Last Time

Day 18

December 19, 2018

     The past few weeks have been a blur. It all happened so fast. I was too empty to snap out of my trance. I let time slip through my fingers.
     The haze still hung eerily above my heart. The once sizzling flame I felt completely vanished. No sign that it was ever there except the faint memories, the pictures that made my head tilt as I absent mindedly admired his features, and the old chats; those words embedded in my phone for as long as I felt like procrastination seep into my fingers when I let them hover over the "clear conversation" option. His name felt like ~just another contact~. Nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps every once in a while a frown would find it's place to settle on my passive face; but that was all. The remorse I used to feel faded with every breathe I drew.
     For a while I blamed myself. Too much. All the time. He had put me in such a position that I felt responsible for every little misdemeanor in our relationship. It was always my fault. Never his. He was always right; I knew deep down that he really wasn't, but he insisted at the cost of our feelings and my pain and self-worth. It really didn't seem to bother him much.
     I would find myself crying too much at night. From the moment I read his emotionless phrases; those insults, toxic... annoying... worthless. My feelings would take a downhill trek among the suffocating greenheart trees, the dense despair that hung about the atmosphere and most certainly my eyes would morph into the raging storms; my sobs like the thunder, razorblades reflecting in swift motion like the lightning, and the bitter sweet tears cascading like the lush waterfalls and abundant rain.
     Nothing could overcome the seething pain that would rack my body from the silvery slim slits in my thighs. The shuddering agony that filled my failing lungs was amplified by my useless attempts to muffle my own screams and groans. In my darkest hours like these I would find the smallest bit of hope. Faith like a mustard seed. I would muster the courage to pick myself up and bring my broken state to the only healing I knew. My God. My religion. Christianity.
     In my bitter mourning and soft whispers pleading for guidance from the Big Man, I'd take long soothing showers to cleanse the pain I reeked of. My sanity vaguely returning with my hope and will to live; I'd look back on the numerous times he would belittle me for believing what I did. He would claim to respect my opinions after blatantly putting them down as 'invalid, illogical excuses for the human minds' need for purpose'. I'd let him say what he wanted after I got tired of arguing. He claimed he knew better than I did since he practically studied most of the major religions. In his heart he didn't perceptualize the moral values religion instilled. He may not have been convinced from personal experiences the comfort that blossomed in a relationship most wouldn't bother to question.
     I let him be. Because I loved him. I loved him so much I put my respect for him above my God. That was a mistake on my part. Being with him felt like he was suffocating all the means of my existence and personality; dismembering and pulling apart who I was bit by bit until I was vulnerable to his cruelty.
     I should have listened to my friends when they described my situation as toxic. He would remark small things that made me feel less of a person than he was; boasting about his achievements, condemning my parents and their methods of bringing me up, bashing me for my personal struggles, comparing his childhood to mine pointing out that his was far better in his opinion, down sizing my paranoia and needs since his were the complete opposite, outright disrespecting my views on controversies such as religion and sexuality. The list goes on. I was always deemed lesser than he, despite his deception of equality. He would take my simple insults of actuality and twist them to make me seem like I was demolishing his self worth.
     But I stayed. I so stupidly stayed. Blinded by a love he did not particularly deserve or even return. But I have no regrets. I have learned from my perilous moments that he wasn't the right one.
   My sorrow prolonged through my showers into the hopeless ball I curled up into bed. All snuggled warm and safe; I was vulnerable to very single bitter sweet thrill he gave me. I missed it. I missed it all. I missed him.
     I'd miss my fingers in his hair and his fingertips digging into my hips. I'd miss his smile. The way he laughed; the pleasant joy his voice would bring me. I'd miss his stupid jokes and his useless compliments. But he wouldn't miss me.
     After all was said and done, I tried. I tried to my very last. Until his accusations grew more and more condemning. I had reached my limit. I thought I should have held on longer, but for the life of me I was tired of his bullshit. So I let go. The same way he let me go. Favour returned.
     And when he confessed I wasn't the only girl? The hickeys on my neck were just pay back. He played himself. And now I was going to be a better person. A better me. I had finally realized who my first love really was.
     More importantly, he didn't try to change who I was; instead molding me to work on the master piece that was within me all along. I've only felt this safe every time he held me close; now he was working wonders as he snatched up my heart for the second time. Thankfully and honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.

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~A/N~
Exactly a thousand words, sisters💕
Sorry for my late updates. Hope all is well❤
-scarlett.