Nothing, I didn't recall anything, when I got up from the door, the sounds of my footsteps,
and cries behind me. My front door swung open, the coldness of the apartment engulfed me;
Mom was at work. Window shades were down, the apartment almost a complete darkness. I shut
the door, and walked towards my room, I didn't bother with the light switch. I closed my
door behind me. The window was casting the room in a peaceful, yellow glow. I sat down at my
desk and held my head. My mind was blank; I was stunned. I tried to remember things, but the
last five minutes were all I could see. I looked up at the picture on the desk of Heather
and me. "What just happened? What happened to her? She looked so scared." I rested my head
on the table, still looking at the picture. "This doesn't make any sense, she was fine a few
minutes before?"
I stood up and walked over to the window slowly, peering outside at all the brightness. "Not
like it matters, after what I did." It's crazy, I thought I knew myself, but what just
happened back there, that wasn't me. I don't remember why I did it. I just remember my hand
against her mouth, seeing the fear in her eyes. "God, what the hell is wrong with me? What
was I doing?" I stepped back from the window. "Why did I hurt her?" I walked back towards my
desk. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I saw a sick, twisted person looking back at me, who loved what he just did, who wanted
more. He loved seeing her scream and beg, loved seeing her in pain, he got off to her
misery. I stared back at the reflection. "Yeah, you loved every second of it, you sick piece
of shit, didn't you?" My right fist tightened, I could feel my veins. "Seeing her cry her
eyes out, running for her life, you wanted more." I peered closer at him. "Fuck you..." My
fist began to shake. I punched the mirror, putting a sharp crack in it. "FUCKING BASTARD!"
This wasn't enough; I punched again, and again, and again. The shards fell onto the floor,
and the mirror creaked as it swung along the wall, unhinged from its nail. I spat at my
broken image on the ground, my fist bled all over. It was dripping like it was drenched in a
rainstorm, felt like I had dipped it into a fire. Shards of glass were pierced into the
skin, glittery artwork across my knuckles.
I closed my eyes and caught my breath. This is a common thing, happens more often then it
really should. When I fail a final exam, when Lisa dumped me, seeing someone I love in pain.
My own stupid ass caused all these. I just, can't help but let my rage out. Sure, I may
cover the holes with posters, but it doesn't hide it, the scars still linger, always a
painful reminder of my many failures.
I shook my hand, watching some glass fall out. Feeling this sharp pain helps me to forget
whatever pissed me off in the first place. It wasn't working this time. I know what I did, I
still remember. I opened a desk drawer and took out a pair of tweezers. I then walked over
to the window and sat against the wall. The sunlight guided me along, and soon enough, about
all the shards were picked out. I could still see some pieces shine in the light. I dug
through the garbage on the floor and found a dirty, light blue rag. "This will do." I
wrapped it around my knuckles, tying it securely. I tossed the tweezers at a garbage pile,
watching them miss and land in another. I held my bandaged hand in front of me, rotating it
like a slab of meat on display.
I laid my head back, watching shadows from outside dance along the floor. I've never gone
this berserk before. I may punch my wall once or twice, or kick a hole in, but not this, not
what I just did. I punched a mirror into pieces, and trashed my floor with blood. I lowered
my head and stared at my flickering shadow on the ground. "God, is this really me?" I held
my face in my hands. "No, this isn't me, I don't do shit like this!" I was just feeding
myself more lies. This is me, or at least what I am becoming. I tightened my left fist and
punched the ground. I never wanted Heather to see me explode like that, but it was
inevitable I guess. I so wanted to sleep, to kill time, to forget, but I couldn't. This
won't be something I'll forget any time soon, that's what sickens me most. Every time, every
single god damn time that I'll see her laugh, or greet me with a smile, I'll see past it
all. I'll look behind those eyes and see her crying, see her mouth twisting into a scream.
I stood up clumsily, somewhat weak from the pain. I cradled my hand as I stumbled
towards my bed, falling onto it. I rolled onto my back and gazed at the ceiling fan.
I'd give anything to reopen my eyes to this morning, to be given a second chance. I wanted
to throw these thoughts away, but I could only think of Heather in her room, delirious and
scared, no one to turn to, like a lost child. "I shouldn't be here. I should be with
Heather." I couldn't bring myself to stand up. I was too scared, not of her, of myself. This
childish rage I have, I had kept it confined here these seven years, or so I thought until
today. Deny all I want, I saw that rage when I threw her against that door, but it wasn't my
usual rage, I had no control. I only remember Heather screaming, and then before I know it,
her head is against the door. It felt out of my hands, like I was just watching it happen. I
lowered my head. All I wanted to do was to stop her, stop the noise, the fear. I didn't mean
to hurt her. I looked at the distant picture of her on my desk. I hated what I saw, that was
not Heather. Something happened to her, I just wanted her back, I didn't mean to do what I
did.
I don't think I've ever been so scared before. That horror in her eyes, hearing the tremor
in her voice. I just wanted her to be ok, to stop this act of hers. I spoke to myself in a
whisper. "Heather, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." I just wish she could know just how
sorry I feel, but it wouldn't matter, those are just words, this isn't so simple anymore.
