Cuckoo (Sequel to Outlaws Of Love)

Eight

*Adam's POV*

"He took my heart and ripped it out and stomped on it. I knew what I did was horrible but I didn't mean to hurt him, and I knew that I should've trusted him in the first place, but that doesn't give him the right to go and CHEAT on me! It didn't mean that he should just prove my fucking wrong accusations right! If anything he should've made me regret saying it and faulting him and make me hate myself for not believing him. But I don't! I was right with what I said, and I don't hate myself for considering that rumor to be true, because in the end, it turned out right." By this time there wasn't any stopping until all of the built-up tension and anger and frustration was out and let go. Tears were crashing down the whole time and my voice was cracking. I knew I was talking, but the words just didn't connect to my brain enough to make myself shut up. "Yes, my brain is so fucked up and I know I can be hard to deal with sometimes"—I stood up and wiped furiously at my face to get rid of the tears, to no avail—"but that just doesn't mean that he's allowed to make me go back to a time where I was at an all-time low and make me relive it. That's the worst feeling ever! And then he has to go and make my fears reality? Well, you know what? I couldn't just let that happen. So if no fear exists, then what's there to be afraid of? Huh? Well THAT'S why I'm here." I didn't let her get the chance to say anything or stop me before I pushed the door open in a wrath, running down the hallway to my room, crying hysterically as I cupped my hand over my  mouth, shaking my head at what just came out, trying to not believe it with all I had. "No no no no no..."

I slammed my door shut, not minding the people that I shoved past. I didn't know what to do. I just had all of this pent out anger still smoldering underneath the surface but I had nothing else to say. I already said things I didn't want to, so why say more? But I still needed an outlet that didn't involve life-threatening habits. My breathing just got deeper, while at the same time got more sporadic as my sobs were getting the best of me. The palms of my hands were soaked with tears and a nervous sweat and were no use to try and rid my eyes from salty water. With my legs shaking it was barely possible to stand. Stumbling to my secured desk, I fell into my chair. I put my face in my hands, crying and crying. Words kept spilling from my mouth, although I didn't pay attention to them. But they hurt my throat to be spoken, like they were using claws to climb out into the open. And my eyes stung after sitting there for who knows how long until I noticed that there weren't any more tears coming out. My chest rose and fell.

As my vision came back to me slowly, fragment by fragment, I searched for something, anything that would erase what just happened from my mind. With tremulous fingers, I slid out a piece of paper from a drawer in front and took a pencil into my hands. It slipped and dropped from my grip a few times, but eventually I got it to stay still. I didn't know what I was going to do, but my hand just worked across the paper and drew a sketch with its own mindset. I kept having to stop and wipe my nose or collect myself enough to be able to cease the shaking. The picture changed from the original thought, but it turned out more emotional and deep and it meant much more. And I just didn't know if I could handle it at the moment. So I quickly flipped it over, being sure not to rip it from my shadow-rage. I stared at the blank page. Nothing...

It was like a clean canvas, screaming at me to fill it up with everything and anything I had left in me to show. It was a fresh start, at least for now. It was pulling myself into it and hooking onto me with a vice-like handle. There was a different kind of urge to create, and the lead just flowed across the thin and manufactured tree, printing on it what would be one of the most heartbreaking things I would ever have to write. But there was no stopping it. My brain knew what it wanted to do, and nothing could bring it to a halt it now. Sometimes I would even close my eyes because I didn't want to know what I was putting down, and maybe if I didn't see myself do it, then I really didn't do it.