How Can Life Go On?

He left. I can't believe he left me. I loved him, but he never wanted me. He left me. But I need to move on, but I can't. He ripped out my heart, and left a hole in its place. It feels like I died the day in the forest, when he said those words, but yet I'm still walking. How can this be?

He's gone. I loved him, he never loved me, and so he left. End of story. But why does it hurt so much? I can't live without him. I need this pain out of my soul, but how? How, how will it leave? It's eating at me, and stabbing me like 1,000 knifes. I know he's gone. But my brain and body won't process it. It's just so painful.

I don't know what came over me, but I got up from my crouched position on my bed and walked downstairs. I went to mine and Charlie's Junk Drawer. Thank goodness he went fishing with Billy over the weekend. I needed time alone. I fished in it for a good 5 minutes. Then I found what I was looking for. I pulled out a pair of scissors, and an old-fashioned shaving knife (A/N: pic on profile.) I walked back upstairs in a zombie-like trance. And walked right into the bathroom.

I grabbed the scissors, and looked straight at the mirror. I parted my hair at the crown and cut. I cut, and cut, and cut. Until my hair was layered. But that wasn't enough, I had to do more. I grabbed my hair and started razoring it. I looked under the sink and found some bleach. I put platinum blonde streaks and my hair. Now it was perfect. He always did love my hair… well now it's gone. And so is he.

I left the mess in the bathroom, and walked to my bedroom. I grabbed some untouched bags Ali… she bought me. Her name hurt almost as much as his did. I grabbed a few bags, and looked through them. Mostly pink frew-frew crap. But I found a black box in the corner of my closest, which had the word "Iron Fist" on it in silver italic writing. I opened it and it had a pair of skinny jeans with a blue tiger head on the back pocket, and a shirt with a cat's skull with a bow on its ear, and cross-bones. Perfect. (A/N: Clothes on profile.)

I went back into the bathroom to clean up. I threw away the hair. And walked downstairs, to put the scissors and razor back. But as I walked down the stairs I felt empty. I felt like I hated my life like I wanted it to end. I didn't feel this way the whole time I was fixing my look. I need to fix this feeling. I threw the scissors on the counter, and unfolded the razor. I stared at the bladed, and stood over the sink. I ran the blade across my left arm softly, taking 2 or 3 layers of skin. Leaving a small pink line. It felt good, but it wasn't enough…

A/N: Cliffie!!! Oh well. If you want to read on, and you want me to continue… REVIEW!!!