Warning: This chapter contains implications of self-harm and suicide.
The sound of clock ticking resounded as I float in abyss, it was dead cold and dark silence filing the indefinite space. Emptiness hugs my body and I sink to the bottomless pit of guilt.
It's done…
I've done it.
I made a wonderful mess. I watched grimly of what seemed to be a fortress made with strong foundation of trust crumble like a sandcastle at the end of the coast. Brittle and frail, it was kind of impressive. That everything basically everything went on all wrong directions with just a simple flick of hand. Biting back all the cries of regret knowing it's far too late to apologize.
Water…
Salty droplets float as I fall, do I even have the right to cry?
With the things I've done and for running away…
Hopeless piece of trash who can't even be compared with a used tissue. I'm nothing but a mistake that can only ruin everything again, again.
An endless cycle.
So, take those tears back Cole, your pathetic.
Why do they keep multiplying as I grab hard, reaching as far as I could yet keep they slipping through my fingers?
Even drops of your own tears rejects your existence. As my chest churns in pain, I pull myself knowing fully well sooner or later I'll wither and my dust will burn into nothing. My whole existence will be erased and forgotten, just like how it should be. No one would waste a tear for person whose name will never be heard once again, in any case, the world is now one less problem.
How are you doing?
A distorted yet playful voice invaded the peace I'm trying to make with despair and regret, accepting the punishment I deserve. A pair of golden hues glowed and pranced around my falling form. Dancing to a song only no one knows and continues to taunt knowing how tasty the response of a soul falling out of grace.
"What do you want?" A low and vexed voice left my chapped lips. It came out much more irritated than I wanted it to be. It's a little hard to be nice when all you want is to morph into nothing, ashamed of the deeds done as I take every and each breath. Why can't I be alone when I'm already descending to my eternal punishment. Mind your own business.
'A little rude, aren't you?'
I just want to cry and wallow in despair, is it hard to ask to be alone? Irritation bubbles even more in my stomach, my stale eyes still leaking, I looked at the pair of glowing balls of light with voice and body made of air. Questioning my own sanity would be a dumb move after all if a person with a build of mine, bleed a certain amount there's only one conclusion.
Death
'Cole Drystan'
What a fitting name for someone whose sorrowful soul darkening deeper than a charred stone and with eye set to burn anyone deemed to be an enemy.
'Aren't being too quiet for a child whose soul will soon swim in the eternal burning fiery sea of anguish?' The taunting voice that seemingly owns no body, questions in a curios tone.
Everyone deals with grieve differently and no one can question if one cries hysterically filling a dam to last more than two summers or silently weep behind dry desserts of ice-cold eyes. As pain is a feeling common to everyone. However, coping with it differs and unique to the pain the rots inside. Feeling my irritation reach its boiling point, my eyebrows are now sitting together and cheeks caught in my teeth. The voice slowly changes from a distorted to more like, dare I say human? It continues. 'If anything, shouldn't you be struggling and screaming like some folks brought in here a few cries ago? Or maybe even begging, sniveling to me save you from this pit?'
Letting out a tired sigh, I groan at bright orbs that stares back right mine. Mock me all you want, laugh and point fingers, call me a loser, an asshole or whatever name you want. Because I deserve to ridiculed and be taught of agony. I don't know nor do I want to know who or what this voice is from and I don't really care what it wants but I'm tired, really tired of anything. I just want to turn to dust, be forgotten, to be erased. Maybe just, maybe it would be enough to compensate for the tears and pain I brought. And this voice isn't helping me.
"I don't know but I really hate you" Malice is clearly evident in my voice as I feel wherever am I distort from abyss of nothingness to a place that my feet could rest. Now I can feel my face go full-on scowl as I stayed sprawled out on the new found, unexpectedly soft carpeted floor. I think I know why demons are deemed to be evil. A deep inhuman yet still human-like chuckle resonated in half-full-half-empty room, I sat up with another tired sigh leaving with my soul.
"Can't I just wither alone already?"
Taking in all of what my eyes could make out in the poorly lit room, a recliner seat, covered in skin of which I 'm too bothered to know, sat in front of a fireplace that lights as much as it could to the vast room. I took three major steps as even the tiniest speckle of warmth can quench my craving of just something in this place filled with nothing. A craving that felt so foreign yet not. Embers of orange and red danced around nestling a dark blazing black flame, it was stunningly beautiful, enthralling even. I plopped down on the floor, forgetting all as I watch the flames burn elegantly. It was shades of brightest oranges unknown to earth, red brighter than cherries and deeper than blood and hues of inky black, darker and colder than the eyes staring at my side.
Wait. What?
Whipping my head as quick as possible to see beady eyes framed in a face smaller than my fist. Indescribable look sits on its face with a tiny body wrapped in murky rag, like a starved child not even half a decade old. Growing a size or two after it learns that I'm paying all of my attention to itself, the tiny slit that I believed to be its lips tugs open revealing to a wonderful set of sharp yellow knives.
