To Capture A Heart

𝐹𝑂𝑈𝑅

Past:

My wrists hurt.

Bandages are coaxed in blood.

I wiggle my way out of my bed and feel the cold tile under my bare feet.

I flinch back in shock, but then stand straight up and unhook every needle sticking in me.

One step to the bathroom.

Two steps to the bathroom.

I open the door.

I reach for the sink but collapse.

My stitches rip.

And no matter how much I try to stand strong I sob on the floor and curl into a ball.

I'm so tired of being alone.

I want someone to come in and check on me, bring me the food I'm craving, and tell me that this will all go away and everything will turn out fine.

And I know it's so wrong to think about it. Especially after everything, but I wish the old Matteo was here with me.

I wish I can be held and feel the warmth from something else besides my blanket.

In another lifetime would we work?

If this whole thing never happened and we met on accident in some club and ended up learning what teenage romance truly was, would we still be together?

But I can't think about that now.

Because there isn't another lifetime.

We only have the present, which is he didn't meet me accidentally. He planned to murder me over something I never clearly understood.

Did we fall in love? Yeah, we did. But it's obvious Matteo Creed, didn't love me hard enough because if he did I wouldn't be falling apart on a bathroom floor screaming at the world.

Where was he?

Where is he?

Is he falling hopelessly in love with a girl, treating her the way I never was? Or is he rotting from the inside out and thinking about his actions?

There are so many questions I have, I can't even think straight.

All I know is I want my daughter.

I want my life back.

And I want to feel someone's touch again, not for cleaning me and making sure I'm taking my meds, but to want to touch me and ignite the fire in my veins.

At one point I stopped crying from my brain running a mile a minute.

I see the blood pool around my nightgown.

I sigh in defeat and hit the emergency button on the wall.

It's a routine at this point.

I do something stupid, my nurse comes in and fixes me while giving me some talk about how I need to focus on what matters... living.

Gross, right?

~

One week later, I'm scrolling through the laptop my nurse (who I found out is named Ally), gave me.

We've become semi-close over months of laying in this awful fucking bed.

I gnaw on my lip a bit before deciding to scroll through Matteo's Instagram.

And then I see it.

I see a brown hair bitch with brown eyes.

No one can compare, because she's the replica of me.

But then I scroll down.

Down so fucking far and I lose my breath.

It's me.

It's a photo of me naked but wrapped up in sheets with my hair sprawled around the pillows.

It's in black and white.

Labeled with a paragraph I can't seem to focus on.

My dearest love,
I never thought I could be able to handle another's snoring. Or the small puddle of drool left on my pillows. I also never imagined I would wake up one day with my soulmate laying across from me. In truth, you, my love, are by far the only thing I can seem to find beauty in this world. So thank you for being mine, and thank you for letting me call you mine. Happy Birthday my beautiful girl.

Tears escape my eyes, but I slam the computer shut and rest my back against the elevated bed.

You can go shove that fucking dearest love shit up your ass.