The hardest part was knowing. It was the realization that he didn't want me.
Every night when I woke up screaming, the same thing was always in the back of my mind.
He was happy wherever he was. That was enough.
We couldn't both be happy at the same time. He shouldn't have to suffer because of me.
Yet, when I woke up screaming the thing that was most apparent was the sense of death.
I was still alive, that was true, but every day without him there to catch me, I fell a little deeper.
Everyday the bruises got worse. The cuts that no one could fix got worse every time I woke up, still alive.
I had to stay alive, that much I was certain about.
Charlie would never be able to bear it if something like that ever happened to me,
but it was still hard to get up in the morning knowing that he wouldn't be there.
That he didn't want to be there. That knowledge hurt more than anything in the world.
That morning was especially tough. Charlie was still home, so I had to work doubly hard not to fill
the house with my racking sobs. But I did it. The tears were inescapable though. That part was hard.
The hot water of the shower seemed to seep into my blood stream, filling it with boiled water.
I shuddered. Not good to think about blood. I choked down a glass of milk for breakfast, and climbed into
my truck. School was going to be unbearable.
And it was. Obviously no one talked to me. I was happily spared from that annoyance. It was the
absence of him. It rung in the air like a quiet bell, that got louder at five minute intervals.
I clutched my chest were a pain ripped into my heart, digging away when the bell got louder,
and eating when the bell was quieter. There was a constant creature that ate away at my heart,
soon there would be nothing left, even though it already felt like there was nothing. Anywhere.
Nothing to hang on to, nothing to hold dear, nothing, nothing, nothing...