Day 77

Day 1

Implosion

I remember the way he kissed me. The first guy I ever kissed. He made it clear he didn't feel that way about me, it was just physical. But my chest felt like it was splitting open every time I thought about him. His Mother once told me the most peculiar thing. Her words echo in my brain, the echos overlapping to form a cacophony of the ugly truth. When you wear eye makeup, it just brings attention to your eyes. Your eyes might be pretty and brown, but they're never truly happy. Except when you look at my son. 

That was the night I knew I had fallen in love. 

So when, months later, after everything had been said and done and he was gone... My Dad found out. He forbade me from seeing Isaac ever again. It sounds so much like Romeo and Juliet. The difference is, at least Juliet knew Romeo loved her. At least he loved her, period. I, unfortunately, cannot say the same thing.

The first morning, angels painted the sunrise slowly over the grayish pallor of the sun. I lay in bed, my blankets and sheets twisted and folded like origami around my curled up body. My shades were open from when I watched the street light cast shadows on my walls. The very shadows I had watched with him only a week before. As the morning light crawled towards my slumbering body, my eyes opened.

My first thought was that I didn't know where I was. My parents had gone on a trip so I stayed at Isaac's house because I was friends with his sister. Just a few days previously, I'd gotten new furniture, so my room was unrecognizable. When I realized where I was, my first instinct was to relax. But I couldn't. The muscles in my body refused to let go and instead they tensed up until I was aware of every wrinkle and crevice embedded into my sheets. Suddenly, my body loosened. The blankets felt like elephants weighing down on my limbs and my torso. My sheets were like a straight jacket, pinning me to the bed.

I tried to move I wanted to thrash and scream as I remembered how Isaac and I had laid in this very bed one week ago. How we'd watched the only thing that helps me sleep at night. The shadows. I couldn't even move a finger. Then an itch raced down my cheek, and then another and another. The salty tears stung my puberty induced pimples and left warm spots where my skin was clear. Knife after knife drove themselves into my chest. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. 

Day 2

I sat on my floor, drawing. Vaguely I could hear my Dad downstairs, starting his day. I was wearing normal clothes. My hair in the usual bun. My legs were crossed and my tablet was turned on, playing a movie I had no interest in watching. These were just distractions to pass the time. To keep myself from texting or calling Isaac. I checked my phone every two minutes, wishing he had texted me first. Then I might have an excuse. I wished he cared enough to text me. If Isaac wanted my company, he'd find a way. 

The pain was like a steady, dull thumping in my chest. My body ached from God knows what. Drawing used to be the one thing that had brought me joy. To this day, it is. But then... then it just caused more agony. Every moment I spent drawing was another moment I had to be away from Isaac. I just wanted to sleep. Sleeping was my escape from him. From the memories that haunted me. From the things we did together that I could not stop thinking about. He gave me so many firsts. 

Day 3

My one solace was ruined. That night, I dreamt of Isaac. 

Day 4

When will he text me?

Day 5

Why doesn't he love me?

Day 6

Did he even care about me?

Day 7...

Is he okay?

Day 75

We texted a little bit. I'd text him during my classes a little, wishing he would respond faster. I was always the one who texted first. I'd finally broken down. He responded few and far in between, if at all. And there were subjects he just wouldn't discuss with me. He was my world. And then he asked if we could meet up after he got out of work. So I said yes. I wanted to know how he was. I wanted to talk. I wanted the company I'd craved for so long. 

I remembered my birthday. I remembered going out with friends and family and making myself smile. I remembered how the only person missing was Him. And now finally, he would come see me. Except he wasn't interested in talking. He didn't care about what I'd been doing other than what I said in my frequent texts. He was more concerned with kissing me and touching me. And when his mom called him to run an errand, I begged him to stay. But he left. And I slid down an oak tree, broken once again. Realizing that it wasn't even me he cared about. It was my over developed teenage body. I had the curves that many adults wished for. I was fit. I had the beautiful dark, curly hair he preferred in girls. The only thing marring my beautiful body was my acne and a little extra weight on my thighs. But of course, he found the few extra pounds sexy. Why wouldn't he?

I remember sitting under that oak tree and sobbing. I remember hearing the faint sounds of little kids at the nearby park. I could hear their laughter. The laughter that taunted me and reminded me of the days where I didn't go through constant emotional pain. My biggest problem would be not being able to sit next to my friends at lunch because the table was full. Life was simple. The innocence and carefree way of those kids infuriated me. I wished they could see how broken someone could feel. I wished I could prepare them for the world of heartbreak they were destined to live and take part in. But most of all, I wished I were them.

Then I walked home. And when I walked home, I went straight up my stairs and collapsed into my bed. I let the tears flow from my eyes and stick to my arms. My body was curled up under the very same covers I'd found suffocating just months before. And I fell asleep. I didn't dream. At least God granted me that one, sweet, little escape.

Day 77

Today is September 23, 2014. As I type this, my eyelids are beginning to drop. My neck feels stiff and most of my homework isn't done. That's something I'll worry about tomorrow. Because yesterday's problems are gone. And now I know that it's a waste of time to think about him. Before, I felt weak and pathetic. I thought constantly about the guy who never thought about me. But now I have a new perspective. And now, I think I'm ready to move on.