This isn't some stupid ass aftermath of an argument. Heather was freaking out, she was in
pain, and I saw this. A normal person would have just grabbed her and held her tight, not
let her hurt herself. What did I do? I fucking screamed at her and smashed her head against
the door. "Yeah, that's what love's all about."
"Shit! What can I possibly do for her now?" I was the only person besides her dad that she
could trust to be there for her, to help her. I broke that, now she's alone, in her room, in
darkness. I keep telling myself that I didn't mean to, that I'm sorry. God, that's such
utter bullshit. I can repeat this for hours on end; it still won't change a damn thing.
I rose up and sat at the edge of my bed. Right now, I have two options: Lie here in
worthless pity, whining about what I've done, or get off my ass and go back to her.
I stood up and looked at the picture on the desk, Heather and me. " I know what I did, but I
love her, I can't let her be like this. I need her to be ok." I don't care if she beats me,
and slaps me. I won't back down. In fact, I hope she does. I hope she spits at me, tears at
my skin, and curses my life. It's what I deserve, because I know she won't ever forgive me,
but I can't leave her scared like that. Something was woken up in her, something she doesn't
know, and neither do I. I can't sit here and let her be alone.
I walked over to the picture and studied Heather's face. There's so much life in her. I
looked at myself in the photo. I was the one who brought her this happiness, and I take it
away in an instant. I sighed and sat down at the desk.
My life is worthless, I'm not going anywhere, I have no goals. Walking down a street, I know
what people's gazes say. People look at Heather, knowing she's something special; she has to
be if she would be seen with me. She's going to make it in life, and I'm not about to hold
her back. I know she cares about me, but why? Why does she always insist that I have many
talents? I've got nothing. I don't know why Heather likes me, but I could list so many damn
reasons why I like her.
I opened my door and walked towards my front door. "I don't know what it is that happened to
her, but staying here won't help. This damn anger I have, it won't happen again." I looked
around my apartment as I stood in the entrance doorway.
If Heather doesn't forgive me, fine, I'll move on somehow, but I'll never stop worrying
about her. I shook my head. "No, that's not true at all." If she doesn't forgive me, I don't
know what I will do. Life without her, it's impossible for me to picture. I started at my
hands. I just wish I could trust myself. "There's only one thing I can do. A promise I can
keep." I closed my eyes. "If I ever, EVER hurt her again…" I opened my eyes, looking at my
broken mirror. "Yeah, I'll do that."
and cries behind me. My front door swung open, the coldness of the apartment engulfed me;
Mom was at work. Window shades were down, the apartment almost a complete darkness. I shut
the door, and walked towards my room, I didn't bother with the light switch. I closed my
door behind me. The window was casting the room in a peaceful, yellow glow. I sat down at my
desk and held my head. My mind was blank; I was stunned. I tried to remember things, but the
last five minutes were all I could see. I looked up at the picture on the desk of Heather
and me. "What just happened? What happened to her? She looked so scared." I rested my head
on the table, still looking at the picture. "This doesn't make any sense, she was fine a few
minutes before?"
I stood up and walked over to the window slowly, peering outside at all the brightness. "Not
like it matters, after what I did." It's crazy, I thought I knew myself, but what just
happened back there, that wasn't me. I don't remember why I did it. I just remember my hand
against her mouth, seeing the fear in her eyes. "God, what the hell is wrong with me? What
was I doing?" I stepped back from the window. "Why did I hurt her?" I walked back towards my
desk. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I saw a sick, twisted person looking back at me, who loved what he just did, who wanted
more. He loved seeing her scream and beg, loved seeing her in pain, he got off to her
misery. I stared back at the reflection. "Yeah, you loved every second of it, you sick piece
of shit, didn't you?" My right fist tightened, I could feel my veins. "Seeing her cry her
eyes out, running for her life, you wanted more." I peered closer at him. "Fuck you..." My
fist began to shake. I punched the mirror, putting a sharp crack in it. "FUCKING BASTARD!"
This wasn't enough; I punched again, and again, and again. The shards fell onto the floor,
and the mirror creaked as it swung along the wall, unhinged from its nail. I spat at my
broken image on the ground, my fist bled all over. It was dripping like it was drenched in a
rainstorm, felt like I had dipped it into a fire. Shards of glass were pierced into the
skin, glittery artwork across my knuckles.
I closed my eyes and caught my breath. This is a common thing, happens more often then it
really should. When I fail a final exam, when Lisa dumped me, seeing someone I love in pain.
My own stupid ass caused all these. I just, can't help but let my rage out. Sure, I may
cover the holes with posters, but it doesn't hide it, the scars still linger, always a
painful reminder of my many failures.
