It wasn't meant to be like this.
His face was coated in red, the color of our backs and thighs when we would be in bed heated in the light of passion. His lips were no longer soft and grinning but broken and chapped. Eyes no longer bright with anticipation of a kiss but now with the threat of a fist. His voice was cracking, holding heavy with my name that was only ever meant to make him smile. Now, instead it was being used to alert me of danger. Danger from myself.
He stayed on the bed, clutching to the rib that I had previously kicked. His face was pressed into the covers, staining them a deep velvet color. My name was still on his lips. I pulled my fist back, wiping the remnants of his wound on my wife beater. That wouldn't be coming out anytime soon...
"Ah...lex..."
I ignored the name, no longer responding to him. I backed away, walking to the door. He gasped, pulling himself up to reach out to me, fingers extended.
As I shut the door behind him, I could still make out the tiny sounds that emitted from the room. His voice, calling my name, was still buzzing in my head like a fly that wouldn't die.
In all honesty, I never planned for this to happen.
What I planned was being the next L.
I was without that honor. The title that gave me everything. Stability. Confidence. Self esteem. Perfection.
It's all I ever wanted. That word encompassed my life's goal in its entirety. I wanted to be perfect. It wasn't even just wanting but the needing of it.
However, the only thing I thing I was going to get is another scar. Another tally to show another mistake. It was a habit by now. A tradition. An expression that would help keep me focused on the plan. If I didn't do it, I wouldn't be disciplining myself correctly.
I reached my room, opening the door to find no one occupying its four walls. I closed it behind me, relieved that I was not being followed by him. Perhaps I really did a number on him, but it wasn't time for regrets. I was prepared to take another tally. There was no time for distractions.
Opening the dresser drawer beside the bed, I took out the switchblade. It seemed pretty dull. I was probably in need of a new one soon. I set it down on the top of the dresser then crawled up onto the bed. The same cold corner greeted me as I pressed my body into it. There was no warmth, no fingers running through my hair, no quick wrappings of blankets around my slightly shivering body.
I had hit him. Beaten him down. I didn't want him yet that's all I wanted. I didn't know how to act anymore, and I tried to put the blame on him. He was the one who distracted me from my work. He made me too focused on my childhood and not so much my future. Or was it that it was all planned to begin with..?
I looked to the blade, grabbed for it, then clicked it open. If only it could slice the terrors of the past as easily as it did the air.
I put it to the underbelly of my arm, parallel to the last one. Sucking in a quick breath of air, I pushed down and made it perfect.