The pillow is smeared with black, and wet with tears. Blankets are pulled tight over a trembling body as sobs echo off the walls. There’s a sniffle, then a pause as a stuffed bear is gripped tighter in shaking arms. The sobs start again, louder than before, but the door stays closed and the phone beside the bed pings.
I liked him even when I was with you
An inexplicable sound is let out, a cross between a sob and a scream. Eyes are wiped with the back of a hand, snot wiped away with the sleeve of a hoodie.
Shaky hands form a reply, I don’t understand.
The minute it sends, another message comes through. You’re not even attractive. I stopped loving you a long time ago.
A silent, distressed scream claws its way up and out of an already burning throat. A hand reaches for the blade beside the bed and grips it tight.
You’re nothing to me now.
I love you, so much. I gave you everything.
The brightness of the screen makes stinging eyes burn.
I don’t care. I don’t care about you anymore. You’re not my problem.
The blade is gripped so tight it starts to break skin, but isn’t noticed. It’s nothing compared to the pain of the current hole being ripped through an already constricted chest.
Old habits die hard, is the last text sent from the phone beside the bed.
The pain is too much. It needs to get out, it needs to leave. The blade is gripped tighter, and then released, thumb and forefinger picking it up carefully. It’s inspected as it always is, and then put back down. It’s picked back up again. Up, down. Up, down.
Already bitten lips are bitten until they bleed, and eyes blink rapidly. Crimson flows.
The phone continues to ping, but it goes unheard.
The following morning, copper has joined the black on the smeared pillow.
The phone beside the bed rings an alarm that doesn’t get turned off until nearly twelve hours later.
A single text has been sent.
There’s only so many times you can fall apart before you can’t put yourself together again.
There’s no response, because she wasn’t his problem anymore.