(Complete)
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#3 guitar
If you're tired of the same romantic story repeating itself in every book you read, I can promise you that this will be something original that you've never read before.
*****
Damon turned and looked at me with ad...
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I was awoken the next day to the sound of breaking glass. I shot up into a sitting position, curious as to what had caused the sudden crash.
Damon hadn't left the bathroom yesterday. I tried everything I could think of to get him out, but he rarely even responded to my offers.
I moved the duvet out of the way, and climbed out of bed when a stream of curses left Damon's mouth along with another crash.
When I walked out of the bedroom, my hand raised to cover my mouth at the sight in front of me.
The room was a mess. All the pillows that belonged to the couch was thrown across the floor, all the chairs laid on random places around the room, the guitars and amps were on the floor, all the cabinets to the kitchen was open, and then there was Damon. He was picking up vases and throwing them violently on the floor, where it already laid a big pile of broken glass.
The vase hit the floor and shattered loudly. Damon searched through the pieces of glass, not even wincing when they cut into his hands. He let out another string of curses when he didn't find what he was looking for. He reached out for another vase by the time I stopped him.
"Damon, what the hell are you doing?!"
His head snapped in my direction, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed me before.
"None of your business!" He barked, his eyes only meeting mine for a brief moment.
He looked exhausted, and I could see his hands shaking as blood dripped down on the broken glass beneath him.
I walked over to him, being careful not to step on any glass, and took his hands in mine.
"Some of these are pretty deep," I studied the cuts covering his hands.
I looked up at him worriedly. "What have you done to yourself?"
"I'm fine, let go of me!" He took his hands from mine, and sent me a hard glare.
"Damon look at yourself! You're not fine. Haven't you been sleeping? Or eating?"
He shrugged his shoulders and let his eyes trail over the whole room, but not letting them get close to me. His hands were crossed over his chest, shaking. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, lightly tracing the side of his face, all the way down to his jaw.
He released his hands, let them hang loosely by his sides for a moment before crossing them again. He repeated this movement a few times while I watched him.
In the end, he just mumbled something under his breath and moved to walk to the couch. I grabbed a tight hold on his biceps when he almost stepped straight into the pile of broken glass. I dragged him back to where it was safe, before guiding him the safe way to the couch.
