Previously known as The Accident
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She is beautiful. So fucking beautiful. She is a star and I would become an astronomer for her and I would study for the rest of my life and I would bleed, sweat and cry day and night just so I can underst...
The following chapter contains depictions of anorexia and bulimia, which some readers may find disturbing.
Reader discretion is advised.
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I feel hollow. Actually I don't feel anything.
I don't want to do anything. I don't have the motivation to even leave my bed, but I don't sleep. I don't have the motivation to eat. I don't even have the motivation to pick up my guitar.
Even the things I used to do for "fun" seem like chores. I would rather just stay turned off and sleep forever.
But I can't do that due to finals. I enjoy going to the library so I can actually do some work, but I skip that sometimes because I feel like I can't even move.
All I do now is listen to music and study. That is all I can do nowadays. I don't even fancy hanging out with my friends anymore. However I did see Indra at the library.
Seeing her made me feel the most normal and at ease that I have felt in I don't even know how long. I smiled at her to see her smile.
Now I am sitting at the fire escape by my window, looking at all the buildings and the stars.
Tonight is not the best. The moon is a Waxing Crescent. Just like my tattoo. The air is crisp, the sky is clear. There is no serotonin right now.
I fucking hate it here.
I pull out the box of cigarettes that was in my back pocket. I take out one cigarette, put it in my mouth and light it. I don't smoke, but when I don't feel anything I do.
However putting this in my mouth feels like a chore. Why does everything I do feel like a chore?
Ever since Noah left this world, I stopped eating to gain that control over my life again. It started with me missing lunch since it was the easiest to avoid then it progressed to going to the gym everyday. Somehow I started skipping breakfast and lunch. Now... I barely eat a full meal a week.
"That's bad for you." I hear a familiar voice from behind me, just noticing their presence. I turn to look who it is and I roll my eyes when I see Atlas standing by my door.
"That's the point." I say taking in another puff of smoke. Atlas climbs through the window to sit beside me.
As both of our feet dangle over the edge he says. "I brought you some coffee. Maybe it would make you happy." He shows me a tall cup of iced black coffee.
I haven't even got myself some coffee. I don't feel like drinking it. I take it from his hand and place it beside me. I offer him a box of cigarettes, but he refuses.
I swear I am not a bad influence.
He looks at me for a few seconds, then moves his gaze to the street below us. "What makes you think I am sad?" I ask him, flicking the ash of the cigarette.
