H U R T

Chapter 28

*TRIGGER WARNING, SOME READERS MAY FIND THIS CHAPTER TRIGGERING.*

BLUE LIGHTS

Friday, 6:45pm, Christian's House

I wanna turn those blue lights, into strobe lights, not blue flashing lights, maybe fairy lights ...

Scattered. 

Disposed of. 

Broken. 

That's what was left of Christian's iPhone XR. The shattered shards of glass imitated the metaphorical feeling of his heart, the news he had just been given bore into him. This same heart was beating at several beats per second, not minutes. His body overcome with anger, sadness and disappointment, his fragile mind state gave his body permission to act out of character and become irrational. 

"FUCK ME!" He yelled into the vacant room as tears began to flow from his now dim, dark, brown eyes, his eyes usually filled with love, happiness and mystery were now overthrown by anger and sorrow. The fear of death loomed over his head as he began to lace up the navy blue, nearly black, laces of his trainers. He took in a deep breath in hopes of that helping him breathe easier but this only shook him even more, his hands trembled out of anger as he zipped up his jacket, ready to face the cold and harsh Autumn weather London had given them. Regardless of the season something about South London always gave off this cold vibe, maybe it's because there's not a lot of sun, unless it's the newspaper, or maybe it's the cold glares from others as you walk down the street but today the streets would definitely feel colder than usual. 

Christian slammed the front door shut and paced down the concrete floor of his council estate, at the bus stop he sat patiently but clearly agitated and distant from the world around him.

3 minutes till the bus comes. His presence was cold, the air was brisk and the rain only added to the pathetic fallacy which was his life, the colder the weather the worse his life seemed to be. Could he even remember any positive thoughts in the cold? What has the cold London weather done for him, what can it do for him? 

2 minutes till the bus comes. The sounds of the busy city were drowned out by his thoughts, the teenagers whose weekends had just started, the aunties greeting one another, the old woman walking her small dog as she pushed her trolley, the cars and buses making noise as they zoomed by the pedestrians, the sound of the loud African man on the phone to his hometown. They all amounted to nothing, nothing could over power Christian's thoughts. Is he OK? Is he alive? Why would he do this? What will I do? How will I message anyone? Does Mum know? Will God help us after everything we've done? Is there a point of praying? Why me? Why does it always have to happen to me?

1 minute till the bus comes. Floor 11, George Perkins Ward. That's the floor he needed to go to once he reached his destination. 'How stupid could you be?' He thought to himself as he waited for the bus. Every second the bus hadn't arrived allowed for more questions to cloud his thoughts and add more worry and torment. 

He tapped his oyster and walked to the back of the bus, he only had 3 stops before he would reach the Hospital, so there was no need for him to go to the upper deck. He was so engrossed in his thoughts he hadn't noticed the way the woman sitting in front of him watched him with concern. She knew this face all too well, the way his mind seemed to be somewhere else whilst his body just sat there, slumped on the blue, red and yellow TFL seats, his eyes staring right past whoever was around him, the constant tapping of his feet on the bus floors to warrant his obvious anxiety. She wondered whether her words would be of use to him but decided to keep to herself, she was filled with fear now as his eyes rose from the floor and to her face, she quickly looked down at her phone and fiddled with the screen to seem as if she was doing something.