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“You always fucking ruin everything! I.”Punch.“Hate.”Punch.“You.”Punch! Why can’t you just fucking let me die in peace? Because I’m not in peace living here! Do you have any idea how fucked up I am inside because of everything you’ve done and let others do to me?” I scream so hard that it feels like my voice is about to give out.
In one quick movement, he flips us over so that I’m on my back and he’s straddling me. The haze that took over a few seconds ago clears a little and I see blood running down his jaw from the cut I gave his lips. There are also some scratches on his face and neck. He leans down until his face is right in front of mine.
“I won’t fucking apologize for saving your ass no matter how many times I have to. I know you’re in pain but I’m begging you to let me fucking love you through it all. I hate seeing you like this and not being able to help you. Baby, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know I’d make you like this. I wish I could take away all your pain because I love you so fucking much,” he whispers.
“Nothing you say or do will ever take away the pain inside me. You let something bad happen to me and I don’t know how to get rid of the memories…” I say as I begin to sob again. Fuck, I hate crying, especially in front of him.
“What happened? Tell me what it is so I can fix it,” he says in a desperate voice.
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll never know how much you fucking wrecked me. Since you won’t let me do it myself and we’re here, you should just kill me and bury me in the woods like you wanted to. I’m broken beyond belief,” I cry out as I start struggling to get away from him again.
He slams his bloody lips down on mine, and he kisses me like his life depends on it. I kiss him back because even though I hate him, my traitorous body still wants him.
“You ruined everything,” I whisper when he pulls away. He looks down at me and it’s like he finally sees my arms. He lets out a growl when he also spots the half-empty vodka bottle.
“Please tell me you’re not on your shit again,” he growls in my face. I just shrug.
“I already told you I don’t want to be here. I’ll keep doing it until I die because that’s what I want,”
“Well, that’s not what I want!” he snaps.
“It’s not always about you!” I snap right back at him.
“No. it’s not about me. It’s all about you. The only thing I care about is the fact that I will do whatever it takes to keep you alive, no matter how much you hate me for it! I’m trying to save you from yourself, baby, and you’re not making it easy for me,” he says.
“Why should I when you’re the one who made my life hard in the first place?” I question.
“Someday, when we’re happy together, you’ll see how glad you’ll be that I saved you from yourself,” he whispers as he gets up and helps me up to my feet. He grabs my bag and then lifts me into his arms and starts to walk back toward his car.
“I can walk myself,” I grumble.
“Don’t care,” he says. When he gets to his car, he places me down on the hood before he goes to the trunk to get something out of it. When he comes back, I see that it’s a first aid kit. I look at him with a bewildered expression. “Had to get one because I just knew your hardheaded ass would find some way to fuck yourself up, no matter how hard I try to not let that happen.”
I don’t answer because what the hell can I say to that when it’s all true? He can preach until he dies but I still find some way to get fucked up if that’s what I want and there’s not a damn thing he can do.
Self-destruction really is hell but also exhilarating at the same time. I love what the drugs and cutting does to me and how they make me feel. Like I can be the happy girl I was before coming here, if only for a little while.
He cleans my cuts and bandages them before putting me in the passenger side. I don’t know why he even bothers because in a day or so, there will probably be new cuts there.
When he drives off, I open his glove compartment and grab the joint that’s in there. I light it up before taking a pull. I get about three pulls before he snatches it away from me and throws it out the window.
“Dickhead!” I mutter.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough for the day?” he snaps.
“No. I don’t think I fucking have!”
“What the hell am I going to do with you?” He sighs.
“Kill me.”
“Don’t start with your shit,”
“I’d rather be dead than live this torturous existence,”
“You’re the one who’s torturing yourself. If you let me make you happy then it’ll lessen and eventually go away,” he says, like that makes sense.
“I don’t see how, when it’s your fault to begin with,” I mutter.
