Flaws and All

Chapter 6

Leah's Point of View

"Stupid dumb shit. What the hell am I supposed to do here for a whole freaking month?! Not even worth my whole lifetime," I muttered angrily. I felt okay, but everyone kept on telling me that I need to rest and blah blah blah! My mom is constantly watching me—she leaves my door open just in case I need something—and it is getting really annoying.

What to do, what to do? I thought. There's always going to the forest—but that wouldn't be such a good idea. Oh! I could go and tell Seth if he wanted to play on the Play Station… Darn! He's not here. So what else could I do on this very boring night?

I stood up from bed and walked silently towards my closet. Walking started to become something foreign to me; I couldn't really get the hang of it anymore… since the accident. I even forgot what happened that night; everything happened so fast. Maybe I was just attacked by some evil spirits…?

I opened my closet door and stood there, not really knowing what I was looking for. I stumbled across my old book bag. I scrutinized it for a bit and then decided to go back on my bed and search through it—it was deformed, due to all the books and notebooks that I had stuffed in there. I made my way back to my bed and started to unzip it. I took one deep breath.

I came across old family pictures and my drawing pencils. Wow, haven't used these in a very long time, I thought. There were also a few notebooks that I had stored in here: my wolf drawings, my kindergarten drawings, Seth's old fugly drawings... I can't believe all of this has been trapped in here for the longest time. Some of these drawings dated back to when I was five or six.

At the very bottom, there was a notebook that caught my attention. It was an all-black notebook. I took it out and laid my eyes on it for at least a minute. My Dark Notebook; the one that's been keeping all of my darkest secrets. My heart started pumping at double-pace. After how long? A year, that's I've been keeping this composition book a secret. It has all of my dark secrets and wishes.

I slowly opened it to the first page. It was splattered in blood. I, of course, knew the history behind the bloody page. It was that sad afternoon when Sam broke my heart. I had given him everything: my love, my soul, devotion, time, warmth, care, fondness. But I was the most stupid to believe that our relationship was going to last. I really did feel like me and him were meant to be… I regret to this day for giving him my all… My heart and my body.

It disgusts me to think of Sam and Emily physically loving each other. It makes me think that I wasn't enough for him. A few months back, I had the first glimpse of them doing it. It hurt me to the core. I don't blame him, actually. Fait was meant to be fait. Emily was Sam's fait. I guess I should start accepting that.

The second page was an installment of a poem that I had made that night of my break-up. It read:

I'm not the type to get my heart broken

I'm not the type to get upset and cry

Cuz I never leave my heart open

It never hurt me to say good-bye

Relationships don't get deep to me

I never got the whole in-love thing

And someone can say they love me truly

But at the time it didn't mean a thing

My mind is gone; I'm spinning around

And deep inside my tears all drown.

I'm loosing grip… What's happening?

I stray from love—that is how I feel

This time was different; felt like I was just a victim. And he cut me—like a knife—when he walked out of my life.

Now, I'm in this condition. And I've got all the symptoms of a girl with a broken heart, but no matter what he'll never see me cry… In all my life.

There were others. Every single poem reminded me of what I used to do when things went wrong with me. I remember that I used to cut myself with my own razorblades and anything else that would be sharp enough to hurt me. The weird thing was that after three cuts, it wouldn't hurt anymore, you'd start enjoying it and then your veins would yearn for another cut.

I finally came across the last two vacant pages. I never filled these? Maybe I could start doing another book about poetry, instead of having this old one. But I would have to complete this one first. I never started another job without completing the first.

I took out a well-pointed pencil and crossed my mind for any ideas. I tried to look for things that bothered me the most and right now, all I could think about was Jacob. Apparently some feelings towards my "best friend" were emerging. I didn't like that. Maybe my brain was dysfunctional after that mysterious blow to the head. I still need to talk about this to Carlisle, I thought.

Maybe I can just 'pretend' that Jacob likes me back… And that maybe I can love him too. I began:

I'm a train wreck in the morning

I'm a bitch in the afternoon

Every now and then without warning

I can be really mean towards you

I'm a puzzle, yes indeed

Ever complex in every way

And all the pieces aren't even in the box…

And yet, you see the picture clear as day

I don't know why you love me

And that's why I love you

Catch me when I fall

Accept me flaws and all

And that's why I love you

You caught me when I fell

And saved me from the fires of my personal hell

I guess I can call you my savior; I guess I can't call you a fake.

My reaction is simple; I love you Ja--

A loud knock coming from my living room interrupted my last word. I heard my mom walking towards the door.

"Hello. I wasn't expecting anyone this late. Come in," my mother said, welcoming the unexpected guest. There were soft whispers, too unintelligible to make out. It was probably Charlie for all I cared.

The unexpected person progressed into walking towards the stairs. Was Charlie going to come up stairs to see me?! What the fudge?!

There was a small knock on the door. This person smelled like… pizza?

"Uh, come in?" I said, unsure of whom it was at the other side of my door.

I think you all know who it is.

:D