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I’m such an idiot.
My nails scrape the plush pillow. All I’d have to do is yank a bit more and the contents on the inside would fall out. It would equal how my heart is. Vulnerable and collapsed.
We both overreacted, but I messed up first by not being more levelheaded. I left after swearing I’d do anything to get her back, to keep her.
My chest burns but the aching has nothing to do with my cracked ribs. This weight is from a different burden.
Regret.
Deep breaths. Count to five, in. Hold it. Count to five, release. Deep breaths. Count to five, in. Hold it. Count to five, release. Deep breaths. Count to five, in. Hold it. Count to five, release.
Why isn’t this working? Rory told me it works for her, why isn’t it for me? I want this fixed, come on, oxygen. Work already!
The monitor beside me goes berserk the more my heart rate skyrockets. The opposite of what it’s supposed to be doing. The darkness isn’t helping, the death grip I have on this stupid pillow is a waste, and Princess’s technique isn’t doing shit.
What’s going on?
I swear my heartbeat is going a million miles a minute, but I can’t catch up with it. My head is fuzzy and I’m dizzy but I’m sitting down. Is this normal?
All that keeps playing over and over again is that one scene.
How many times can I break one person before I’ve lost all my chances? I’m not sure, but this time it feels like it could’ve been the last. The way she spoke was so… permanent.
Once, I’d told her I wasn’t good for her, and I meant it. Just because Rory’s strong enough to handle pain doesn’t mean she deserves it.
I don’t want it to be over though. I want her. That’s it.
My ears ring, that beeping hasn’t gone down, only up, and I swear it’s gotten louder somehow. Or is that a result of my dizziness?
Choking, I’m choking. My eyes are permanently shut.
I try slamming my fist into the pillow again. Each new hit is like another blow to my gut. The fluffy padding is doing absolutely nothing by this point. This can’t be good for my ribs, but I couldn’t give a single fuck.
The pain’s already here anyway. What’s a little more?
The more I do this, the less I feel. Relief is just misery wrapped up in a singular package anyway.
Louder, the noise is louder. The beeping is as crazed as I am.
I want her back.
I want her here.
All I crave is to hold her in my arms and tell her what a moron I am. Because I am, I keep messing up.Hit.I want to caress her cheek and I want her to look up at me before she leans into me and kisses me back.
This whole time I was the one who was supposed to be protecting her but all I did was damage her more.
Jab. Punch. Hit.
Bucking, my back presses into the mattress from impact. This last one getting me marvelously.
Good.
The misery is my cure.
The whooshing of nurses rushing in and locking my arms to the side isn’t what has my eyes shoving open. I hear what they’re saying, and I can see what they’re doing but it doesn’t matter.
The monitor that, when I get a free second, is going to be taken out permanently by my fist hasn’t stopped. Plummeting, it now beeps in the complete opposite direction. Instead of increasing, it slowed with alarming and impressive speed.
