From Fat to Phat

|35| Emotional scars

VOID :
/vɔɪd/

1. completely empty.

Jacob's POV

My emotional scars are as a net that promises to drown me in briny depths. I know I'm fucked up in many ways which is why I don't deserve her. How I wish to stand on the rock and those scars became bright sparks in the sunlight, golden fireworks giving light back into the dawn. Maybe that way I could make her smile more times than I make her cry.

The emptiness is always there; I consider myself decent at hiding it, masking it with normal human emotions. Although I don't smile people know better than to ask me why I don't.

It's like a void. A dark void. A never ending dark void that consumes everything, so your left feeling nothing. Empty. Nothing to subside your hollow soul that creeps in the shadows, away from any other human life because it's emptiness is so consuming it cannot bear to pretend that everything is okay. Nothing is okay! People walk around this earth each day and pretend that everything is okay, and it always will be. Why can't we all just admit that we are just hollow plastic dolls with a painted happy face revealing no guilt, sadness, emptiness - emotion.

We all have excuses as to why we act the way we do, some are abused some are taken advantage of, others are just lonely but as for me I watched each and every person that ever gave a shit about me die right before my fucking eyes. For her it was a slow and painful death but for Thalia it was sudden but just as painful. They left me. They left me all alone with no one to take for me, years of hearing Eric tell me that could never amount to anything in life. He never cared for me to begin with he made me who I am this soulless man, this human filled with nothing but anger and emptiness.

It's no excuse for how I treat people, but I didn't care really up till her. She makes me want to be a better person than I am. Even though I don't even know where to fucken begin.

Beads of sweat tickle their down from my forehead as I continuously bash this punching bag.

Again again and again.

As I replayed our last conversation. "Don't touch me." Where the words Heaven Eleanora had said to me, she said them with so much anger, in a venomous tone it was if I disgusted her. And sunk in deep within the cracks of my already shattered heart. I should have followed her sooner after the fight we had in that park. After realizing that I had said I knew I had fucked up, so after aggressively punching my steering wheel a few times I looked for but she was already gone. I couldn't even call her cause I knew she didn't have a phone hell even a goddamn wallet. So I waited. And waited up til I was certain she wasn't coming back. The park came up to a point where it was empty. I should have followed her, I should have never let her walk away from me. Because now I'm not even sure if she will ever talk to me.

I continued aggressively punching the bag as if it would relieve me of my pain.

So I increased the speed perhaps the physical pain I was feeling from doing this for hours would finally mask the pain I felt within. I shouldn't have yelled at her, I didn't mean the words I said. It's just that at times I get so angry, I say and do things without thinking .

It's all this anger. It is the vexing of the soul. A swelling of the veins waiting to explode, it's like the rushing of blood to the head and saying things, you would rather left unsaid.
Anger, pain, sadness - so intertwined that perhaps their names ought to be tweaked to reflect the true origins of those emotions.

I suddenly stopped punching and I began panting as I held the punching back as if it were my lifeline.

I had so see her.