XPLR | Colby Brock

(99) ;

Trigger Warning ⚠️: Fairly graphic, sad. You'll catch the gist of what happens in the next chapter, and I won't be upset if you skip. But for those of you who choose to continue, I am not liable. If you're in a bad situation of self harm, please call the relief help line. Or just tell somebody. And with that, I present the ninety-ninth chapter of XPLR.

I pushed the door open to our old apartment, and I shut it behind me with a satisfying slam. Logan was finally gone. I could finally breathe for a moment. Then I'm going to cry my eyes out.

I stormed past the living room to the kitchen, and I turned on the faucet and watched the water run for a moment. Without even thinking to get a cup, I just put my mouth to the water and sipped, and I did. Maybe ten sips in total, breathing heavily and heaving once I pulled away. I wiped my mouth with my bare wrist. I slowly pulled away my wrist, and I stared at it for a few seconds that felt like centuries.

Don't, Rose. Don't. Stay away from that. You're an adult now, you're not supposed to be dabbling in that shit. You're supposed to have it together.

But I don't. I don't have it together. I'm falling apart at the seams, can't you tell? No, the only one who could tell was Colby, it was always only Colby. But he threw me away as well. Like my father, like my mother, left me to the rats and the demons in my mind.

Don't, Rose.

Don't. Please.

Please and I'm sorries won't cut it anymore.

There was pure aggression in my movements, the way I stormed to the other side of the kitchen and I ripped open one of the drawers, almost yanking it out of the island. I plunged my hand in and lifted up the first knife I felt.

So what happens, Rose? What happens when you cut too deep and you die?

Maybe then Colby will amend his mistakes. Realize that I'm sorries and I'll do betters don't cut it.

You wouldn't kill your self for a boy.

Who said I was gonna kill myself? Who said I would for a boy?

Exactly. You're strong. You're stronger than this.

No I'm not. Let me do this. Let me feel better, it always made me feel better.

I opened the door to the bathroom and slammed it behind me, locking it even though I expect no one home, and leaning against the door.

All in one, my chest heaved and I choked on my own tears, my sadness burning a hole in my throat.

I sobbed. Sobbing wasn't cutting it, so I let out another form, anger. I bent over myself and screamed, just as loud and as curdling as I could, all to try and make myself feel better without drastic measures. Nothing. The only thing that kept coming to my mind was them. Was Colby and Elena in the same bed. Tangled up. Together.

I sank down on to the floor, taking in deep breath. To no avail, it only made my lungs feel smaller and smaller and smaller. Suddenly the three inch knife felt heavy in my hand. My crying stopped as I lifted it up, examining it in my hand. I turned it towards me, the shine blinding me in the eyes.

It was gorgeous. Shiny. Sharp.

Rose...

No.

Rose.

Shut up.

Pffft. See? There's no negotiating with her.

It's worth a try.

She's gonna do what she's gonna do, and there's nothing you can do to stop her.

It's worth a try.

I lifted up the knife, and I gently placed the cold metal to the area right below my wrist, and I slowly pushed down more and slid to the side.

My senses fired off, all trying to tell me to stop. I didn't listen. Shut up.

It hurts. Stop it, baby. Stop, Rose.

No, you shut up. Listen, Rose. Doesn't it just feel eccentric? Burns. It feels cold. Stings. Feels good, huh?

Fantastic.

It felt glorious to feel something. Something other than sadness.

Blood dripped out of the six slits on my wrists. One for every month we were together. Crimson red lines, horizontal and vertical. The bottoms of the vertical drops were heavy, dancing down my arm.

It was out of body.

Wait.

No waiting now, Rose. You've succumbed to me. There's no going back now. The abrasive and mean and horrible and smart and so damn convincing voice said.

I reached down, my hands shaking out of control, and I gently drug my hand against the cuts. Not bad enough for stitches, but good enough to do the job. Good enough to bleed.

It achieved what I wanted. Colby was far from my mind.

I quickly pushed down my jeans, and I stepped out of them. I sat down on the edge of the bathtub. I leaned over, and slit a cut on my thigh. I repeated it three times.

I stood up now, standing in front of the mirror. It was so quick, out of body, I didn't even know what I was doing.

Rose Romano is absent. This is me now. This isn't her.

This is me.

This is the sadness that looms in the back of your mind. I am the fear that sits deep into the pit of your heart. I am that doubt that whispers to you, perched on your shoulders. I am the voice that drowns the sound of reason and hope.

Let go of her. Let go of me.

I started to cry again, but this time it was because of what I did to myself. It hurts. God, this hurts so bad.

I dropped the knife, and I stared at my red stained skin.

I cried and cried and cried. For a long time.

Run yourself a bath, baby.

I listened. I'm exhausted. I left bubbles out, it would sting too much.

I cleaned my new self inflicted wounds, zoning in and out.

Momma would be mad at me.

But I'll be okay. I'll be okay. I survived my father. He broke my heart before any boy got the chance to. But now.. I don't know if I can ever consider bringing Colby back.

I laid back in the bathtub and closed my eyes, breathing.

I'm still here. I don't go away. You can't get rid of me, and you never will. So don't bother trying.

I could feel it, the demon, the voice, standing in the dark corner of the bathroom. But I won't let him get any closer now. I've got a lot of packing to do, in the morning.