CHAPTER 2: Aftermath of a Broken Heart
*~ You left me with goodbye and open arms ~ A cut so deep I don't deserve ~ You were always invincible in my eyes ~ The only thing against us now is time ~*
Sam stood motionlessly in the living room, staring at first the door that Alyssa had stormed out of, then at what was left of the fragile wooden table that she had shoved him into.
He suddenly felt an intense throbbing on his right forearm close to his elbow. When he examined it, he discovered that one of the larger splinters from the broken table had sliced through his skin, leaving a wide gash on his arm. Tiny wooden splinters protruded from the open wound. Deep crimson blood flowed down his arm, like a river flowing into an ocean.
The pain in his injured arm was severe, yet Sam had only noticed it now. Now blood was dripping onto the floor. Still, Sam barely gave it a mere thought, for nothing could have possibly hurt him more than the crushing words that Alyssa had said to him only minutes before.
"You mean nothing to me! You don't mean anything to me now, and guess what?! You never did!"
Don't let this wussy sentimental shit take over you, Sam thought to himself. You don't need her, you don't need her.
". . .You know you're nothing without me. Before you met me, you were nothing but a worthless druggy with no future. In fact, you still are . . .!"
Sam struggled to stop the haunting voices in his head. They just intensified and got louder with every breath he took.
". . .I don't love you! I never have, and I never will! Did you assume that I loved you just because we showered together and made out several times?"
You should have known better, Sam, another voice inside his head said. Why did you let her become the center of your world? You're an idiot! IDIOT!
". . .I don't love you! I never have, and I never will. . .!"
More blood trickled onto the floor.
Sam felt his heart beat madly against his chest; his breath cut down into rigid gasps. He listened to the jeering voices in his head, poisoning his soul, lacerating his heart and shrieking like ravenous hyenas, eager to tear apart their vulnerable prey. He imagined the sound of shattering glass, as his already torn heart was shattered into a million pieces.
Suddenly, Sam realized that he hadn't imagined the sound of shattering glass. He looked down and saw that he had dropped an intricately designed picture frame, smashing the glass overlay. The frame contained a photograph of him and Alyssa. Sam felt tears of anger and heartache as the horrifying realization finally dawned on him.
That picture had been taken at George's funeral.
". . .Your dad was a pathetic failure. . .! It's SUCH a crying shame: like father, like son."
Sam willed the tears away. Yeah, as if crying is gonna help! he thought. At that point in time, he wanted more than anything to dash to Alyssa's house and smash all of the windows with heavy rocks. He wanted to hear her scream in terror while sharp debris flew around her. But no, how could he? Sam still loved Alyssa through it all and no way was he going to let himself cause her pain the way she did to him. Sam felt his head go numb. He didn't know what to think anymore. He couldn't cry, couldn't scream, couldn't run away. Instead, he picked up the largest shard of glass and ran his forefinger around the razor-sharp edge. Perfect. He absentmindedly let the piece of glass slice through the flesh on his left arm.
A new wave of pain pulsated through Sam's left arm. He grimaced at his arm as a line of blood appeared. The sudden wave of pain awoke Sam from his depressed trance-like state. . .only to be placed in another trance.
Once again, Sam let the glass glide across his left forearm. More blood appeared. A maniacal grin slowly spread on Sam's face. The sight of his blood and the stinging pain combined together were intoxicating. "No.ahhhhh." Sam moaned as the glass cut again. He was getting higher now than he did when he sniffed glue.
Another cut. More blood.
He felt his heart beat at an accelerated rate while his head felt lighter. The room seemed to spin around right before Sam's eyes. Various objects blurred into a series of colors. Sam watched as the colors seemed to close in on him, constricting him until there was no air left in his strained lungs. Any second now, and Sam would collapse onto the floor, losing consciousness. His body violently swayed from side to side and his unsteady feet took two small steps forward. . . straight into a pile of glass.
"AHHHH! SHIT!" Sam howled, recovering from his wooziness. Finally aware of his surroundings and what he was doing, Sam dropped the ruby stained piece of glass onto the floor. "What the fuck did I do?!" Sam said aloud. He looked around the living room, focusing his attention on the floor. It was obviously a horrific mess. Wooden splinters, pieces of glass, and blood were everywhere. Blood. So much blood. Sam abruptly felt sick to his stomach as he stared at his arms. His right forearm was pretty bad and his left forearm was basically torn to ribbons.
Sam quickly glanced down at his watch. 8:30. His family would be home soon.
Sam tentatively limped out of the living room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints. He returned with his wounds fully cleaned and bandaged. He had put on a sweatshirt and socks to hide the bandages. Then he quickly got to work, determined to clean everything up before his family got home.
First, Sam grabbed an old rag from the kitchen to wipe the blood off the floor. His blood. Sam trembled at that thought. Then he carefully cleared the broken picture frame and the glass off the floor. When Sam saw the photo of him and Alyssa, he hesitated, thinking of how perfect things were between the two of them when that picture was taken. It had been taken at George's funeral and at that time, Sam could always rely on Alyssa for anything and everything. She was his support, his best friend, his one and only love, his. . .
Sam shook his head as he tore the photo into pieces. He placed the remains of the photograph into a paper bag, along with the glass and the broken picture frame. He tossed the bag into the garbage can. Sam knew deep within his heart that he had also thrown away the "love" he and Alyssa had once shared. For good.
