The worst thing about this time of year is when you're frantically pulling on your shirt while sprinting through a hotel lobby on a possibly sprained ankle (cos god knows jumping down the stairs was a bright idea), your lungs tend to burn. It's just that cold. It makes it worse when you're screaming profanity at the one person who truly understands you. When you're so messed up that you don't even register his pleas. You know he's crying, you can hear his long and varied apologies, you want to stop, you still don't.
The first few minutes are a flat hell, as you wish that you hadn't quit track. That endurance training would have come in handy, wouldn't it? He's still following you. You can hear him. He screams out at you, says your body can't handle this now. As if in response, every one of your bones cry out, each with its own new complaint. Traitors. Eventually the sounds of his breathing dissapear. You don't know if you're glad or lonely. Maybe both.
Eventually, you fall into a numb sort of rhythm. You know you're legs are going to give out, but you can't feel them. Cars swerve around you as you run into the street, not slowing down, not hesitating. Even though you can no longer feel your muscles, every mutinous thought makes its way into your head. Any hope of him staying is gone... You just gave up any chance at happiness you ever had... You just push people away... Somehow, every litte thought manages to break your heart. When you see your house, you no longer have the will to run anymore. Every step seems like too much energy. You expected the blood-laced bile that you coughed up when you stumbled in the door. Hell, he probably did too. The sudden heat of the hallway burns, and the translucent shade of purple that your skin has turned startles you, but only a little. As you trip your way up the stairs to your room, you collapse on the floor. No need to try to feel around for your pillow. A dull buzz convinces you to push yourself up.
Eventually, you fall into a numb sort of rhythm. You know you're legs are going to give out, but you can't feel them. Cars swerve around you as you run into the street, not slowing down, not hesitating. Even though you can no longer feel your muscles, every mutinous thought makes its way into your head. Any hope of him staying is gone... You just gave up any chance at happiness you ever had... You just push people away... Somehow, every litte thought manages to break your heart. When you see your house, you no longer have the will to run anymore. Every step seems like too much energy. You expected the blood-laced bile that you coughed up when you stumbled in the door. Hell, he probably did too. The sudden heat of the hallway burns, and the translucent shade of purple that your skin has turned startles you, but only a little. As you trip your way up the stairs to your room, you collapse on the floor. No need to try to feel around for your pillow. A dull buzz convinces you to push yourself up.
Somehow, the worried text message makes everything seem okay. She cares, at least.