Your last words to me replayed in my head. Over and over, like a broken record I couldn't get to stop. "You'll move on," you told me, "soon enough you won't care." I half-smiled to myself. You were so wrong. Singing was always important to you, I get that. But for the last 4 months so many questions ran through my mind. Why did living your dream mean getting rid of me? Didn't you love me? Didn't you care about me? Was every word that fell from your lips a lie? All you left me with was broken promises.
I shake the everyday thoughts from my head and gather my books from the table. Don't cry. Not here, not in a public place. Each book is quickly shoved into my bag. Then I speed walk to the bathroom and swing the door open, locking it behind me.
"Hello?"
No answer.
"Is anyone in here?"
Empty. Just like me. I check under each stall, just in case, and then I walk into the last one to the right. I fumble with my bag, searching for my savior. I pull out the plastic case and slide down wall. Nobody. I have nobody. Tears flood down my face as I struggle to open the case. I flip it over, holding the razor blade in the palm of my hand. The pain's almost gone, Elizabeth. Almost. I pull my sleeve up with my teeth, and hold the razor between my thumb and index finger. My vision is blurred, but I want to see the blood pour from my arm. I want to watch the life drain out of me. I hold back anymore tears, and drag the blade slowly along my arm. Unsatisfied, I repeat this action, but faster. This is it, Louis. They're going to find my body in here. A public library's restroom. They'll see what you're really like. Your fans will see what you did to me. I wish you could hear my thoughts. No. I wish you could feel my pain.
I drop the razor and clasp my hand over my arm. No matter how badly I want to escape this life, I know I'm too afraid to kill myself. The thought crosses my mind every day. But I can't do it. Especially not here. What if a little girl finds me? I shudder at the thought of scarring her for the rest of her life. Why do I feel bad though? I'll have these scars for the rest of my life. Thanks to you, Louis.
I stand up, feeling a bit woozy, and walk to the sink. I rinse off my arm, wincing at the pain. I hate you, Louis. I wrap a bandage around my arm and pull my sleeve back over it. I hate you so much. With my good arm, I pick up my bag and glance into the mirror. I quickly wipe my eyes and try to escape the room, but the thought overwhelms me before I can. The images take over all my thoughts.
6 Months Ago
"No, Louis!" I giggled, "we'll get caught."
Louis smirked and grabbed my hand. "Come on, Elizabeth. It'll be fun." He looks around and then leads me into the woman's restroom.
"We can't do this in a library," I begin, but he interrupts me like always.
"We're not in a library. We're in a library's bathroom." Louis smiles and locks the door behind us.
He wraps his hands around my waist, and kisses me. Feeling his entire body against mine drives me insane and I tangle my tongue with his, wanting more. He senses it; he always does, and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist. Fuck me, Louis. Oh God, please. His lips move to my neck and I moan softly, running my fingers through his hair. He slips his hand up my shirt, gently grazing the bottom of my breast. I now feel how wet I actually am.
"Louis," I begin
"Hmmm?"
"I…I need you."
Present Day
I pull myself from the thoughts, but it's too late. My eyes are full of tears. Everywhere I go in this pathetic town has a memory with him. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open the door.