His fingertips left marks across my skin.
I just made it unforgettable. Carving bright red marks across where he used to grab my wrists at dusk and hold my hand 'til dawn.
A permanent reminder of what I once had, what I may never have again.
My hands skim across my arms, lingering at every raised scar.
Ugly.
I dont want to dream of him tonight, like most nights. Usually we are lying on the hood of his car, entangled within each other, not knowing where he began or I finished. We were one, the sole things stopping each other. Starting each other.
Within him I saw stardust and oppurtunity. Within me he saw sunshine and freedom.
Then one day he ceased to see anything at all. "Black," he whispered into my neck one night. "I can see nothing but black."
I tried to show him colour again. To show him there was still sunshine, still love and good in this fucked up world. But I wasn't enough.
One week I decided I needed time to myself.
I missed every call, every message.
Every plea for help.
Now he doesn't see at all. He probably never will again. Not the sunshine and stardust. Not even black.
It's my fault.
It's my fault.
85
You made it but he didn't.
YOU ARE READING
Beneath You're Beautiful
Teen Fiction☁ a story about a girl named lia who tried so hard to save someone else that she forgot to save herself ☁ this is a completely and utterly different and rewritten version of a book I wrote what feels like a million years ago ☁ Trigger warning for de...
