Blood ran through my veins, I could actually feel it as it spread through my body and did its job –to keep me alive. My heart was pumping faster than usual and tears washed my face. I looked into his dark eyes, asking myself, “Could this be real?” It couldn’t get any better nor worse, so I helped myself up despite the confusion and pain I was feeling and walked out the room towards something I couldn’t define. Until now.
The sun burned my skin as I walked past the familiar houses, looking only on the ground that laid before me. Something was pounding my head, hard. Tears kept falling from my eyes, fresh and in grief, and I just wanted it like that. No, I didn’t really care what I looked like. What I wanted and needed was a cigarette. I stopped at a store, bought one and lit it. Then my foot led me to who-knows-where. I just kept walking, past the houses where I used to live six years ago and halted to a corner where it smelled like pigs. I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed Mige’s number. After three rings, he answered.
“Where are you?” I asked him, trying to sound alright.
“At school. We’re still having a class,” he said. It was obvious because he was almost whispering through the phone.
“Let’s drink!” I didn’t usually drink since I got tired of it. If I ask my friends out for a drink, that only means one thing: I am not fine.
The conversation ended with a see you at and on. I tried to stop myself from crying, and I successfully did. I finished the cigarette then my foot started walking again, leading me home.
When I set my foot on our doorstep, I breathed and did a tough act. I went straight to my room and there I lied, folded like a paper –a torn and bleeding paper.
I rolled myself into a ball under sheets, trying to hide from the world that I’m actually in pain. I just kept crying and sobbing like I always had when I was a little girl, thinking my parent’s don’t love me anymore. But they did, they always had. Even though they spanked me, I know that I had to learn and that that was part of the training for me to survive this cruel world.
After a couple of minutes, I realized that I had to stop. I had to. I had to be strong and stand on my feet again. I had to meet up with Mige.
I successfully stopped the tears from falling, I got on my feet and out of the house. The sun stung my skin, but nothing stung more painfully than this heartbreak. I reached our rendezvous, and there Mige was –with his big body build, backpack strapped in each of his shoulders and curious eyes.
He asked what was wrong, then I simply replied that some piece-of-shit asshole broke up with me. He understood that, he always did, and because that wasn’t the first time. He asked where we were headed and that question made me pause. I hadn’t been out for a long time, but then I suggested to go to a convinience store and get fucking wasted there. He was wearing their school uniform but he can always find a way to make what I wanted possible.
I told him what happened in detail yet it didn’t hurt as I reminisced and shared the story, it was probably because of the liquor. We called some friends to come over. And there they were beside me but I honestly felt so alone.
I spent most of my time writing down on a piece of paper what I felt. And this time, I felt pain. It was as if a precious artwork was burned to ashes. No –it’s something worse than that. A lot worse.
We decided to continue the drinking spree at Mendo’s house to save money. So we travelled for five long minutes and there we settled but I felt all the same. Stupid, lonely songs played in the background as we joked around. I was actually the joke. After a few hours, I was at one of the rooms crying myself out. I re-read the text messages from him that used to inspire me and that are now nowhere to be found on my phone. I ran towards the balcony and continued sobbing. Padon followed after me, looking so sympathetic, feeling my pain. She rubbed my back for a couple of times and kept saying to cast it all out. And I knew I should and I was doing it anyway. I deleted text after text, knowing it won’t mean a thing to me anymore –nothing more but fucking words from a fucking dishonest, sadistic joy-grabber.
I’m sitting comfortably on a toilet seat with a cigarette on my hand and that day on my head. It’s flashing right in front of me, fresh… Now showing dat-da-da-da! It doesn’t hurt that much to remember anymore. It’s just a painful memory. Just a memory.