Great, I can hear my drained heart pump again; dead hand sweats and my sleeping lungs hitches a breath.
And out nowhere, it decides to lunge at me.
...
Breaking into sweat is not my favorite way to wake from a what felt a barely an hour sleep. The moon is still up the sky without showing any signs of changing shifts with the burning star, it was quiet still. Checking my phone from under the pillow, bright white numbers pop ups – 2:47 am. Great, just great.
Taking off my blanket I stare into the air, knowing fully well that I am not going to get good sleep until I scratch that itch, neither do my nightmares plan to let me. I let out a heavy sigh, still hearing the mocking voice inside.
And Daniel is still not back from doing I have no clue yet. I do have some guesses though and I don't like any of it. One is that he should be probably be reporting to the faculty since my accident happened within a university's property, which is not exactly good news for me. I'll definitely be scolded as soon as the semester starts, maybe even earlier than that. However, if he did report to the faculty, he's taking way too long. It only takes three to five minutes to walk to the university from here and he even took his car with him, so probably not it.
It is most likely that rather than the university it would've he reported to them. But then again, the time he consumes is too much. He could have gone somewhere else and called them or something, just like how he did many, many times before. Or maybe, just maybe, I was wrong all those times. I mean I didn't exactly get a confession or caught him red handed. Even so, I am not a that dumb. I know that put two and two together and you'll get four. A simple logic can easily reveal so much without much used, finding small clues and once put together can paint the whole story.
Ugh! There's also that infuriating guy…
My head throbs with everything piling up without a break, I just sat down in this case and I already want to burn everything. I feel like in sitting in an unstable cloud and any wrong move, it'll throw me back into the bottomless pit. Tossing around in bed won't get any answer out there with an irritated huff I sat up. Ruffling my head trying get everything out of my hair, maybe I should wash the stickiness and icky sweat in my neck, another reason to hate waking from un ugly memory. I stood and move around like a butterfly wandering softly, or maybe more of a disappointed robber stealthily trying to get out empty handed.
Turning the cold knob and with a swift click, the door opens to a dark empty space, the loud hallway is now asleep and stolen of any noise or footsteps. With a few steps I left the room and headed for our shared bathroom, aiming get a quick splash of cold water, freezing preferably. Entering the tiny lavatory, to make it sound fancy when it's everything but that, I was immediately washed by a weak rush of cold wind. Why is every toilet always a little colder than other rooms?
There's a disheveled idiot looking back to my eyes with an indifferent look, hair sticking out everywhere, dark bags under stormy eyes, looking a little twiggy in clothes of a hobo. I look tired and stressed, well I am.
I once again, sighed. Man, just how many times did I sighed already. Would it have been great if I approached things positively, wouldn't it? Forcing a smile to face only for it to contort in a creepy look. Yeah, no. Forget positivity, I'm going full on emo.
Reaching for the sink wanting to bathe my senses in the numbing sensation gifted by freezing water. Splashing the liquid to my face a few times before I saw my transformation from a sleep-deprived depressed college student to depressed sewer rat, really quick. Though, there's not much difference.
Laying my back on cold tiled wall I counted every breathe I take, listening to soft rumbles in the cold pipes with water leaking out. My eyes strayed all around and was caught with a of gleam of metal calling me out as it peeks through the small opening of the second drawer. My hands move by themselves, stubborn like Pandora, they opened something that shouldn't have been. There now, it bares itself in the midst of other items used for hygiene. A tiny piece of metal asking, begging to be cracked free from the body of plastic holding it hostage. Brushing my face and glancing back at the mirror, asking a question that I already the answer of.
No.
Fumbling and turning around, the itch gets worse and worse as the temptation to cut, drips with something bitter but better than honey. And without my notice, my hands are already gripping tightly an old friend of mine. Biting my lips, fighting the tiny but forceful urge to just, just scratch the itch, to just let it bleed out of my system.
No, I shouldn't it.
I…
I lost.
Like any time before, I was weak and lost to the same-old battle. Funny how I can make my fellows crumble down and sniveling as I can't even win a fight within myself. I quickly went to hide behind the shower curtains and draw the cold blade to my thighs, place where I can easily hide any trace of dark red lines I shall draw. Hiding from the shame and embarrassment I brought to myself.
Just a little, promise. Just a tiny slit would do, so please don't let anyone hear my blood run. My hands trembles as the blade closer and closer. Is it fear, anxiety of people finding out a dirty and bloody secret mine?
or…is it excitement?
Feeling it at the tips of tiny hair littered all over my skin, shivers shot in my spine. Just as the blade touches my skin, has to yet to dig out my worries away, I halted. This time water does not only leak from the cold pipes as I sprawled in tiled floor, everything once again, crashes down.
What am I doing?