Emo Love20 Feb, 2012 04:00 PM
I stared at the letter left in my locker after school. I read it over once, twice. I felt a pain in my chest as the words stabbed through my sensitive heart. My girlfriend of two years broke up with me in a note...
I felt tears roll down my pale cheeks, clouding my vision and blurring the words on the paper. My hands trembled as I held the paper close to my heart, refusing to let it go.
My walk to home was very lonely. Normally, my girlfriend and I would walk home together, hand in hand, laughing at random remarks in our conversation. The memories made my heart ache more and I buried my hands deeper into the pockets of my “Escape the Fate” hoodie, clutching the note that broke my heart.
Once I got home, I dragged myself to my room, locking myself inside. Nobody was home and I would be alone for at least another three hours. Pierce the Veil blared through my speakers as I sat in my room, crying my heart out as the lyrics spoke to me.
The next day, I walked through the halls with my head down, my straight brown hair obscuring my lifeless blue eyes. Every once in a while I would spot my ex-girlfriend laughing with her friends in the halls. I watched her for a few seconds before turning my back on the painful memories of making her laugh.
That day, after I got home, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring blankly at my reflection. My face looked drained. Dark circles formed under my eyes from lack of sleep. My hair was messy and losing its shine. I stared, questioning whether or not I could go on without her. A small object caught my attention from the corner of my eye. It was a razor. A thought flashed through my mind. I shook it away instantly before returning to my room.
Days passed by agonizingly slow as I watched her hang out with her friends. She had beautiful blond hair with unique purple streaks. Her eyes were ocean blue and shined when she smiled. I couldn't handle it any longer. When I decided to approach her and ask if we could get back together, I saw a guy come up to her and embrace her from behind, kissing her on the cheek. The world around me froze. Nothing else existed for my ex-girlfriend together with someone else. After school, I dragged myself home in a daze. The image of my ex-girlfriend replayed in my mind over and over again. I reached the bathroom in a zombie-like state and absently grabbed the razor blade from the sink counter. I tilted it a couple times, letting the metal shine in the fluorescent light. I gently pressed the blade to my bare wrist, forming a thin line of blood. My dead eyes followed the blood trail down the marble sink and down the drain, drop by crimson drop, just like my life.
I continued to go school as if in a trance, my scars hidden in the sleeves of my “Escape the Fate” hoodie. I wrote poetry in class instead of doing my work. I continued to watch my ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend in the halls. I continued to slit my wrists on the bathroom floor.
One day, I decided that I wouldn't wait out the pain. It numbed when the razor made contact with my flesh, but it never vanished completely. I could see how happy she was. I had never seen her so happy when she was mine. I decided I would end it. Later that day, after school, I grabbed the razor and held it near the top of my forearm. I made a clean cut down to my scarred wrist.
The next day, during first period, the principle spoke over the intercom. “I regret to inform the student body and school faculty of the news from this morning. A student from this school, Chris Hawthorne, was found dead in his bathroom at home. He was found with his wrists and arms slit open, a razor in his hand.”
Students began gossiping about who the student was. Some laughed while others were asking who he was. One girl was crying quietly to herself in her seat. She held a note close to her chest. She had found it in her locker that morning.
You ended it with a note,
So I will do the same.
When I breathe my final breath,
You are the one to blame.