Inoue Orihime's P.O.V.
I look at the door once again. A song I don't know starts to softly play on the radio. I ask for another drink. The clock shows me it's past ten. I sigh. One more glance at the door. He's not coming. Even if he comes, it's too late. I get up, pay for what I drank, and walk out of the little but welcoming place. I go to the park we used to go, and sit under the same cherry tree I confessed to him five years ago. I pull my legs to my chest, feeling the last of my heart go numb because the pain is to great.
He's too late. I pull a small object from my pocket, looking at it. I flip it open, and stare at my reflection. When did his actions, touches and kisses became so cold? He says he loves me, but his words are empty. No emotion at all. His smiles, gestures, everything is now fake. Why? What did I do? Did I hurt him? Am I just not good enough? My love is not enough?
He has a lover. I know he has. Every single night he comes home with marks that I didn't make, with a smell that's not mine nor his. He's probably happy with this other person. But why does he keep me? Does he like to see my suffering? He hates me that much?
Tears that I thought I didn't have anymore fell. Why does it still hurts? I thought my heart was already numb. Then why? I don't want to feel this pain. I don't want this sadness. I don't want his fake love, his fake words, his fake self. I want the guy I fell in love with. Not this stupid replacement of what he once was.
I feel my lips taking the form of a smile, a empty smile. I play a little wit my precious object, taking off the necklace I was wearing, looking at the ring it holds. Stupid, pitiful me! How could I believe in the words marked on it? Forever Yours, LIAR! He and all his damn lies! And I am the fool who believed in those lies!
Every lie he told me, I'd believe in it. Every lie he told me, I'd open my heart a little more. Every fucking lie he told me, made me this stupid fool. Made me his toy. That's probably all I'll ever mean for him. A toy, that when his tired of, he puts away and go play with another one. His little, idiot toy. How could I let myself become like this? How?
I started to pass the object through my arms, staring angrily at nothing. I didn't notice when the rain started, but I was soaked. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. He doesn't love me. He's not coming. He's too late. Every lie he told me led to this.
When he find me, I'll be dead. The blood is rapidly gushing out of the wounds. Pocket knifes are really useful. I smile, a bit of happiness filling the empty carcass I now am. Because of every lie he told me, I was just a shell. Every lie he told, made me kill myself. It's his fault. His. This is all because of him and his lies. Every lie he told me, and now he's late. He's too late.