Revenge

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DAY TWENTY NINE: BACK TO THE PAST (SORTA)

PARVATI'S POV

(Some of Parvati's point of view will be in the past, and some will be as she's like narrating the story. Flashbacks in italics, somewhat narration not in anything. I don't know. Just read it. LOL)

 The paper was light in my fingertips, like a feather, soft and supple to the touch. My handwriting took up two pages, explaining my feelings - explaining everything my fumbling voice couldn't. With pen I wrote out how much I loved him, how he taught me what love was about - sacrifices - and how I was willing to yet again sacrifice for him if he would do in return. In that letter I told him I'd go with him on tour, after a night and almost a full day of pondering, the clock striking 11:56 - I was ready to start my non boring life with the boy I had plagued my first love.

Had I known what was behind that eggshell white door, would I have opened it? I don't think I would have. I don't think I would have wanted that plummeting desperation that clogged my stomach and washed up like the tide to thrash at my heart.

 I couldn't believe my eyes and I had to take a double glance, though I regret it thoroughly after I recognized a small petite body that was tucked near his muscular one. I looked at his bare chest and body that sprawled out and I looked at the clock like it were a reflex. When I realized it had read 11:59 P.M, my mind immediately thought one thing — he had lost the bet, and I had also lost all feelings that I had racked up in the thirty day period we shared together. Correction, the twenty nine days we shared together because that neanderthal of a man couldn't even bare with me for thirty. So if he couldn't, who would? No man, I presumed.

I understood why he did it now. I didn't at the time. Not when my hand was feverishly swiping across the fresh paper, my hatred and ink pouring out onto the ivory page like venom. My eyebrows had knitted together so tightly a new row of wrinkles circled my forehead in an epiphany, my tongue hanging out like a salivating dog while tears showered my cheeks like crows feeding on corn.

"I loved you. I still do, even if my mind doesn't allow me too. I had a letter for you. A perfect hand written letter that even had a few tear marks engraved in the sides. It was perfectly grammatical, commas all in the right places. It had to be perfect. Perfectly written, precisely written. Within the time span of thirty days you taught me two things about love - it takes sacrifices and trust - to keep the gears of love churning. So on day twenty eight, when you professed your "love" to me, I stayed awake all night - thinking. Because that is what I do. I think, Justin. I don't take risks. Risking is for the people who have something they want to give up. But that night under the Bahamas moon, I realized if I didn't have you - I'd live a life that I didn't want unless you were in it. So I made a risk. I took a chance. And I was willing to give up my dreams of university for you. My dreams that I've worked on all my life. I was willing to give it all up for you. Not at that very moment, Justin - not right away. I had to have time. But unfortunately, you had to do the unthinkable, the inconsiderate act that every story has and every reader dreads. Let's play a game, okay? I was standing before your door, my hands clammy with the letter flapping at my side. That letter.. it contained so much depth. I opened the door. I opened my future. You were naked with her. Naked with her. And somehow, Justin, I had enough strength in me not to cry so I could see the clocks correct time. 11:59. You slept with another girl. You lost the bet. I win. I win, you bastard, I win. So why does it feel like I didn't win at all?

Don't ever come near me again. I don't love you. Even if my heart says so. Leave me alone like you promised. Forever.

~ Parvati"

I couldn't take it, the sinking feeling. My eyes cloaked with a hazy wetness, I reached for the closest thing. A lamp. A breakable, fragile lamp. The tiny shards of glass erupted against the floor in a wave of white. The old Parvati would have rushed to pick it up. Rushed to keep her feet safe from the hazardous pieces. Instead, I stepped on the glass, the prickling of blood in my feet the least pain that was throttling through my body.

It almost felt good to feel it drizzle from my skin, to see the cardinal red seeping on the floor in a blur.

"Parvati! What are you doing?" Ryan. His voice was cracky, raspy with a hint of fatigue.

"I.. I don't want to read romance books anymore, Ry," I choked out, thrashing at my streaming eyes.

"Parv, what the hell are you saying! Here, get off the glass you're bleedi -" Ryan elongated his arms out to me, a flashback to the night on the roof of the resort where Justin pestered me to the edge playing through my mind. I sprung back, tears collecting on my chin before dropping down and mixing with my blood.

"Don't touch me! Get away from me, you bastard! I hate you!"

"Parvati, I'm calling your parents, you're freaking me out. Please, please just get off the glass, you're bleeding everywhere!"

"Ryan.. Ry.. it hurts. It hurts."

"What? Your feet?" His eyes switched from his cellphone to me, anxiety visible in his manly features. Ryan had grown up. Ryan, the old Ryan whom's hair was flapping over his eyes, was now sporting a shaved head and a defined jawline.

"My heart, Ry, my heart hurts."

Ryan anxiously bit his lip, his bright blue eyes murky with frustration. The phone glued to his ear, the last words I remember were:

"She needs to go home, Mrs. Jones, she's... not okay..."

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