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."