Felix's life was anything but vibrant-cursed, he'd argue. To him, it was nothing short of horrendous, marked by relationships rife with daily disrespect and parents who prioritized alcohol above all else. As Felix's mental health reached a breaking...
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Jolted awake by haunting memories, I found myself sitting upright, breath ragged and heart racing. The remnants of a nightmare clung to me, sweat soaking my clothes as I grasped at the sheets. In the quiet of the night, my frantic heartbeat seemed to echo off the walls of the bedroom. Turning my gaze, I saw my boyfriend sleeping peacefully beside me, an oasis of calm in the midst of my turmoil.
The irony wasn't lost on me; his presence, his mere act of sleeping, offered a fleeting sense of tranquility, a stark contrast to the chaos churning within me. Yet, as tears began to streak down my cheeks, his movement caught my attention. Waking to find me in distress, his face contorted not with concern, but with irritation and anger. With a dismissive turn, he rolled away, leaving me to grapple with my pain alone.
Compelled by a need for relief, I slipped out of bed, my feet barely carrying me to the kitchen through the enveloping darkness. The flick of the light switch did little to dispel the shadow cast by my own despair. My search for medication was frantic, hands shaking and tears continuing their silent descent, the physical manifestation of my inner turmoil.
His sudden appearance behind me, the sound of his movements charged with anger, was startling. Without a word, he took the medication from me, measured the correct dose with a precision that belied his frustration, and then, with an aggression that left no room for protest, forced me to take it. His growl, laden with exhaustion and resentment, cut through me. The water, intended to aid the medicine, felt like an assault, nearly choking me as I struggled to comply.
This moment, meant to be one of care, was instead imbued with violence, a stark reminder of the complex web of pain, frustration, and despair that entangled us both.
In a moment of vulnerability, my voice barely a whisper, I laid bare the depth of my despair. "If you don't want me, just leave...I can't take it anymore..." My words trailed off, a trembling confession of my inability to endure the current state of our relationship. My eyes, heavy with unshed tears, were fixed on the ground, too pained to meet his gaze.
His response, swift and sharp, cut through the tense air. "No, I love you, but you're self-victimizing; it's hurting my eyes," he growled, his frustration palpable. With that, he turned his back on me, his figure retreating towards the sanctuary of our bedroom, leaving me alone with the echoes of our conversation.
"It's not self-victimizing," I whispered, a faint assertion of my truth, hoping to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding between us. At my words, he halted, the tension palpable in the air. Turning to face me, there was a momentary pause before he closed the distance, his presence a mix of concern and residual frustration.
"Come to sleep," he suggested, his voice softer now, an olive branch extended in the midst of our conflict. I followed him quietly, a silent acquiescence to his request, as we returned to the bedroom. Watching him change the sheets, a task rendered necessary by my earlier distress, I noted the slight irritation in his movements, an undercurrent of frustration that he seemed to be trying to suppress.
