Authors note:One, I appreciate you reading my story and I hope you enjoy it. Two I feel like I need to make it clear that although the story starts on a rather depressing and dark start, I can promise that it wont last; In fact it won't last very long at all. So bare with the first few chapters and it shall get happier. Comment what you think? I'd love to hear honest feedback!
Monster. That's the only word I could choke out while I sobbed relentlessly. The salt water tears fell down my cheeks as I shook with fear, my body trembling but I refused to cower. I refused to back down to him. Not this time, I reminded myself.
I took a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs and exhaled. My teeth stopped chattering but my hands were still shaking, so I balled them up in fists, straightening my back to give me an appearance of confidence. I stared at him, my eyes piercing his monsterous blue eyes. These weren't the eyes of the boy I had fallen in love with at the coffee shop. These were the eyes of the boy who just tried to throw me against the wall.
"What did you just say?" Zack hissed throw his clenched teeth, his jaw was locked tight in anger. His nostrils flared and his eyes were red, bloodshot from the alcohol he had been drinking and laced with the anger that was boiling within him.
I sucked in a deep breath, doing everything I possibly could to regain my composure.
"I called you a monster." I stated, attempting to keep my voice confident and clear, but I faltered slightly. His hand hit the wall beside me by the door way. He ran the other through his messy, brown hair. His chest moved up in down in deep breaths as he tried to think.
"And we are over. We are done. You are not to come near me any-anymore." I spat out, starting to close my front door on his face, his hand met it and he pried it back open with his weight.
"We are not over until I say we are, Goddamnit." he cursed, his voice getting louder until he was yelling at me. "You cannot end this."
"Watch me." I stated emotionlessly as I slammed the door in his face, ignoring his cursing for his hand which may or may not have been in the way. I quickly fumbled with the lock, making sure there was no way for him to figure his way back into my apartment.
I fell to the ground, my body convulsing as the tears came hard. I sat against the door, wrapping my thin arms around my knees tucked into my chest. I cried for each hit, each punch and each shove. But I also cried for each good memory; when he brought me a bouquet of beautiful flowers for our first date, how he took me to the bookstore where we met for our one month anniversary and how he made each date a surprise.
I don't remember passing out, but I woke up curled up on the ground by my front door. I sat up weakly, my body still exhausted and sore. When I got up I turned to the windows, it was nighttime now. I stumbled into the kitchen, grasping a glass of and filling it with refreshing cold water. The ice cold water fell smoothly down my throat and my body devoured it. I filled my cup another time and checked the clock by the oven. 10:47. I had been asleep for about six hours.
I flicked on a light, the lamp setting a dim cast over my mess of an apartment. My wooden dining table was covered in paint, drawings and poems. The big glass window next to the table was covered by a thin Indian print cloth and their were paintings covering the wall. Some on paper, some on napkins and others on different types of material. Some were mine and some were old friends, and there were a couple of framed paintings I had collected from antique shops. I grabbed a matchbox from the table, holding the forest wood candle and lighting it with the match. The flame licked the wicker, growing until the wax warmed up and softened and the odor began to give off. Content and already much calmer I placed the candle in a small glass jar and put it on the old table. I walked over to the bathroom, flicking on the small lamp above me. My bathroom was small, the walls were a light beige and it was covered in all kinds of make up and products. It had the typical toilet and small corner shower. There was a rug beneath me, it was white with a black outline of an elephant.
I grasped the edge of the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were rimmed with red, my skin still recovering from all the tears. My cheeks were hollow and sunken, much like my lifeless brown eyes. My curly brown hair was a mess, falling in every which direction. My lips were full and light pink, the only feature of my face that didn't make me look sick.
I inhaled a deep breath, enjoying the faint trace of the candle from the room next to me. I turned the old, silver handle and let the cold water slip between my fingers for a moment before cupping my hands and bringing the cool water to my face. I did that twice more before shutting off the water and grabbing a deep red towel off a homemade, wire hook I skillfully constructed and wiped my face dry. There was no use trying to do anything more for myself. I sighed again, taking one last glance at my frail body before heading to my room. I plugged in the christmas lights, it was a dark green wiring with small white lights that were hung around the ceiling. i cleared all the written-on pieces of parchment paper from the mattress that was placed on the ground.
I stripped out of my black tank top and cut off jeans and placed on a lavender, sheer nightgown and pulled out the christmas lights. I walked to my mattress in the door and collapsed on the mattress.I pulled the aztec patterned quilt to my body and rested on the pillow, letting sleep take over me.
The sun filtered through the glass-stained windows, heating up my face and causing me to awake rather unhappily. I forced myself up, stumbling to the bathroom where I turned on the faucet with my eyes half open. I splashed my face with cold water, gasping as I did before my senses came back to life. Looking in the mirror, my pale face was dripping water and I looked horrible. My eyes were wide and vunerable, and had bags under them. They were slightly puffy from the crying the previous night and my bottom lip was now cut from where my teeth dug into them last night. The light pink skin now cut up and red. I sighed, searching for my face wash.
I scrubbed as hard as I could, my sleepy logic that I could rub so much skin off that maybe i'd be a different person. Maybe I wouldn't be Charlotte. I wouldn't be the broken girl who was broken my Zack. Maybe I could be happy.
But that was nonsense, a silly dream that I couldn't obtain. This was my life. It is what I made of it, I made my bed and now I was to lay in it. I walked to the kitchen, ripping off a peice of french bread eating it plain. That was the best way to appreciate it. The crunching sound was loud, filling the lonely, empty apartment. I sat down on the table, watching as the smoke from the recently burned out candle wafted into the air, dancing as it seemed. My eyes flitted over to the poem I had tacked up on the wall from a week ago.
the gem of his eye
she never lies
her eyes of liquid trust
and her body never dies.
It was inspired by Zack's words, his promise that I was the gem of his eye, his most prized possesion, and now I was alone.