he associated it with, as he sighed around his cigarette, cold.

Not a soul was to be seen. He was on his own. The shops where shut, as it were a sunday evening.

The lights hadnt come on yet, and he rolled his eyes at himself. He felt like he was watching a film. Or the end of the world. Either wasnt bad.

There was something about being alone. Something unexplainable.

He felt lonely but a nice lonely. God what was he on about?

He felt like he existed. Which was a feeling he wasnt yet accustomed too. Existing. God. He was ment to be dead.

But also he felt like he didnt and life would move on the world would rotate whether he sat there or not.

It was a fucked up kind of excited.

He looked at his palm as he sat on the wet bench.

He looked at the faint scars that rested upon it. Scars he knew he created. He gently exhaled as he took another drag

The scars on his body, scars that could not be removed. Scars there forever. He had one on his leg from a tree of all things. That was a good summer, climbing it with a friend, talking as the breeze flowed through the meadow, it was private, no one there, long grass with a warm sun and bright blue sky.

The self made ones which he hated and loved stood out to him, because he knew he felt guilty about causing them, but he felt some dark comfort from them. The two most seen, on his upper arm, deep and white. Which he traced often.

And then those scars, brown and pink, sitting on his pale skin. He wanted to rid himself of them. Yet he couldnt. Anyone who saw or even heard of them...what would they think?

He sighed, they made him well him. He knew Joey would change things about him though. As hed love to too.

He swallowed as he gently watched the rain fall around him, splashing on the puddles on the ground. He took a drag. It was getting darker.

He watched a cat walk past.

It kind of reminded him of being homeless. He was so lost. He was terrified. Being homeless, is being no one. Everyone spits on you first chance they get, yell at you for existing but dont even spare change that gathers dust. Fucking to feel something and wanting to die all the time because your life doesnt seem to be going somewhere where it could remotely get better. The nights were brutal, bridges didnt do much to keep out the rain nor wind. Newspapers became beds and sofas. Ripped up cardboard boxes became pillows. Shivering so many nights in the cold made the muscles sore and painful. Tender.

The physical dirt almost reflected how he felt on the inside.

He didnt believed there was a crime worse than what happened to him. Murder was bad, he had never been murdered though so he couldn't say it was necessarily the case. But, to him, taking the innocence, the trust of someone who loved you. Putting them into a situation where the can never be them again. Splitting their soul, stealing their hope, making them less than human. Making them want to die. There was nothing worse. A shell. Hollow. A fucking stupid son of a big motherfucking fuck up!!

He sighed as he face palmed at his thoughts.

It still came to the question...was he truly responsible for what happened?