He stared at the floor.
<i>How long has it been?</i>
He tried to stand, but fell back to the floor as pain shot up from his leg. His head ached. His body ached. He closed his eyes again, praying the serene blackness would sweep over him again. It didn't.
<i>Again. And again. And Again. What did I think I was going to get from this? </i> Another attempt at standing... This one was a bit more successful. He leaned heavily on the counter, pulling the dead weight of his leg out from underneath him. The bone wrenched and he bit back a scream. Now it hung at a disgusting angle, oozing slightly at the knee as he began to drag himself along the counter towards his bedroom.
<i>Damn good thing it's a small apartment.</i>
His muscles screeched in agony as he barely managed to haul himself to his bed. He sprawled out on it, still trying to choose between it and the hospital. Again.
<i>How much longer till he just kills me? Just when it's almost better... Just when I'm almost better... I go and do something stupid again. Why was it this time? I almost can't remember. Oh yeah. The red-head. </i>
He searched the room with his eyes, hoping to find a way to turn off the glaring bare bulb over him without having to move. Finding nothing, he could only squeeze his eyes shut. The light still burnt his searing headache, and the squeezing made his already swollen eye throb. Somehow, that triggered the throbbing of every other bruise on his body. Almost everywhere throbbed.
The memory played again in his head. Himself, lying in bed smoking a cigarette with some slut he'd only met that night. The door opened one hour earlier than it should have.
<i>Which one of us started this? </i>
His mind skipped forward. The woman had run. He was on the floor on his knees, already holding his side. He looked up, trying to come up with some excuse; but his lover glowered down at him through tears... and a bat in hand.
<i>Did he hit me? Or did I lie? </i>
Forward again. Himself lying in a crumpled heap, blood already starting to pool near his knee. His lover was leaving... And he crawled after, choking out his pleas for forgiveness. The door slammed, and he collapsed in the kitchen of the small apartment.
<i>I guess it really doesn't matter. When he gets back, I'll promise. I'll tell him I love him, because I do. And he'll forgive me. Again. </i> He heard the sound of the front door creaking open slowly. His lover's voice, sad and frightened, sounded from there. "Alex?"
<i>I hate me. </i>
Alan_Dominion · Tue Apr 26, 2005 @ 10:43am · 0 Comments |