Disappointed Passion ( A Silent Call One Shot )

Disappointed Passion

"Yeah, baby. It's me," I answered, my voice sounding scratchy.

"Why are you home?" she inquired, pivoting on the black padded bench to face me directly.Looking over my facial expression, she stood up, taking a step forward, but I retreated, backing up double the amount she had approached. Baffled, she mirrored my actions, coming close to tripping over the piano bench in the process. She recovered quickly and stood there looking lost, only a black sports bra and matching yoga shorts covering her petite body. My eyes roamed her figure, my mouth slowly opening at the realisation of how many scars she now had. I had started at her once bright and joyful blue eyes now darker, sadder, and fearful, travelling down her underweight torso and ending at her bright coral painted toenails. My eyes ascended back towards her emaciated face only to realise that tears had begun falling from her drained eyes. She shielded her body with her arms, rapidly turning away from my gaze, and dashed up the stairs, leaving me with nothing but astonishment and concern.

"Babe, can we please talk?" I cried, running after her. God, I missed her so much. I thought that things would get better after she was released from the hospital, that we'd be able to go back to our normal lives, both of us making music, living out our dreams, but everything had only gone downhill.

She bolted into our bedroom, slamming the door shut behind in frustration, creating a vulgar ‘bang’ to echo through our flat. I went in after, opening the door gently, hoping not to startle her. I observed the silence, my eyes glancing over the fairly large, baby blue room, for the pale brunette. She was curled up on the love seat in a fetal position, her head buried in her palms, weeping uncontrollably. I jogged over to her, bending down at her level.

"Baby, why are you crying? What have I done?" I pleaded. She shook her head, light, frail hair falling in her face, and hardly recognised my presence. Placing her bare foot to my ribcage, she thrust me away, causing me to drop onto my bum. "Please, love," I whispered, slowly rising back to my feet and reaching for her hands. She peered up at me upon contact, a pained expression written all across her face. I ran my hand gently over her rosy pink cheeks, absorbing the tears with my finger. She stared back at me, looking directly into my eyes without uttering a word. “Hun, what's wrong? You're really scaring me. I thought things would get better when you came home, but they've only gotten worse. You've got me so worried.”

"I'm not the same as I used to be," she choked. I presented her with an inquiring look, not understanding what she meant. "I’m covered in these hideous scars," she whimpered, looking down at her stomach. She pointed at the bright pink wound that was jaggedly stitched across her lower abdomen. Her fingers followed down to her legs where she had five more scars, all going in different directions. “Look at these!” she screeched in anguish. Moving back upwards, she ran her fingers over the few on her neck and collar bone, then she making her way to her wrists. "Then there's these," she spat. "These stupid blemishes are unceasing reminders that I wasn't strong enough! The fact that I still develop thoughts like the ones that initiated me to do such things in the first place only proves how undeniably weak I still am!" I watched in dismay as my girlfriend burrowed her finger nails into her bleached white skin in hatred.

"Don't do that," I said rather bitterly, clutching her hand and hauling it away from her wrist. "Don't ever say such nonsense. You are strong and you're beautiful, scratch that, you're gorgeous. You're stunning, the most jaw dropping, beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on. You're beautiful with these scars, don't ever believe otherwise."

"You looked at me like I was broken. As if I was some fucked up toy," she whimpered. Tears then filled my own eyes. I remember just moments ago, I saw her standing in in the doorway downstairs, seeing all the scratches and faint coloured scars she had on her body. It had been so long since I'd seen her like that, so traumatised and hurt. So much of her past and pain were what made up all those marks on her body. It wasn't until that moment that I began to realise how much one facial expression could mean to her.