Chapter 9: Dear diary
Immediately I got to my room I laid flat on the bed with my face pressed on the pillow. The pillow cleaned my tears even though it didn't bring me comfort.
I didn't want people to see me cry. I hated when they did. I hated looking weak and crying made me look weak and pathetic. I hated that I cried in front of Adam.
I would never have cried if my roommates were around but luckily for me they weren't so I was free to be weak.
Without pulling my uniform of white shirt and black skirt I sat up sniffing back my tears and catarrh.
You did well. You did really well. It was good that you ran away. You listened to me didn't you, good girl. Pain sounded so very happy with me as he ran his hands through my hair.
I didn't want to cry anymore, my head ached as a result of crying too much thise past few weeks. I didn't even want to take drugs to dull the migraine. I wanted to embrace the pain.
And I hated taking drugs. The smell of drugs made me feel like I was dying.
I brought out my pen from my handbag and my diary from my box. I needed to write, if I didn't write then the pain would turn me into a measly ghost more measly than I already was.
Writing was my cocaine
So I wrote
Dear diary
Dear diary
Today I almost died, I was so close to doing what Pain wanted. What I have always dreamt of doing.
I was so close to given in. In fact I had given in already.
I was so close to getting
What I have so strongly desired all these years, peace.
I was so so close you know.
But then, I was saved by a certain brown eyed human god, with pink lips and perfect chiseled jaws, his complexion chocolate like kit kat.
He was beautiful and delicious to look at.
Now do you remember what I have always told you? anything that's sweet kills and anything that's beautiful burns.
He looked at me like he could see past every of my facade, past my fake smiles, and my unneeded pretence to fit in.
It felt like he was a reader in a library and he had just chosen me as his novel of interest. But there is nothing interesting about me is there!
When he touched my chin so softly, his touch felt like a whisper, I felt like a piece of art, a piece of beautiful art maybe just as beautiful as the Monalisa. An art that could be loved and cherished.
Then when he spoke every nerve in me became alert, his voice was a summon.
And when he hugged me, I can't even describe the feeling I felt. It was all heavenly. He is an angel, my angel. The angel I don't want. The angel I don't deserve. The angel I knew that pain would deceive and take away should he come any closer.
He was hot so hot like wild fire but he didn't consume me. I wish he had consumed me but I knew that a consummation by him would not be possible.
Because I was already consumed by something stronger than him, something he had no chance against, something that has been with me longer than I've been with myself, pain.
It's a pity that he thinks he saved me, he doesn't know that sooner or later I was going to die still.
I was living for the sole purpose of dying. No one can save me, no one.
You know that don't you. You should dear diary, I've told you this a thousand times just as pain has told me a million times.
After writing down all this, I turned to the back of my book and wrote my poem? for the day
He was fire
Yet, he didn't burn me
Instead he lightened me up.
Wild fire still
He could not consume me
Because I was so cold.
Icelike.
I was freezing even in hell
From the cold in my Heart
And the cold in my soul.
There is a saying that
No one could stay in fire
Without getting burnt
But, I stayed in fire and I quenched it
That's how cold I am
That's how cold I am
Quenching fire.
I wrote the poem in tears, sad, destroyed, in pain, dead. The poem made more sense to me but still it gave me some kind of relief writing it.
You will never be happy I kept telling myself. I was trying so much to convince myself of my impending doom so that pain won't have to do it himself.
It so happened that through out that day anytime I remembered a certain pair of alluring brown eyes I was immediately reminded of the friend that warned me not to dream too high lest I fall really low.
No one would ever love you I repeated to myself over and over and over again as I hugged my pillow.
Pain was right. I should stop hoping that someone would come to love me. How can they love me when I do not even love myself
No one will ever love me, no one, I am a victim of circumstance, a victim, only a victim and nothing else. I am filthy, filthy, just filthy.
I stood up and walked to the mirror with a heaving heart and a dead soul.
In the mirror all I could see where fragments, fragments of broken pieces, a broken piece of art that was me. I saw nothing of importance, even my own reflection stared back at me with disdain.
My monsters were all I saw when I looked in the mirror, they stared at me with their claws out, ready to devour me.
The first monster was My own Pain.
"Lora! Are you home?" A happy voice called from outside. My heart skipped a thousand beats, no one can see me like this, absolutely no one. I didn't want to be the object of fake pity.
I hurriedly ran to my bed threw the diary in my box and pretended to be asleep. I didn't want my roommate to see me. I didn't want to talk to her, I wanted to be let alone. I wanted the peace only death could give but unfortunately even death had been taking away from me and what remains of the sad soul that was me was less than nothing.
Not even my own reflection.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
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