Page 93 of Poems He Wrote

I reach the building door, taking a few deep breaths to calm my nerves down. Pressing the intercom button, I wipe the tears away. It rings a few times, and I almost lose all the courage I had to come up to his door.

“Hello?” The line cracks as his voice caresses my ear drums.

I bite back a sob trying to escape. That one word causing the storm to rise up in me.

“Hello? Don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the mood,” Noah says, sounding far from sober, but I can’t make the words leave my mouth.

“Okay, fucker, suit yourself,” he barks, clicking the line off, and that’s when the cries grow harder. Pain sears through me.I lost him and I did nothing to stop it.

Cold wind blows in my face as I stand next to my open car door, looking up to his window. He is not there. He always runs to his window after someone rings his button, not anymore.

“I love you, Noah. Remember that.” I whisper into the wind, hoping it carries my words to him, before driving away to the airport with my face covered in tears and daggers sticking out of my chest.

35

Sound of Silence - Disturbed

Noah

What is time?

I lost track of how many sleepless nights I went through with my head on the cushions, kitten in my lap and a glass of gin in my hand. Not long ago did that glass turn into a whole bottle. I don’t know why I’m drinking, I hate the taste of it, I hate the way it makes me feel, but what I hate even more is the hurt of that night replaying in my head all over again. Minute after minute, in a non-stop loop.

Mats is doing my load at work, Jensen calls every day to check up on me, and since he finished his semester early, he came home and is helping her out. I actually didn’t expect him to come at all, but I think he wanted to be close due to what went down.

I hoped it would pass, but it didn’t. My mind is a clusterfuck of emotions that I have no idea how to untangle and resolve. Our ball of fur tries her best to take all of the bad energy that I project, but there’s always a limit of how much she can take.

When my dad calls I pretend the best I can, but I mostly don’t pick up. I feel better when I don’t have to lie to his ear. Texting is a different story. But they are not the only ones calling, ordidcall.

I never picked up the phone when Ronan called. At the start it was always two times a day. I see that as her way of sayinggood morningandsleep tight, but I couldn’t bear to even look at the screen while it rang. The temptation of actually answering being too much for me to handle. After some time, it thankfully turned to once a day, and then the last time she called was two weeks ago. She might be over me, if she ever loved me in the first place.

My hopes of the pain subsiding without her calls were for naught. It’s getting worse every time I turn around and realize how these walls around me carry so many memories of our moments together. How they absorbed her moans and groans that we shared in pleasure and how they are all naked, lacking the photos I wish I had to prove that the thing I am grieving existed. That it was real.

At least for me.

I brush loose strands of my hair, remembering the feel of her fingers running through it. She loved it so much she always had to touch it, caress it, braid it. That’s the only thing I know for sure she loved about me.

My hair.

She loved it so much that I will never let anyone love it like that ever again, not even me. I rush to my bathroom, turning the light above the sink on. I snap the cupboard open, grabbing my hair clippers from it. The weight of the machine in my hand brings me sudden peace. I turn it on as the shakes take over my body. I lift my hand and press the blades onto the center of my forehead, holding my own eyes in the mirror. One stroke upwards, and the silky wisps fall. I continue going without direction. I run it all over, like a man possessed.

Some idiot rings my doorbell, interrupting me. I run to the door, answering, but nobody responds, so I go back to cutting and slashing my hair.

I stare at the black strands covering my bathroom sink. The hair clipper is buzzing in my hand. Its sound, slightly choked by all the hair jammed in the little blades, is drilling a hole into my skull, but I can’t force myself to turn it off until I’m done.

I need it gone. I need it all gone. I need all the memories of her fingers brushing through it gone. I need to not feel her all around me.

She is everywhere. She is in the sunrise and in the sunset. In the books and in the songs. She is all I see everywhere I turn.

And it hurts.

It hurts that I can’t control it. It hurts that I ache to touch her, to love her, to belong to her. To call her mine.

Grabbing another fistfull of hair, I pull tight at the roots and drive the blades through it. The looseness of it relaxes me for just a second, until another wave of pain hits my chest. I run my hands over my now-naked head, hoping that this feeling will stop.

But it never stops. The questions never stop.

How could you do this to me?

Source: www.allfreenovel.com