*~ You left me with goodbye and open arms ~ A cut so deep I don't deserve ~ You were always invincible in my eyes ~ The only thing against us now is time ~*
Sam stood motionlessly in the living room, staring at first the door that Alyssa had stormed out of, then at what was left of the fragile wooden table that she had shoved him into.
He suddenly felt an intense throbbing on his right forearm close to his elbow. When he examined it, he discovered that one of the larger splinters from the broken table had sliced through his skin, leaving a wide gash on his arm. Tiny wooden splinters protruded from the open wound. Deep crimson blood flowed down his arm, like a river flowing into an ocean.
The pain in his injured arm was severe, yet Sam had only noticed it now. Now blood was dripping onto the floor. Still, Sam barely gave it a mere thought, for nothing could have possibly hurt him more than the crushing words that Alyssa had said to him only minutes before.
"You mean nothing to me! You don't mean anything to me now, and guess what?! You never did!"
Don't let this wussy sentimental shit take over you, Sam thought to himself. You don't need her, you don't need her.
". . .You know you're nothing without me. Before you met me, you were nothing but a worthless druggy with no future. In fact, you still are . . .!"
Sam struggled to stop the haunting voices in his head. They just intensified and got louder with every breath he took.
". . .I don't love you! I never have, and I never will! Did you assume that I loved you just because we showered together and made out several times?"
You should have known better, Sam, another voice inside his head said. Why did you let her become the center of your world? You're an idiot! IDIOT!
". . .I don't love you! I never have, and I never will. . .!"
More blood trickled onto the floor.
Sam felt his heart beat madly against his chest; his breath cut down into rigid gasps. He listened to the jeering voices in his head, poisoning his soul, lacerating his heart and shrieking like ravenous hyenas, eager to tear apart their vulnerable prey. He imagined the sound of shattering glass, as his already torn heart was shattered into a million pieces.
Suddenly, Sam realized that he hadn't imagined the sound of shattering glass. He looked down and saw that he had dropped an intricately designed picture frame, smashing the glass overlay. The frame contained a photograph of him and Alyssa. Sam felt tears of anger and heartache as the horrifying realization finally dawned on him.
That picture had been taken at George's funeral.
". . .Your dad was a pathetic failure. . .! It's SUCH a crying shame: like father, like son."
Sam willed the tears away. Yeah, as if crying is gonna help! he thought. At that point in time, he wanted more than anything to dash to Alyssa's house and smash all of the windows with heavy rocks. He wanted to hear her scream in terror while sharp debris flew around her. But no, how could he? Sam still loved Alyssa through it all and no way was he going to let himself cause her pain the way she did to him. Sam felt his head go numb. He didn't know what to think anymore. He couldn't cry, couldn't scream, couldn't run away. Instead, he picked up the largest shard of glass and ran his forefinger around the razor-sharp edge. Perfect. He absentmindedly let the piece of glass slice through the flesh on his left arm.
A new wave of pain pulsated through Sam's left arm. He grimaced at his arm as a line of blood appeared. The sudden wave of pain awoke Sam from his depressed trance-like state. . .only to be placed in another trance.
Once again, Sam let the glass glide across his left forearm. More blood appeared. A maniacal grin slowly spread on Sam's face. The sight of his blood and the stinging pain combined together were intoxicating. "No.ahhhhh." Sam moaned as the glass cut again. He was getting higher now than he did when he sniffed glue.
Another cut. More blood.
He felt his heart beat at an accelerated rate while his head felt lighter. The room seemed to spin around right before Sam's eyes. Various objects blurred into a series of colors. Sam watched as the colors seemed to close in on him, constricting him until there was no air left in his strained lungs. Any second now, and Sam would collapse onto the floor, losing consciousness. His body violently swayed from side to side and his unsteady feet took two small steps forward. . . straight into a pile of glass.
"AHHHH! SHIT!" Sam howled, recovering from his wooziness. Finally aware of his surroundings and what he was doing, Sam dropped the ruby stained piece of glass onto the floor. "What the fuck did I do?!" Sam said aloud. He looked around the living room, focusing his attention on the floor. It was obviously a horrific mess. Wooden splinters, pieces of glass, and blood were everywhere. Blood. So much blood. Sam abruptly felt sick to his stomach as he stared at his arms. His right forearm was pretty bad and his left forearm was basically torn to ribbons.
Sam quickly glanced down at his watch. 8:30. His family would be home soon.
Sam tentatively limped out of the living room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints. He returned with his wounds fully cleaned and bandaged. He had put on a sweatshirt and socks to hide the bandages. Then he quickly got to work, determined to clean everything up before his family got home.
First, Sam grabbed an old rag from the kitchen to wipe the blood off the floor. His blood. Sam trembled at that thought. Then he carefully cleared the broken picture frame and the glass off the floor. When Sam saw the photo of him and Alyssa, he hesitated, thinking of how perfect things were between the two of them when that picture was taken. It had been taken at George's funeral and at that time, Sam could always rely on Alyssa for anything and everything. She was his support, his best friend, his one and only love, his. . .
Sam shook his head as he tore the photo into pieces. He placed the remains of the photograph into a paper bag, along with the glass and the broken picture frame. He tossed the bag into the garbage can. Sam knew deep within his heart that he had also thrown away the "love" he and Alyssa had once shared. For good.