Every beat of my heart only intensifies the ache in my body. I lay motionless, imagining myself nowhere. Maybe there, the pain is nonexistent. But I know my imagination cannot block out reality, for the loud voices are ringing in my ears. They scream my name, over and over again yet I don’t want to respond to them.
Sharp nails dig into my skin, shaking my shoulders violently in an effort to awake me. I am not asleep, although I wish I was. In deep deep sleep where I cannot be awakened is where I wish to be. The voices continue for what seems to be hours, and my eyes flash open. Light permeates my vision and I immediately close them.
“She’s alive!” I hear my mother scream. Her sobs follow and I am pulled forward so I am no longer lying on my back but instead lying against someone. The arms enclosing around my waist mend nearly perfectly into my curves. Warm skin presses against my own and I feel soft lips brush against the sensitive skin below my ear.
Voices continue to shout around me but I do not move. The only thing crossing my mind is, “It wasn’t enough.” Not enough to do damage.
Another failed attempt.
The arms around me suddenly retract and I open my eyes slowly, only dreading the sight in front of me. His striking blue eyes catch my attention.
“You lied to me.” His words roll from his lips as if he is telling me the time. He stares me down, waiting for a response, but I do not speak. Words bounce in my head, thousands of plausible sentences form, however I know he is tired of hearing my lies.
His eyes search for mine, darting swiftly, yet I look the other direction. I can’t let him see me like this, not at this point. He can’t know I’ve reached my limit. For him to see me, flawed with blemishes, is not something I desire.
“You told me you would get help.”
Yes, I say in my mind. I said many things to him, many of which were empty promises. I did mean many of them, but help is not something I receive. To ask for help is lowering my level of perfection, something that took many years to build up. Acknowledging I have a problem is one thing, however the steps end there.
“You have nothing to say?”
His tone drops a bit, as if he is defeated. He knows I don’t budge. He knows I’ve made up my mind. He knows he can’t do anything else for me.
The air between us thickens, and he gives up. He shakes his head several times as he stands and tears fill his eyes. I feel the emotional tug, but I am motionless.
All it takes is one blink, one blink and he is gone. The tears don’t come.
The pain comes.
I slid my hand under my bed to pull out a box. It is labeled, “THE LAST DAY” and it has been sitting there for six months now. I never expected to open it. But then again, I never expected to fail so many times.
My hands shake as I uncover the box and reach in to grip at the object. Blood trickles down my wrist when I pull my hand out and I know I’ve reached for the wrong object.
But at this point, it doesn’t even matter.
All I can hear is the thud of my heart. No one knows this will be my fate, to exit the world before my rightful time has been accounted for. But the pain I feel for the price of perfection has proved too much.
I have the angst bug. It’s so hard for me to write happy ending. It just comes off unnatural to me. I’m going to try very hard for the next one to be somewhat happy. Somewhat. It’s usually when I write 1st POV too. I’m actually not much of 1st person writer, I prefer writing in 3rd.