Breaking Hearts Has Never Looked So Cool

Life is just a means to an end. Birth and death are black and white concepts, but life is just a sea of innocuous shades of grey. For me, my life was obsidian days and ebony nights, the only breaks in color being the scarlet blood oozing from my veins, and the flashing lights of drugs and danger. I could never find peace, serenity. Even as I slept, horrors plagued my dreams, attacking every fibre of my being with painful memories. I am the nesting doll- take me apart, piece by piece, just to see me small and worn by the encasing of darkness. No one ever keeps those damn dolls, anyway.1

*************2

The fluorescent lights seeped through my eyelids, driving away my unconsciousness. The air smelled of smoke and bile, a morning after cocktail for those who indulged in the white powder substance the night before. Sleeping bodies, sprawled in questionable positions, litter the stained, burgundy carpet. I stand up, languidly stretching before quietly navigating through the sea of dreamers and empty glass bottles. Condensation drips from the light fixture. Hot, sticky air is circulated through the room by a rickety fan in the corner. I can tell without a mirror I look like death: pale pallor, red eyes, blood crusted between my nose and upper lip. I step into the bathroom, and realize what I’ve become- a defiled piece of trash, defaced by coke nights, Prozac days, and innumerable scars. As I wash of my mask of rebellion, smeared eyeliner, and blood, the tears begin to fall. I feel vulnerable, ashamed, and utterly alone. How could anyone love trash like me? That’s right- they don’t.3

*************4

Warm hands slide down my shoulders, in strong contrast of the cold metal of the schoolchair. As I stare at my computer screen, a pop-up ad for online dating glares back at me. Blood streams down my chin from biting my lip so hard. I wish for it to be over, to wake up from this nightmare. Saline pools well up in my eyes. I was only twelve, and this man has to be at least fifty. I thought I could trust a teacher, but as his hands slide beneath my sweater, I know I cannot. I squirm, trying to evade his grasp, but the words "No one will ever believe you" are whispered into my ear. I realize he was right- who would believe me? Who even cares? Not my mother; she's too busy drowning in Jager. Not my dad; he's too busy scraping by. I sit as my innocence is ripped away from me, as acidic bitterness entombs my heart. Resistance has never felt so futile.5

*************6

My name is reverberating through the halls. I turn to seek out the speaker, only to be encased by warm arms, trapped by a solid chest, and encased in the spicy, clean scent of my unrequited crush. I return the hug happily, reveling in the affection. Ice blue eyes meet burning brown. "You okay?" The words slip from his lips as we trek down the packed hallways to third period. The bruises on my arms and hips, hidden by fleece and denim, clearly prove not, but "I'm fine" is my response. He nods, accepting my answer without question and immediately walks on to a leggy blonde, striking up a conversation about weekend plans. My chest aches. Breaking hearts has never looked so cool.7

*************8

The sound of rain against the windows echoes throughout the room. Shadows dance across the walls, and flickering candles cast a warm glow on the room. The velvety smooth texture of the rose petals littered across the sheets cooled my skin, but his gentle, but firm touch warmed it right back up again. Hands slid nimbly over my skin. His chest vibrated under my head as he whispers in my ear:9

"I love you, I love you, all of you"10

His fingers skim across my bare arms, the smooth breaks of scars. My heart jumps in my throat, and my eyes well up. "Don't cry, my love," he says, as he cradles me against him. I just smile as he kisses away my tears. I'm a slave to his love, but I wouldn't have it any other way.11

*************12

The leather is cold against my skin. Another grey sky morning. The harsh vibrating of the phone against the console shakes me from my reverie. Of all people, my mother is calling. Words are exchanged, biting syllables with bitter blades of malice. It feels as if my seatbelt has become a noose. I only wish it so. My chest tightens, and I mentally scold myself: Why do I care? After 16 years, the shit's the same- we fight, she tries to make up by pacifying me with money. Why must the world revolve around green paper and pink martinis? My soul sinks like a stone, cast without a second glance into the ever-churning seas. Vanity will be the death of me.13

