MATURE & EXPLICIT CONTENT
"Have you ever held a heart with your bare hand? No gloves, just sensing the blood dripping through your fingers, feeling the dark, dead muscle barely pulsing against your skin?"
"N-no..."
"Then stop telling me how to do my...
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Stephen King once wrote: "Monsters are real and ghosts are real too. They live inside us. And sometimes, they win."
Though in my case, they had won several times.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Don't kill anyone.
I stomped into the attendees' break room. Empty, dark. I was alone. Tables and chairs were scattered neatly all over the place, making me feel I was surrounded by actual ghosts. The only light coming in was from the empty hall.
Absolutely terrific.
Pacing through the room, I tried to put my shit together. My hands were curled up into fists, my teeth hurting from clenching them so hard. With my eyes closed shut, I found myself having trouble breathing.
The screams, the cries, the pitching siren of multiple ambulances, the heavy smell of smoke, the crimson color on the dark concrete. Everything that happened out there came down on me like a heavy weight on my shoulders.
"Help us!"
"My boy! He's... he's not breathing, help me, please!"
"There's a lot of blood. I can't make it stop!"
"Dr. Styles!"
"Dr. Styles!"
The voices swirled like a tornado, surrounding my head and giving me the feeling of being caught in a sea of despair with no way out.
"Time of death, 16:08."
"Time of death, 16:31."
"Sorry, there's nothing else to do."
"Time of death..."
"Time of death..."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, he's dead."
I grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged, hoping that motion would take those words away. The pain strung through all my scalp and I hissed under my breath. Heart hammering hard against my chest, I thought of yanking the small, muscled organ out and tossing it off the window.
My feet tripped with the chairs and tables placed in the room, my mind fogged with nothing but flashbacks of the accident. I could just simply make a mess, but it wasn't fair for the cleaning ladies.
They had already cleaned up most of my rage in the past.
Opening my eyes, I was welcomed with the blurry sight of the room. I needed my boxing sack, I was craving some punches right now.
"Stop it," I pleaded to myself and hit my temples with the heels of my hand. "Fucking stop it."
