Scar

Josh crawled into bed, shutting his eyes tight to block out the voices that whispered to him, willing him to return to the bridge. He shook his head, slamming his hand to his temple, pounding, trying to shut the voices up. Angst pressed hard against the inside of his skull, trauma repeatedly thrashing within his brain, like a damned fish in its final moments. His eyes streamed as the pain shot through his veins, ice cold blood stinging the nerves. He tossed and turned in the bed, kicking off his duvet and letting out a cry for help. His jaw was clenched shut, teeth grinding together painfully. Each movement seemed to trace the one before and the room spun out of control, faces appearing in front of his eyes, laughing at him, mocking him. Large black wings spread out, moving subtly around the bed, containing him. He struggled for breath, holding his neck and gasping for air, pushing the wings away. The flapping of the wings made a deafening sound and his head felt like it would split open any minute, split open and reveal nothing, only spiders, tiny black spiders and broken grey wires, maybe a little dust. He jumped out of bed and pulled out his top drawer, grabbing handfuls of papers and tossing them to the floor. Eyes scanning the now empty drawer, he grabbed for the steel blade, picking it up slowly, as if it was a prized possession. His breathing subdued as he sat back on his bed and pushed his sleeve up to his elbow. Gripping the blade firmly, he held the front of it to his forearm and pushed down, he dragged it along his skin and let go. Dark red seeped from the wound and the first sight of blood made his heart beat faster, his pupils enlarged as if he was a shark sensing the liquid underwater. He instantly felt better; the voices disappeared, as if they were drowning in the blood that trickled from his arm. Josh watched the blood drip, making a little crown as it splattered onto the wooden floor below.

Someone once told me that happiness is only real when it is shared. But what if you don’t deserve company and love? What if you walk away from anyone or anything that could save you? What if you run to that empty space, closing the holes in your heart with pain and denial?

It’s like a scab, it starts to heal, then I think of you so I pick at it, tear it away from the skin. Let it bleed again, let it ache. Then it goes away and begins to rebuild, scab over, get better. Then I think of you and I pick it off again. One day, it will just be an ugly scar, a reminder of how much you hurt me.