My Killer

A Morning Of Shame

Waking up was both a relief and a torment. A relief because Michael was no longer chasing me in my dreams, and torment because he was still sleeping right next to me. I was still here. I still had to face the consequences of my actions last night. I had slept with him, with Michael. It wasn't the first time, yet the fallout of this one time felt so much worse than those of all of the other times combined. I felt utterly disgusted with myself, a dark feeling that clawed at me, ripping my brain to tattered shreds.

Telling myself the twisted lie that I had been carrying around for such a long time, it's just sex, to make it all that more bearable, wasn't really working anymore. Swallowing that lie became harder the more I tried to convince myself of it. At first, the lie had helped ease the sting of not truly having a choice in the matter, because I could for a brief moment pretend that it had actually been my own choice. I had even owned that lie, and a huge part of me still did. But now that it truly had been my choice, the reality of it ate at me. It didn't make any sense though. It should have been the other way around. Last night had been my choice through and through, and yet I felt like I was drowning in the misery left in its wake. This should have been a lot easier to bear. How was last night truly any worse than the times that came before? It was still just sex, just sex with him, and yet...

What did I do?

I sat up, pulling my clammy form out of Micheal's suffocatingly warm embrace. My eyes were fixed upon the open palms of my hands. I stared at the wrinkled lines that marred my hands with the telltale signs of having lived, of still being alive. I traced one of the lines Gemma had once shown me, a life-line she had called it. Mine looked like a real mess, that's the only reason why I still remembered that exact line among all of the others. Most girls would have fixated upon the line of love, but not me. I had traced that broken line meant to symbolize my life, over and over again.

Broken...

Kind of fitting, I guess...

I turned my head, my eyes roamed over Michael's sleeping form. His chest rose and fell with the peaceful rhythm only deep sleep could provide. His obsidian lashes created two crescent moons, two perfectly crafted half-moons on his unassuming face. The usual grin he sported had been exchanged for a slight downturn of his lips. He looked peaceful when he slept, like he didn't have a single worry in the entire world. It wasn't fair that this monster got to sleep while I couldn't do anything but run, run even as I slept. I hated him. I hated what this monster, who looked nothing like the actual monster he truly was, had made me become.

Broken...

... ... ...

Only if I let him break me... ... ... ... right? ...

I... I can still... ... still... ... ...

... ... yeah right...

Isn't that a little bit too late?

You can what? Undo last night? Undo the pathetic choices you made... what is done is done... ... ... besides...

I already let him do so much... too much... ... ... I already let him ruin me... even in ways I can't even begin to...

some things can't be undone... can they?... ... ... they cant be unseen or unheard...

Joy... ... ...

... ... ... Grace... ... ...

Please stop... ... ... please...

... ... ... ... ...

... ... ...

Please stop screaming...

... ...