Splintered Illusion

» twenty «

Puck's words and aloof attitude didn't cease to replay themselves repeatedly in my head, teasing me, mocking me. I just couldn't get my head wrapped around the fact that one day he could be such a sweet, caring person and a mean, cold-hearted one the next.

Why? Why?

That was the question that I didn't get. Why was he being like this? Why was he mean all of a sudden? He said he liked me. He said he was sorry. He said he would try better. So why was he being like this? What changed?

I sat, once again, staring out my window at the rain that poured out of the sky, cold and hard, the droplets creating a racket on the roof. The rain did nothing to help the temperature inside of the house and I wondered when my dad would get back home.

At least if he were here, his cruel words and harsh beating could take my mind off all of the questions swirling inside my head. Maybe he'd even try to fix the heater for his sake.

Sighing, I leaned my forehead against the cool window, staring at the droplets that ran down the glass pane rapidly... The same glass pane that Puck had come through to talk to me when I was painting. Speaking of...

I looked back at the blank canvas at my desk. Maybe that could take my mind off of all this. Standing, I approached my desk, my fingers gently brushing over each and every paintbrush that I owned.

Taking a seat at my desk, I stared down at the canvas, my brain just as blank as the stupid canvas. Groaning in frustration, I banged my head against the edge of the desk.

Why couldn't I do anything right these days?

Hopelessness settled into the pit of my stomach and just as I was about to surrender to the darkness inside my mind, an idea popped inside my head.

I stood abruptly from my chair and quickly made my way down the stairs. Entering the kitchen, I opened cupboard after cupboard, hoping against hope to find what I was looking for.

Just as I was about to give up, a bottle of red wine sitting idly on one of the shelves caught my attention. A cry of relief left my mouth and I lunged for it.

At the moment, I couldn't be bothered to think about what Dad would do to me if he found out I was drinking what was his. At the moment, all I could think of was getting rid of all the thoughts of despair in my mind.

So after much struggle with opening the bottle of wine, I poured a heavy amount into an old one of my mom's favorite glass and did just that.

Forget.

»« »« »«

I was drunk.

But I didn't bother to admit it to myself because I was having too much fun feeling numb from the wine, the alcohol buzzing through my veins like an addiction.

Just like I was currently addicted to the drink. I couldn't stop myself from continuously taking huge gulps of it. Before I knew it, the whole bottle was finished and I pouted sadly, stumbling into the kitchen in search for another one. Unfortunately, this was the last bottle.

Sighing in defeat and unsteady on my feet, I made my way to the front door and pushed it open to the sound of thunder screaming and rain pounding to the earth in a hard, heavy manner.

I'm not sure why, but a small giggle left my mouth as I bared my face to the pouring rain, stepping into it and getting soaked immediately. I shivered, goosebumps forming all along my body, but continued to stand there, closing my eyes against the wet droplets that streaked down my face.