2 Years In Italy

2 years In Italy- Part 23

PART 23 IS UP.

its been months and i know most of you probably cant even remember what happened, so i suggest reading the last part again.

this part isnt new, but i took down teh old one to make some adjustments, and i deleted chapter 24, becuase i didnt like the direction it headed teh story, it gave me a massive writers block, so to deal with it, i decided to re-write it.

comment and vote and let me know if you want more :)

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Sometimes, things happen in your life that you can't take back. Sometimes, things happen, that despite your best attempts to forget, refuse to fade away.

And unfortunately for me, its one of these 'sometimes' that is causing me to lie here, pillow over my face, attempting to A: block out the light that is making my head throb harder and

B: Trying to convince myself that suffocation is the only option left on the board.

Asphyxiation had to be million trillion time better, fuck it would be heavenly, compared to what was waiting for me the moment I stepped out of this room and through that door.

I blew out a heavy sigh into the pillow hanging limply over my head. Thrusting the pillow away from my face I thrashed under the light cover, frustration and anger momentarily overwhelming my maturity, reducing me to the act of a three year old who hasn't gotten their way.

My tired limbs finally fell still and the blanket settled over my body once more.

"Maybe it was all a dream. A really bad dream that was sent to me as a warning" I tried to reason with myself.

Stealing myself I lifted the blanket and gazed down at my naked body beneath, dropping my head back onto the pillow with a sigh of resignation.

It wasn't a dream. It was real. It was more than real. It was a horrifying, mortifying reality that was now mine.

Slipping my legs over the side of the bed I stood, wrapping the sheet tightly around my body and shuffling towards the bathroom, mumbling incoherently to myself, cursing loudly as I tripped on the sheet sending myself stumbling into the half open door way.

Discarding my thin covering I stepped under the streaming of water, standing there numbly, unable to move.

I had once witnessed a car crash in London. I was walking down the side of the road, on my way home from school with Dez when a lady had come around the corner and lost control on the slippery surface of the road. I had watched in silent terror as her car went careering off the road and straight into a small play ground. Her car ended up skidding to a stop less than a mete from a sand box with three toddlers busy building fortresses, unaware of their brush with death. And I remember clearly as the lady had gotten out of her car and just stood there, staring at the scene. She didn't move, she didn't speak. She didn't do anything. And at the time I remember thinking, how can she be so still, if it was me I would be hysterical.

But I think I finally understand what she was feeling. Sometimes, when you do something to horrible to even contemplate, your body shuts down. Like your body has this setting, and when something is to much for you to bear, your body just shuts off, allowing you to try and come to terms with whatever it is that happened.

With a sigh I leaned forward until my forehead was pressed against the cool granite of the showers back wall.

Gently I thunked my head against the hard surface. And again. And again.

Flashes from last night flew through my head.

Arriving at the club with Eliza.

Making our way to the bar. The barman had offered us free shots, "On the house" he had said and we grinned at each other as we threw back the burning liquid, smashing our glasses back down on the bench.