I want to start off by telling you how much you mean to me.
Do you know how many times I've dreamed of both of us at the altar? I won't fuckin admit that shit out loud, hell no, but those are some of my favorite dreams. They're so vivid, too. I can clearly see that wide goofy smile spread across your face and your stupid fluffy hair that you tried so desperately to control but we both know that it has a mind of it's own. Don't worry, I fucking love it. I just fucking love you. I don't even try to hide the fact that I'm crying. You point and giggle and make fun of me but good luck trying to hide your own babe. I saw that tear sneaking out the corner of your eye. You can't hide that shit from me. I'm marrying your ass so I like to think I know you pretty well.
Everyone else is just a blur because I can't take my eyes off of you, as cliche as that is. I never want to. You're the one I want to go to bed with every night, and wake up to every morning. You're body fits so perfectly next to mine. Your eyes are unexplored galaxies that I want to get lost in. We're like a goddamn puzzle and I finally found the missing piece. I'm finally complete.
I know, I know. I'm like the smoothest piece of cheese perfectly placed on top of your bread.
But it's all pulled out from underneath me because I guess I have to wake up sometime. I'm snapped back to this sick reality where I know none of that is going to happen. No. I'm completely alone, and good fucking god do I miss you.
Now the tears are for a different reason. Awake and alone, they start falling for what will never be. At least, not anymore. I don't know what happened. I don't know what made these feelings change. Was I not enough for you? Did I do something wrong? I wish you would just fucking talk to me instead of letting me waste away into my own thoughts.
I don't have anyone else. I've pushed them away because I don't need their pity or their sympathy. I'm not a charity case but thanks. Hell, I think even Rose has given up trying to get to me. Which is saying something because normally I can't get her off of my ass. I'm like a sick psychological experiment. It's great. Sarcasm.
I just want to scream. I want to scream and punch holes through my wall. This is getting way too hard for me to bare on my own, but god I don't want you to see me so weak and vulnerable. I have to be strong for you. This whole thing is going to kill me. I can feel it. It's the only thing I feel anymore when I'm awake.
I don't know when I got up from my warm bed, sometimes I just zone out ya know. But I've made my way to the other side of my room to take comfort in the only friend I have hidden that lives under my desk. I reach under and feel the space between the drawer and a bit of desk that's wrapped under and pull out one of the few I have stashed around.
If you knew what I have resorted to, you'd probably hate me. I already hate me enough for the both of us so I'd rather not have you mixed in. The blade dances between my fingers so gracefully. It's almost beautiful. Like a ballerina pirouetting on stage. This habit has become the only thing to numb me these days. I even tried to take some of Rose' alcohol but that's not really my thing. I guess slicing my skin open is more my style. Sarcasm.
Where should I do it this time? I slip my shirt off and walk over to full length mirror I have hanging on the back of the door. Now left with only boxers that are loose and hanging on my hips., I'm fucking littered with these gashes. Some of them more healed than others, and some of them could still bleed if I rubbed them the wrong way. My arms, sides, hips, and thighs have all fallen victim to the brutal self hatred I have burning through my entire being. And fuck does it BURN. These cuts help release the burning sensation and I swear I can see the steam erupting along with the blood that begins to trickle out. No not blood, the molten lava that begins to pour down my skin and splatters abstract designs onto the wood floor. It's actually quite beautiful.
But not nearly as beautiful as you.
Fuck. I zoned out again and now I can feel the sting finally setting in. The lacerations on my hips aren't as bad as they look, I promise. Sometimes I think I just bleed more than other people, or I don't know what the meaning of "bad" is. Either way.
Luckily I keep a roll of paper towels in here so I don't have to leave my room. I don't have to risk going out and having Dirk see me and question me. He already knows something is up and God knows he doesn't know how to properly approach any of this. I don't want him to know how much of a fuck up I am.
The paper towels streak the blood against my pale skin and fuck that hurts a little more than it did before. I have to press against them to help stop the trickling. I used up the last of the bandaids last time and haven't been able to afford more so I just have to deal with keeping these paper towels pressed against me.
My head is kinda light. Not from blood loss, I can't have lost that much. But from everything flooding into me at once.
Maybe I should just call you.
Yeah.
No.
Yeah.
No.
Fuck.
Wow I'm just full of bad ideas tonight.
God I want to see you. I don't even care if you tell me to 'fuck off', at least I'll get to hear your voice. I know I fucked up. I know i'm a piece of shit. I know you deserve so much better than my sorry ass. I may not be the only one for you, but goddamnit you're the only one for me.
I didn't notice my legs shaking till now. I need to lay down. It's 4:30 and school starts in less than 4 hours. Ugh, school.
...
You're going to hate me for calling you at 4:30 in the morning. Fuck it.
The ringing in my ear seems so much louder than it normally does. Each one practically screaming at me and they just keep coming. You aren't going to answer. You're going to wake up, see it's me, then hang up. You're going to ignore my call. You're going to delete my number. You're going to-
"Dave?" You're small, cute voice is riddled with sleep on the other line.
Thank god you answered.
"John."