Subtle - the continuation [part 2 basically]

I walked away from him. Passing one hand gently down his torso. Got dressed, looking back on what I had done. No regrets thus far. He looks peaceful and happy. I know I did something right. My cellphone rings. I pick up, still staring at him dearly.1

Why are people calling me now? It's almost 1am. This isn't the time to be calling. But, I guess, they're bored of something. It's Friday night. Only I have no life. Especially now that I've removed my boyfriend's. But it was inevitable. And oh-so necessary. I feel relieved now, like a weight lifted from my shoulders.2

The person on the other end sounds drunk. I listen to them stutter and slur all their words. It's annoying me. Especially since I have only one of my legs in my pants. They say that they're coming over to talk with me. I haven't seen them in a few months. They're worried about me.3

Worried about me? They're as incoherent as a newborn child. The words thrown together randomly. The phone almost slipping from their hand when they spoke. I don't want help from someone like that. Not now, not ever. I can't believe I used to be close to someone so irresponsible. Just goes to show how time can tear people apart.4

A knock at my door. I'm finally all dressed. I open the door, smiling, putting on an act. I threw the cover over *him* before they arrived, making it seem like he was asleep. It looked amazingly believable. The person hugged me tightly, filling my nostrils with the smell of alcohol. I hate alcohol and now I'm reminded why.5

They speak to me about how distant I've been acting. How cold I'm becoming. Nonsense. At least I didn't go intoxicate myself, alone, every night of the week. I don't need to hear this from him. I'm getting irritated. I walk towards the balcony.6

The view from here is breathtaking. If I could spend my last moments anywhere, it would be right here, in the comfort of my home. I feel the warm breeze of summer past my cheeks sending shivers down my spine. The sky is dark but clear. The stars are those you only see in photos; beautiful and bright.7

The person follows me. Disturbing my lovely view. I can feel my leg shaking with annoyance. I can't calm the nerves inside of me. They keep babbling into my ear: how I'm no longer attentive, no longer caring. They grab me by the shoulders. I don't like being held like this. I push away.8

They slip over. I watch as they dangle from my balcony, hands clinging to the bars. A voice screams for me to help, tears rolling out of their eyes. I bend down, grabbing their hand, kissing it softly. It's so weak and fragile. I feel this person needs me. I let go.9

For some reason, my eyes fill up with tears. I feel alone, I feel worthless. I need to find a purpose to my life. I look up at the stars once more. They're smiling at me, saying that I must touch them someday. I can touch them. Then, a shooting star passes. I make a wish upon it. I wish for happiness.10

I go downstairs, using the elevator. Looking over my visitor. He looks helpless. His face, slightly red still. The alcohol still slipping from his lips. I cover my face, I still despise alcohol. I lift up his shirt, I want to see it. Still there, shining and lovely. I love his piercing. I always will.11

~END~