I shook my hand, watching some glass fall out. Feeling this sharp pain helps me to forget
whatever pissed me off in the first place. It wasn't working this time. I know what I did, I
still remember. I opened a desk drawer and took out a pair of tweezers. I then walked over
to the window and sat against the wall. The sunlight guided me along, and soon enough, about
all the shards were picked out. I could still see some pieces shine in the light. I dug
through the garbage on the floor and found a dirty, light blue rag. "This will do." I
wrapped it around my knuckles, tying it securely. I tossed the tweezers at a garbage pile,
watching them miss and land in another. I held my bandaged hand in front of me, rotating it
like a slab of meat on display.
I laid my head back, watching shadows from outside dance along the floor. I've never gone
this berserk before. I may punch my wall once or twice, or kick a hole in, but not this, not
what I just did. I punched a mirror into pieces, and trashed my floor with blood. I lowered
my head and stared at my flickering shadow on the ground. "God, is this really me?" I held
my face in my hands. "No, this isn't me, I don't do shit like this!" I was just feeding
myself more lies. This is me, or at least what I am becoming. I tightened my left fist and
punched the ground. I never wanted Heather to see me explode like that, but it was
inevitable I guess. I so wanted to sleep, to kill time, to forget, but I couldn't. This
won't be something I'll forget any time soon, that's what sickens me most. Every time, every
single god damn time that I'll see her laugh, or greet me with a smile, I'll see past it
all. I'll look behind those eyes and see her crying, see her mouth twisting into a scream.
I stood up clumsily, somewhat weak from the pain. I cradled my hand as I stumbled
towards my bed, falling onto it. I rolled onto my back and gazed at the ceiling fan.
I'd give anything to reopen my eyes to this morning, to be given a second chance. I wanted
to throw these thoughts away, but I could only think of Heather in her room, delirious and
scared, no one to turn to, like a lost child. "I shouldn't be here. I should be with
Heather." I couldn't bring myself to stand up. I was too scared, not of her, of myself. This
childish rage I have, I had kept it confined here these seven years, or so I thought until
today. Deny all I want, I saw that rage when I threw her against that door, but it wasn't my
usual rage, I had no control. I only remember Heather screaming, and then before I know it,
her head is against the door. It felt out of my hands, like I was just watching it happen. I
lowered my head. All I wanted to do was to stop her, stop the noise, the fear. I didn't mean
to hurt her. I looked at the distant picture of her on my desk. I hated what I saw, that was
not Heather. Something happened to her, I just wanted her back, I didn't mean to do what I
did.
I don't think I've ever been so scared before. That horror in her eyes, hearing the tremor
in her voice. I just wanted her to be ok, to stop this act of hers. I spoke to myself in a
whisper. "Heather, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." I just wish she could know just how
sorry I feel, but it wouldn't matter, those are just words, this isn't so simple anymore.
This isn't some stupid ass aftermath of an argument. Heather was freaking out, she was in
pain, and I saw this. A normal person would have just grabbed her and held her tight, not
let her hurt herself. What did I do? I fucking screamed at her and smashed her head against
the door. "Yeah, that's what love's all about."
"Shit! What can I possibly do for her now?" I was the only person besides her dad that she
could trust to be there for her, to help her. I broke that, now she's alone, in her room, in
darkness. I keep telling myself that I didn't mean to, that I'm sorry. God, that's such
utter bullshit. I can repeat this for hours on end; it still won't change a damn thing.
I rose up and sat at the edge of my bed. Right now, I have two options: Lie here in
worthless pity, whining about what I've done, or get off my ass and go back to her.
I stood up and looked at the picture on the desk, Heather and me. " I know what I did, but I
love her, I can't let her be like this. I need her to be ok." I don't care if she beats me,
and slaps me. I won't back down. In fact, I hope she does. I hope she spits at me, tears at
my skin, and curses my life. It's what I deserve, because I know she won't ever forgive me,
but I can't leave her scared like that. Something was woken up in her, something she doesn't
know, and neither do I. I can't sit here and let her be alone.
I walked over to the picture and studied Heather's face. There's so much life in her. I
looked at myself in the photo. I was the one who brought her this happiness, and I take it
away in an instant. I sighed and sat down at the desk.
My life is worthless, I'm not going anywhere, I have no goals. Walking down a street, I know
what people's gazes say. People look at Heather, knowing she's something special; she has to
be if she would be seen with me. She's going to make it in life, and I'm not about to hold
her back. I know she cares about me, but why? Why does she always insist that I have many
talents? I've got nothing. I don't know why Heather likes me, but I could list so many damn
reasons why I like her.
I opened my door and walked towards my front door. "I don't know what it is that happened to
her, but staying here won't help. This damn anger I have, it won't happen again." I looked
around my apartment as I stood in the entrance doorway.
If Heather doesn't forgive me, fine, I'll move on somehow, but I'll never stop worrying
about her. I shook my head. "No, that's not true at all." If she doesn't forgive me, I don't
know what I will do. Life without her, it's impossible for me to picture. I started at my
hands. I just wish I could trust myself. "There's only one thing I can do. A promise I can
keep." I closed my eyes. "If I ever, EVER hurt her again…" I opened my eyes, looking at my
broken mirror. "Yeah, I'll do that."
