He was killing himself.
Although not in a predictable, noticable way... Not that there were any knives or ropes or anything involved... but he was killing himself. Slowly but surely, and he really didn't mind it. His life, what he had once called life, had revolved around music. Around her. Around 'love'. His music had been passionate, loud, full of reason and... Life.
It didn't matter anymore. It was all gone. She was gone, and she had taken everything with her.
He had once been so fervent about everything... Now he was merely... indifferent. His fingers itched, longed to pluck at the strings of his guitar, (any guitar for that matter), which now sat in the corner of his apartment. Collecting dust. He had no more DREAMS, no more HOPES. He hated everyone who tried to 'help' him. Hated anyone who tried to touch him more than physically. He had no ambitions, no infatuation with his life or the people in it. He could barely remember the last time he had smiled... And he was so angry. Angry at God, angry at those who took his life away from him. He was powerless to get it back, and that was just something he was not. How... What had he done so wrong that they would take the one thing in the world that truly mattered to him away? Had he sinned so terribly that this was the least punishment he deserved?
Pain wrenched in his gut, turned in his mind, made his chest tighten. He was a man full of anger that was ready to be unleashed, but held back so securely it could only wait. Linger in the contours of his body and cause him to be someone he was not. But he could barely remember who he was, who he had been... What he had been.
He didn't care. He embraced this pain; so it would settle on top of his anger.
Confusion topped his emotions. Sometimes he would sit in his dark apartment, alone, for hours, even days at a time, and think... barely moving, barely breathing. Somewhere in his conscious during these times he prayed those breaths would go away... Just stop. He had nothing left to live for.
His eyes swept his apartment, and he realized it was incredibly messy. Not that it mattered or anything. His eyes hooded, he stretched and layed back. His long, lean torso was uncovered, and long, ghastly scars along with scars from deep nicks in his flesh covered his satiny skin. He had a spiral sun tattooed on the right side of his chest, and both of his upper arms had similar tattooes: Two long, thin gray lines paralel each other. On his right arm he had a celtic cross tattooed on his forearm and on his left, a roman numeral seven. His body was a multitude of dark colour, beautifully tanned skin... that just happened to be pocked and marred by scars.
He sat up and scratched at his unshaven jaw and the thin goatee of black hair on his chin. His grey eyes took in everything, the empty Chinese cartons and pizza boxes, pepsi cans and waterbottles. Old jeans and shirts were thrown over chairs and on the table, in baskets. He hadn't realized he'd eaten at all during the past few weeks he'd been here... He'd come here to be alone, but looking over at the mistake that barely struck his heart anymore, he knew he'd failed.
Even one more step away from any sort of perfection, or even worthiness of human contact... His apartment reflected the way he felt about himself, the way he treated his body. But he honestly just... didn't care anymore.
He ran his hand down his chest and felt the sick welts of scars; it intensified his anger. He grunted, a low, rumbly sound, and stretched. He suddenly felt a warm hand touch his back and glide over the huge, thick scar that marred his back and ran up and down his spine... He wanted to lash out, grab her, break her. But he held still, and sighed.
When the fingernail gently scraped at his jaw, played with his thin sideburns, he gritted his teeth and grinded his jaw. The minute she touched one of the silver hoops in his ear, he just about lost control. 'STOP touching me!' He wanted to shout, but instead he sat and let her nasty hands run over his face. Sick of it, he grabbed her wrist and turned his head slightly to her. "Go home."
She didn't seem to hear him and she reached beneath the sheets for what lay unclothed beneath. She let out a breathy laugh, which turned into a startled gasp when he grabbed her wrist roughly this time.
"I said go away, go home."
He turned fully this time, meeting her face. She was exotic looking, with dark tan skin, wavy, thick black hair and almond shaped hazel eyes.
But God, how she disgusted him.
"Aw, so you wanna play rough, do you? You're such a sweetie..." She leaned forward to kiss him but he pushed her away, not intending to hurt her, just to get her away.
"Do you think I'm joking?" He said in a deadly calm, smoothly quiet voice.
The exotic looking girl's face changed, to one of utter disbelief and she shoved her hair out of her face while clinging to the sheet that covered her largely endowed bosom. "Just like that? After all you did to me last night, your just going to kick me out of your apartment?"
"Baby, I don't even remember last night. Hurry up." He tossed her bra at her and wrapped the sheet tighter around his waist.
She let out an annoyed gasp, and rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ..." She mummbled, and when he continued to stare at her silently, she rolled her eyes again and quickly squeezed herself back into the mini leather skirt and tight pink shirt.
Such a shame.
She ran her fingers through her hair as she stepped into her stilettos, and walked out the opening into the loft.. He watched her for a moment then closed his eyes and just listened. He heard his heartbeat match the click of her heels on the cement of the apartment's floor, and before the door slammed he heard her tell him, "Those scars are absolutely repulsive, too. More repulsive than this apartment."
When the door slammed, he let out a sigh. He felt dirty and used. Even more so... if that was possible. He hadn't known the girl's name... he probably met her last night at the bar beneath his loft. Drunk, he had asked her, or she had asked him, he couldn't remember, to come upstairs. Like he had with too many others...
Disgust rolled through him and he collapsed on the bed. What had he become? What had he DONE? He was nothing like this four years ago and now... He was a broke womanizer with no life.
Great.
He rolled back over, and drenched in pity for himself, the man fell asleep.
