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It’s best I keep my distance from the penthouse for now.
Typical Brandon. Running away at the first sign of danger seems to be your modus operandi.
You don’t know Lan. He’s like a dog. If he comes sniffing around, he’ll find out everything.
And that’s such a fucking tragedy?
Nikolai, please. Don’t do this.
You know what? I am doing this. I don’t have time for spineless, indecisive assholes. I’m neither your plaything nor your booty call.
What does that mean?
Go find yourself another toy. We’re done.
Oh, wait. We were never anything in the first place. Delete my number.
21
BRANDON
I’ve never been addicted to anything, so I didn’t realize how notoriously painful it is to go through withdrawal.
It’s been two weeks since Nikolai told me we were done—in a text—and I’m still not over the bursts of loneliness.
Two weeks and it’s getting worse, not better.
It’s not your common withdrawal, after all. Or maybe I’m just a newbie at this entire thing and don’t have the foggiest clue about how to handle these types of situations.
Sometimes, the pain and nausea get too much and I’m smothered by the black ink and have to purge it out.
Somehow.
Anyhow.
I’ve seen my blood more often than not in the past two weeks. The other day, I let it flow and flow until I lost consciousness in the bathroom. A part of me wished I’d never wake up.
A part of me prayed for it as I lay on the bathroom floor, my eyes blurred with moisture and my heart too tired to keep pumping life into my useless body.
My brain checked out and my thoughts came to terms with how utterly fucking tired I am.
Of myself.
Of everything.
I still am.
My brush ghosts over the canvas, adding strokes of warm colors, intertwining and mixing them until they match my hollow insides.
Art is the only thing that keeps me grounded. I don’t even go to practice anymore after I purposefully sprained my ankle.
I’m withdrawing from social circles with all sorts of excuses. Studies. Work. Pending deadlines.
I just don’t have the energy to deal with anyone or anything at the moment. But more alone time only pushes me toward bad habits.
Cutting and blood and fucking self-loathing.
I’m spiraling and I can’t stop it.
