Pointed Gun

Two Lost Souls.

Syncear

I WONDER if everyone's given up hope.

Already devouring the idea that I might be dead. Used. Abused. Then thrown away because I wasn't good enough. Hell, why does that sound so much sweeter than this?

Dragging out suffering just to enjoy the look on my face. The face of a soul giving up.

Just the thought of any of it twisted my stomach to knots. How I would kill to be home. Or better yet, who.

I could see it now. Happily snuggled deep within a mountain of my warm blankets and fluffy pillows all day long. Enjoying a freezing huge bowl of my all-time favorite flavor of ice cream. Banana pudding. Ahh, how I could taste it simply by imagining it. And to top it all off with a sweet rib cherry, laughing my buns off at the ridiculous plot of a cheesy low budget movie with someone special, or myself rather.

Who needs anybody when they clearly don't need me. A clueless little girl I am to think any differently.

I wiped a hand across my eyes, soaking up the remainder of my tears. No more of this pity bullshit. I'm fed up with crying.

I imagine the bruising finger markings around my sore throat worsening. Becoming painfully visible, almost like that nasty bruise I won on my forehead mysteriously. Good thing I was able to cover that puppy up with my hair. I didn't need any questions there.

I still wonder how I got that. Who cares.

I swallowed tenderly. Holding all my whimpering. I was wrong to think anything was changing. That I was slipping through the cracks of whatever animosity he pressed against me. I didn't ask for this. I never got down on my hands and knees and begged him for any of it. So why hold me hostage?

Why hurt me?

It felt like being sucked into a black hole forever to be forgotten. An abyss of his lost mental stability, and my will to actually care much more.

He's breaking me, I feel it.

Sniffing away what was left of my tears,—eyes beginning to puff and burn from my hours-long crying session,—I unclenched myself from the tight ball I'd created in order to protect myself from any more harm. . The warmth of my arms stripped away, the draft leaving me to shiver.

What do I possibly do after that? How does one return to normal after such a traumatic event? If I could even call my life normal again.

But you know what, one things for sure, staying here a moment longer to wait out my fate would be the dumbest thing I could ever do. Allowing him to ring free all my sanity for his own selfish pleasures would make me even dumber.

I will not grant him the chance to kill the happiness in me just to fulfill whatever sick emptiness made him.

With my thinking, I slowly crept back to the bed where my belongings sat. Thinking back to the embarrassing things I discovered made me sick. Wondering how much fun that bastard really had snooping through my things and plucking out what he liked and loved. Knowing exactly what that sicko loved.

Once again, I'm gonna vomit.

I shook my head, holding back my thoughts. The first few things I needed to do now was prepare myself for what I was about to do. Squeezing my arms into the sleeves of my worn-out coat, I zipped it high to my throat. The longer I can cover up my markings, the better.