Why do you torture yourself like this?
Blitz didn't have an answer for the question that came into his head. He'd chosen, out of boredom, morbid curiosity, stupidity, or because of that tugging on his heart that never ceased. He gave it time; everyone told him to give it time. But if there was anything Blitz had learned from the years he'd been alive, it was that the past had become part of his identity.
No matter how much pain it inflicted on him.
He tried his best. Truly, he did. He tried hard to obey but those rules and lessons everyday. Distract yourself with other tasks. Think about the ones who really love you; the ones who didn't abandon you in the first place. Look at the life you have now. You should be happy. And truly, that was right. Why mourn someone who never mourned you in the first place?
The memories come back in a flood, just waiting to burst the moment that he decided to take just the slightest peek past the door. He supposed he never locked the door in the first place. He never learned to throw away the key and never look back. Reiterating: the past defined him. It defines everyone, in some shape or form. But it defined him more than it ever should've. It was all to a fault.
Blitz stared at Verosika's face. He hadn't looked in months. He'd deleted every image of her, and took the greatest efforts to avoid connecting the present thoughts he had to that smiling face. Those beautiful eyes. Along with thinking of such came that sweet voice that he wished he could listen to all day. Those soft hands that would embrace him, and stroke his face. Those lips, moving in slow motion, mouthing the same words he'd return with his entire heart.
"I love you." Blitz spoke aloud. The only person he was speaking to was himself.
His hands trembled as he stared at the image of Verosika on his phone. He had felt that sinking in his heart, a feeling that he was familiar with. He'd felt it enough for it to be burned into his mind. It was burned into his chest, too. The dread, the hurt, the sadness, all infinite, was predictable. And yet, he looked anyways. He chose to tap on that username. He chose to see that glimpse. The name alone makes him shiver.
His heart is racing. His eyes are tearing. And it's like he's back there again. Those years ago, the peak of his heartbreak, the moment he wished he could turn back time to. What defined him.
Verosika was already with someone else the next day. This should've been enough for him to hate. All of his friends, as stupid as they were to side with him, not knowing the full context of everything, him just being seen as the loving, perfect boy, would insult her.
"You deserve better."
"What a bitch."
"You're too good for her."
"Fuck you... fuck ALL OF YOU."
Blitz threw the phone across the room. He'd thought of chucking it out the window, but changed his mind at the last second, hearing the wall crack, and the thud on to the floor. In that moment, he'd hesitated. He stared at the light in the darkness, her face still resonating. So clear, and bright.
He stood as still as he could, shuddering. It was only him, her, and the tears.
Blitz didn't know when he'd fallen asleep. But he did. The alarm had went off. His head felt heavy, and so did each step as he went to pick up his phone, still where he'd left it. Not a scratch on it, or any damage. Hastily, he swept at the screen, careful not to look at her.
'Her.'
Blitz narrowed his eyes, his hand gripping tightly as if that would destroy the memory. Today was the start of a new day, and part of him thought this was another step in the journey. His mind, despite still recalling the events and the faint stabbing in his heart, was mostly clear. If he were more naive, he'd call it healing.
Deep in the back of his mind, he wondered when he'd come face to face with that memory again, where she'd always be waiting for him.
He had work today. Blitz scoffed at the notion of work with the state he was in. As if being an assassin wasn't already enough mental drain, he'd be more compelled to turn the gun on himself right now. That was a joke. Blitz knew better than to do something that stupid. Perhaps 'knowing better' was even more stupid of him.
Blitz kept the door locked as he heard Moxxie, Millie, and Loona roaming about. Once, he'd heard the doorknob attempt to be opened. Part of him wished they'd get the door open. Part of him wanted to open it for them, and tell them what was happening. Or, perhaps, if they did get it open themselves, for them see how much it hurt. To feel real, like he existed.
Once again, he knew better than that. They wouldn't give a single fucking shit.
Or, if they did decide to pretend to give a shit, humoring him with a life lesson or some kind of truth that was meant to be the answer to life's problems, which ironically was the right answer, it wouldn't do a thing. And then they'd just feel bad about 'not being able to help.' Blitz chuckled to himself. It was an endless cycle.
Be helped? They had no idea how much he wanted that to happen. And, to help himself? Well, no fucking shit he's been trying to help himself. Nobody wants to feel this way. Now, if only he had the strength to live with more dignity, and accept things as they were. It was the only thing left to him now. No amount of thinking, crying, self-loating, and overall, bitching was going to change things.
Blitz laughed a little louder. Looks like he wasn't over the mood just yet.