*************14

Glances pass across the room, shadowing curves of hips and planes of flesh. I feel his burning gaze travel down my face, stopping to linger on the pale skin of my neck. When I feel the absence of his gaze, I shift my eyes towards him. I study the lines of his cheeks, the curve of his lips, the muscles moving in his neck from his animated speech. A smile appears on my face, knowing he's my Adonis, rugged and masculine in all his beautiful splendor. I return to my conversation with a friend, only to feel his gaze graze the curve of my chest down to the flare of my hips. A smirk adorns his gorgeous face, as my back arches and I catch my lip between my teeth. I shiver at this game we play.15

*************16

Blood runs down the sides of the ceramic tub. Red is strikingly noticeable against stark white. The razor clatters to the floor. The sight swims before my eyes, as euphoria rushes through my veins. The wet razor sparkles, dazzling stars before my eyes.17

“Light up, light up, as if you have a choice”18

Air escapes me. My back slides down the wall, stopping only when I hit the floor. Physically, I lie there, dazed, but mentally, I’m gone. My eyes close. Breathe in. Water drips in the sink, making a hollow, metallic clink.19

“To think I might not see those eyes makes it so hard not to cry”20

Eyes open. Breathe out. 21

*************22

The lights are low. The only sound is the crack of a billiards ball as the game continues. My fingers trail along the green felt as he sets his sights on his target. He aims, and slams the eight-ball into the corner pocket. I saunter up beside him, laying my hand on his, and whisper in his ear; “Good game.” His hands leave his cue, and wrap themselves around my waist. I lightly nip his lips, as his hands settle on my back pockets. Suddenly, his grip turns rough. He lifts me up onto the table, crushing my lips in a bruising kiss. My hands clutch at his neck as he lays me back on the green felt. My legs wrap around his core, as two pairs of hips meet. Frenzied hands roam, as the kisses become even more passionate. Footsteps are coming up the hall. He presses one more kiss to my swollen lips, and slides off. I lay there in a haze of lust and pleasure. As he walks to the door, he lets a hand graze from the junction of my hips, along my stomach, through the valley of my chest, lingering on my throat, to stop finally on my lips. “Good night,” he whispers, and drops a chaste kiss to my lips. I watch as his figure retreats. As the haze clears, he walks out without a second glance.23

*************24

I shoot up, breathing heavily. My face is saturated with a bitter mixture of sweat and tears, rhythmically dripping off my chin to soak my oversized, faded shirt. I curl up in a ball, nestling my cheek against my knee, rocking to and fro with a non-existent beat. Screams reverberate in my head, and as much as I’d like to scream, my throat is too constricted to do so. I think of anything, everything, to make myself all right again. I try to resist the bile rising, but instead I fall onto the floor and drag myself to the bathroom. As soon as my bare knees hit the linoleum, the acidic matter charges up my throat, causing me to heave into the porcelain bowl. I lift a shaky hand to wipe my mouth as I struggle to stand on my weakened legs. I slowly venture back to my bed, hitting the mattress tiredly. The monsters aren’t under my bed anymore, but in my head.25

*************26

My vision is red. It's all I see- pools of red on the floor, growing larger by the second; pomegranate splotches on the towels; scarlet stains on my skin. The red is everywhere. I turn the shower on, and blistering, hot water comes raining down. I climb into the stall, and collapse onto the tiled floor. The water drenches my clothes, but the red stays, even though I watch the blood dance a path down the drain. Hysteria threatens to overtake me. I can almost feel the foreign DNA lingering on my once-clean skin. The past flashes in my mind- his blood oozing from the bullet hole, then sputtering from his mouth like an ancient fountain; his eyes glazing over with death; his once-warm blood chilling my hands. Sobs rip through my chest as I furiously scrub my hands, only succeeding in making them a lighter shade of red. The blood won't wash off my hands.27

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