The Power Of Love

Recovery

  29. Recovery

       Two weeks later, I lay still on my back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling as my fresh tears run down my cheeks. I didn't get any sleep last night, because I physically couldn't. I was anxious about closing my eyes—I didn't wish to reopen them and be reminded that I was alone—yet again. The sharp pain within my chest was stopping my breath as the seconds pass by, and the voices haven't stopped talking since he's left.

It felt almost like this was the end of life, and that there was no reason to get out of bed anymore because his dimpled smile wouldn't be waiting for me. And his arms won't be able to hold me upright when I felt like I needed a pair of arms to rest in—he wouldn't be there anymore.

I was all alone—just like before.

And the tears began to fall like a waterfall, and I felt like screaming at the universe, demanding to know what I did to deserve this. It was cold, and even though there was light peeking through my bedroom window, indicating that morning had fallen, the darkness inside remained the same, in fact, it got darker by the second.

I sighed as more tears ran down my face, at the time making Eric believed that I didn't love him anymore seemed like the best decision, but if I knew that it would be this bad then I would have left things how they were.

His voice played over and over again in my mind, his screaming, and his helpless pleas for me to turn back again, for me to take back everything that I had said, and I wish that I could, but I couldn't.

This was my way of setting him free—so that the next girl that he loves will love him in ways that I was unable to. And then he would realize that what we had was nowhere close to being in love—because I just wasn't capable of being loved or loving someone in return.

But I did really love him, and the thought of him loving someone else was physically unbearable. And the thought of him being happy without me was something that I didn't want to think about, and I didn't see a life without him. And I knew that no one else would compare to him—because he was my first love.

Eric loved me without boundaries, he loved me without complications, and he loved me without judgements. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to rid my mind of the soft feeling of his lips, his tender touch, and his soothing voice.

The sun had completely lit up the entire room, and my eyes burned from the impact. I groaned, throwing the sheet over my head as I curled up, bringing my knees to my chest, I hugged myself as I cried some more.

I cried because that's all I could do, and at the moment all I could think about was the obstacles that I've had to face in my life, all the decisions that I've made, and I suddenly hated myself.

I hated myself because maybe this was my entire fault; somehow.

Maybe Eric's parents noticed something different about him; maybe they noticed that my love was draining their son and that he needed to be taken away from me.

Maybe it was the universe's way of warning them that they needed to break us apart because I was not good enough for him.

Even though my heart pained, and my chest felt like it was caving in. I dragged myself out of bed and made my way to the shower. Everyone was staring at me, I ignored their eyes as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, and my eyes were red and sore from crying. I looked away disliking the person that stared back at me.

I climbed into the shower and washed my hair and my body, then dressed in an overlapping T-shirt dress, letting my hair fall in its natural wavy curls.

I waited until everyone had left the bathroom, and then I allowed the tears to fall, as I tried to catch my breath through the gasp that followed. My hands began to shake and I felt like I couldn't breathe.