You totally did. Every single shot. None of it’s usable. Because you’re useless.
The ache felt like a pool of acid, eat, eat, eating away at my flesh, leaving a big, echoing cavern in its wake. I kept rubbing at my sternum where the pain was the worst and every time I did that, I wondered whether my fist would go right through the crumbling shell of my body.
The clincher was when we were shooting our mini-scene with the cake. He fed the piece to me, then wiped the extra frosting off my lip. I caught his hand and sucked his thumb into my mouth. The dazed look he gave me as we stood there, like he was under some kind of trance, sent the voice into overdrive.
See what you’ve done to him? How you’ve manipulated him? Taken advantage of him? He would be much better off living his own life, but no, you’ve brainwashed him into thinking you’re worth a damn. You’re so selfish. Narcissistic.
There was no way I could make it through an afternoon of playing tourist with Santino. And as much as I wanted him to come home with me, he shouldn’t have to give up on a fun excursion just because of me. Haven’t I stolen enough from him? Haven’t I wasted enough of his time?
I mumbled some excuse to Sebastian and hightailed it out of there before anyone could stop me.
When I get home, I slam the door shut behind me and slide down to the floor, back against the wall. My heart is racing. Blood rushes past my ears. My lungs are burning.
You’re such a fraud. You think you’re cool enough to be one of the guys, but you’re not. They only let you hang around them because they pity you. They feel sorry for you. They’d much rather you were gone. They don’t really want you around.
I bang my head against the wall and shove the heels of my hands into my eyes. I know those are lies. I know I shouldn’t listen to them. But it just. Doesn’t. Go. Away.
You can’t get rid of me. I’m a part of you. How can I be lying to you when Iamyou? You’re the one doing the thinking. If you don’t believe what I’m saying, why are you thinking it?
The ache is all-consuming—not just around my chest, but extending from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet. I feel like I’m disintegrating into a pile of nothing.
Because you are nothing.
I curl up into a ball by the front door. A haunting, wretched sound tears from my throat. It hurts. So much. So much.
I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand it. It’s too much. It never stops. It never ends.
So end it.
My hands tear at my hair as another crying sob escapes.
Seriously. End it. If it hurts so much, there’s an easy way out. Unless you’re too much of a coward to do even that.
No, I don’t want to die.
It’s the perfect solution. You won’t be in pain anymore. Your friends won’t have to pretend they like you anymore. They can go on with their lives without you being a fucking stone around their necks. They can be happy. You want them to be happy, don’t you? You don’t want them to be miserable because of you, do you? Why do you have to contaminate them with your misery? Why can’t you just let them be free?
Tears pour from my eyes. I’m being gutted. Everything hurts. I hate this. I hate myself. I hate the world. I hate everything.
You know what you need to do.
I lie on the floor, adrift in a sea of agony. Drowning. I can’t get up. I can’t move. I can’t do anything but feel hurt and more hurt and more hurt.
At some point, I pass out. Exhausted. Drained. Shriveled up and dried out. A ball of unconscious flesh and bone in the front hall of the apartment. I don’t know how long I’m there for. It could be ten minutes. It could be five hours.
When I come to again, every single muscle in my body is sore. Every joint has been frozen into one position. Sharp, stabbing pain shoots through me as I try to unfold myself. I have to use the wall to stand up. My feet have gone numb. My head is throbbing. My eyes are swollen half shut.
I’m a shell of a human being. The ache in my chest is gone. So is the deep, abiding sense of hate. But I don’t feel happy or light or carefree. I feel empty. Hollow. Dead on the inside. A ghost.
Somehow, I stumble my way to my bedroom and into bed. I don’t change or even take off my clothes. I just climb in, pull the covers over my head, and bury my face into a pillow. I slip in and out of consciousness, willing myself back to sleep when it looks like I might be waking up. I don’t want to be awake. Things are bad when I’m awake. The voice is too loud. It says things I don’t want to hear. Things that hurt.
Far in the distance, there are sounds of movement. A door opening. Someone's calling my name. Footsteps that draw closer and closer. Then a knock.
“Hayden? You in there?”
The doorknob turns. The slight scent of cinnamon wafts toward me. I hold my breath and pretend to sleep. I don’t want him to see me like this. Pathetic and broken and defective. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m ashamed of thinking I could ever be good enough for Santino.
He moves closer, feet padding on the floor. “Hayden?” he whispers, bending over me.