************************************************************************
Although not in a predictable, noticable way... Not that there were any knives or ropes or anything involved... but he was killing himself. Slowly but surely, and he really didn't mind it. His life, what he had once called life, had revolved around music. Around her. Around 'love'. His music had been passionate, loud, full of reason and... Life.
It didn't matter anymore. It was all gone. She was gone, and she had taken everything with her.
He had once been so fervent about everything... Now he was merely... indifferent. His fingers itched, longed to pluck at the strings of his guitar, (any guitar for that matter), which now sat in the corner of his apartment. Collecting dust. He had no more DREAMS, no more HOPES. He hated everyone who tried to 'help' him. Hated anyone who tried to touch him more than physically. He had no ambitions, no infatuation with his life or the people in it. He could barely remember the last time he had smiled... And he was so angry. Angry at God, angry at those who took his life away from him. He was powerless to get it back, and that was just something he was not. How... What had he done so wrong that they would take the one thing in the world that truly mattered to him away? Had he sinned so terribly that this was the least punishment he deserved?
Pain wrenched in his gut, turned in his mind, made his chest tighten. He was a man full of anger that was ready to be unleashed, but held back so securely it could only wait. Linger in the contours of his body and cause him to be someone he was not. But he could barely remember who he was, who he had been... What he had been.
He didn't care. He embraced this pain; so it would settle on top of his anger.
Confusion topped his emotions. Sometimes he would sit in his dark apartment, alone, for hours, even days at a time, and think... barely moving, barely breathing. Somewhere in his conscious during these times he prayed those breaths would go away... Just stop. He had nothing left to live for.
His eyes swept his apartment, and he realized it was incredibly messy. Not that it mattered or anything. His eyes hooded, he stretched and layed back. His long, lean torso was uncovered, and long, ghastly scars along with scars from deep nicks in his flesh covered his satiny skin. He had a spiral sun tattooed on the right side of his chest, and both of his upper arms had similar tattooes: Two long, thin gray lines paralel each other. On his right arm he had a celtic cross tattooed on his forearm and on his left, a roman numeral seven. His body was a multitude of dark colour, beautifully tanned skin... that just happened to be pocked and marred by scars.
He sat up and scratched at his unshaven jaw and the thin goatee of black hair on his chin. His grey eyes took in everything, the empty Chinese cartons and pizza boxes, pepsi cans and waterbottles. Old jeans and shirts were thrown over chairs and on the table, in baskets. He hadn't realized he'd eaten at all during the past few weeks he'd been here... He'd come here to be alone, but looking over at the mistake that barely struck his heart anymore, he knew he'd failed.
Even one more step away from any sort of perfection, or even worthiness of human contact... His apartment reflected the way he felt about himself, the way he treated his body. But he honestly just... didn't care anymore.
He ran his hand down his chest and felt the sick welts of scars; it intensified his anger. He grunted, a low, rumbly sound, and stretched. He suddenly felt a warm hand touch his back and glide over the huge, thick scar that marred his back and ran up and down his spine... He wanted to lash out, grab her, break her. But he held still, and sighed.
When the fingernail gently scraped at his jaw, played with his thin sideburns, he gritted his teeth and grinded his jaw. The minute she touched one of the silver hoops in his ear, he just about lost control. 'STOP touching me!' He wanted to shout, but instead he sat and let her nasty hands run over his face. Sick of it, he grabbed her wrist and turned his head slightly to her. "Go home."
She didn't seem to hear him and she reached beneath the sheets for what lay unclothed beneath. She let out a breathy laugh, which turned into a startled gasp when he grabbed her wrist roughly this time.
"I said go away, go home."
He turned fully this time, meeting her face. She was exotic looking, with dark tan skin, wavy, thick black hair and almond shaped hazel eyes.
But God, how she disgusted him.
"Aw, so you wanna play rough, do you? You're such a sweetie..." She leaned forward to kiss him but he pushed her away, not intending to hurt her, just to get her away.
"Do you think I'm joking?" He said in a deadly calm, smoothly quiet voice.
The exotic looking girl's face changed, to one of utter disbelief and she shoved her hair out of her face while clinging to the sheet that covered her largely endowed bosom. "Just like that? After all you did to me last night, your just going to kick me out of your apartment?"
"Baby, I don't even remember last night. Hurry up." He tossed her bra at her and wrapped the sheet tighter around his waist.
She let out an annoyed gasp, and rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ..." She mummbled, and when he continued to stare at her silently, she rolled her eyes again and quickly squeezed herself back into the mini leather skirt and tight pink shirt.
Such a shame.
She ran her fingers through her hair as she stepped into her stilettos, and walked out the opening into the loft.. He watched her for a moment then closed his eyes and just listened. He heard his heartbeat match the click of her heels on the cement of the apartment's floor, and before the door slammed he heard her tell him, "Those scars are absolutely repulsive, too. More repulsive than this apartment."
When the door slammed, he let out a sigh. He felt dirty and used. Even more so... if that was possible. He hadn't known the girl's name... he probably met her last night at the bar beneath his loft. Drunk, he had asked her, or she had asked him, he couldn't remember, to come upstairs. Like he had with too many others...
Disgust rolled through him and he collapsed on the bed. What had he become? What had he DONE? He was nothing like this four years ago and now... He was a broke womanizer with no life.
Great.
He rolled back over, and drenched in pity for himself, the man fell asleep.
************************************************************************