Obsession

100

Roses.
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He held the objects in his hands, turning it around and around. His eyes scanning over the edges, the color that illuminated the shape. He wondered if he could pick it apart, to cancel his sorrows with it. He chuckled, removing one the plastic protection around the head of the objects, before he fetched his finger nails under it, trying to pop it open. He carefully managed to get the protection around it open, his eyes lowering to the two metal pieces falling onto the tiled floor.

He looked at them, dropping the colorful handle on the floor as he picked up the sharp blades. Mesmerized my the small, life threatening objects.

"Can you make me feel any different?" He asked the shiny blades, holding onto one of them gently.

He didn't know if canceling his emotional pain with psychical pain would do any difference to what he was feeling now. He was so low, he felt so misunderstood, not listened too. He was screaming at the top of his lungs begging for a pair of ears to listen to him, to show remorse and sympathy. He was dearly upset, hurt in many ways possible. His mother's inconsistency in listening to him, broke his heart apart one by one.

"Why won't they listen to me, why can't they hear me?" He sobbed, feeling the tears slowly make an appearance as the memories carved around his heart. The words that stabbed him in the bad, so far deep it felt almost impossible to pull out. "Am I just invisible to them? Am I dead, am I hallucinating..just what in the fucking world is happening" he proceeded to cry out his heart. His chest rising up and down, his hand clutching onto the sharp metal blades between the palm of his hands. His eyes shaking as he didn't know what to do anymore, how to feel. He was lost, hurt..alone.

He hummed to himself as he finally grabbed onto the blades he's been clutching onto, showing his already scarred flesh to the visible eye. The pain that sunk his heart deeper become stronger, his shaky hands already preparing to cut the pretty red line..a line he would regret the following days.

The line that showed off how bad he felt, how misunderstood he felt. He felt so much negativity that he believed dying was genuinely better than to live in all of this shit.

And the line was made. Wide open, red liquid starting to appear in his vision. The urge to continue became stronger, he prepared himself to go for another. And he did, and he did again, and again. Till the whole bathroom was painted red in his own blood, till he laid helplessly in the tiled, blood stained floor hoping to see either hell or heaven before his eyes.

He could feel the burning lingering sensation that numbed his arms. The pain that felt so strong, yet so subtle after the impact, like a storm leaving behind its damages. But he was the one damaged in that storm, he aas thrown off a roof and expected certain people to catch him. But that was funny, cuz he laid there dizzy in his own blood, mind empty yet heart still heavy. He tried to think but he couldn't, he had a terrible headache forming. His ears were ringing.

Blinking slowly. 1. 2. 3. He stared at his arms, seeing nothing but red paint them, he stared at the blade, seeing nothing but relief in the sharp objects.

With everything his been through, he wished to just reciebe a little mercy on his shoulders. But instead he lifted heavy arguments on top of his back, narcistic arguments that formed hatred towards his own mother. All the yells, the screams, the begs for help. All this sorrow, all this pain. Why wasn't he listened too?

Atleast once..once could somebody hear him out, somebody that wasn't a random stranger he met at a party and fucked multiple times. But someone, someone that he known for long time, someone whose hugs could put him to sleep when he was little.

But why was that someone such a bitch to him. What did he do, why did she always victimize herself. Was he in reality the wrong one in the arguments.

Why did he have to suffer so much? Why did he have to go through such pain? Why was he the bad one, the mean one, when he was the one receiving the punches?

"Why are you so mean to me...what did I do?" He whimpered, trying to move but being unable to hold himself up. His hands shook as he held onto the shower cabin, accidentally turning on the faucet that spilled cold water all over him. "N-no..forgive me please" he cried, giving up on moving as his head fell right back, the ringing in his ears becoming progressively louder and noisier. His vision blurring completely.."please".

He felt his tears dry up on his skin, even if the water felt with great force onto his body. He just laid there. Not knowing what to come. He didn't know if he was dying, or living. He didn't know where he would wake up next, or if he would even wake up in the first place. But he struggled to keep his eyes open. His breath becoming slower and slower, and his eyes falling completely shut.

Darkness immersed the once litted room, the water running colder and colder, he was freezing..shaking, struggling. It felt uncomfortable, it hurted, his lungs burned, his hands felt numb, his legs felt tinglish, the ringing noise became even more prominent. He wanted to scream but couldn't move his body.

Panic.

He felt panicked.

He couldn't move. He could feel a presence near him, mumbles not yells, but he couldn't feel anything. His body laid their numb and heavily, his insides hurting up and his head pounding.

Too much was going on.

Was he finally going to escape this hell of a place once and for all?
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I'm knotting a scarf for myself right now! It's purple and pink!

Also I updated the description for this book♡.