There are some nights where you can't sleep because you can feel it inside of you, writhing and prying your ribs apart, struggling to break out when you've kept it under wraps for so long.
Some nights you get up and you can't even look at yourself in the mirror, you just thrust your fist forward and let the reflection shatter and the blood trickle down your arm. You will have a hard time moving your hand for the next few days but you stopped giving a shit a while ago.
Then there are other nights where you give in and feel weak, but you can't help your hand slipping under the waistband of your pants, or how your body responds to your own touch. You bite into the heel of your other hand to stop the obscene noises you know you'll make, and in the back of your mind you come up with ways to punish yourself to keep on thinking about him over and over again.
Biting your hand does nothing to stop the rough moan you emit. You're thinking about how things used to be with him, when you could both smile at each other without it feeling forced, without your anger seething just below the surface. But you can't think about that, you can never go back to that, so whats the use? Instead you imagine lashing out and blemishing his pretty face, and how mesmerizing it would be to watch the blood trickle out of his mouth and purple stain his cheek.
Another moan escapes you and you frown and bite your hand harder. You want to grab his throat, to force his head into your lap, to ruin him just like he ruined you. You feel your own blood from your hand dribbling down onto your mouth, and that's enough to send you over the edge.
Your legs are shaking as you get up to change your underwear, feeling disgusted with yourself as usual. And tomorrow you will have to face him again, and you know you won't be able to look him in the eyes.