It's my first night without you since our beginning, and all I can feel is the dirty rainwater that soaked into my socks.
I'm lying here in a bed, my bed, and I can't move to take them off. I can't move to take anything off.
It's so warm in this room and I could be warm too, but I don't want to be – not yet. The thing I want most isn't a stupid kiss or a happily-ever-after anymore; it's just to be open and bare and warm. But no warmth will ever be warm enough, not quite.
So I might as well not feel any warmth at all, right?
Allowing yourself something that isn't the real thing just reminds you of the real thing and makes you want the real thing even more, and I don't want to want that. And I don't know if I'll ever want to want something ever again.
You're dead and I feel my feet losing feeling.
I can almost hear your voice so I keep almost crying, but just almost.
But what are you saying?
Now I can almost make it out: 'You have to want what you need.' But why the hell would you say that, idiot? You have to know that I can't have what I need.
And now it's hitting me again like a ton of scrap metal, all sharp and heavy.
Well I guess you're right, even though your words just now were tactless and double-edged.
I'm wishing that I can wrap one of my socks around my heart to make it feel like my feet and I swear I hear another person's feet shuffling away from my door, but it's hard to make it out over the sound of the rain slapping against the ground outside.
All right, whatever, I get it. Even though the only things a hot shower would bring back to life are my feet, I guess it's a start.
Author's Ramblings: This little snippet has no true narration; it's all thoughts. I'm rather proud of it compared to the first two chapters, but I've never written something like it, so I hope it makes sense.