I had never thought it would come to this.

Staring out at the rolling sea, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting a burning glow to everything in sight, I sigh as the wind whips my hair across my face, delicately streaking my skin like caressing fingers.

It never ends. This. This feeling.

Betrayal. My heart feels ripped open, exposed and vulnerable. Dead.

I sigh again, trying to forget, knowing I won't.

I turn my back on the so called beautiful sunset and step down from the pier. My feet hurt from standing so long; sore and cramped. I pay it no mind, relishing in the exterior hurt rather than the interior. It was so much easier to deal with. Knowing that it would end so much sooner was comforting. Even though the inner never really went away. It always lived on, festering in the wound that would never heal, never close, never go away.

Memories were like that, too. I would always remember, but try to forget. Permanence. Deep scars in the tissues of my memory fibers that will always tie me to the pain that was left behind.

No one knows of this. No one ever heard it. No one ever thought of it. They thought I was happy. I seemed happy, too. No one ever suspected. And they never will. I will keep this locked up, barred away from notice. Because no one deserves to have this burden put on them. No one deserves to feel obligated to making me feel better, whole again, when that is impossible.

This will become my natural, inner state. The exterior of me – my hair, my face, my body – will stay the same as long as I don't eat myself fat. The inside is a different story. I don't want to have to get into details, but I know what it will be like.

I wasn't used to losing, so I don't think I will. Your plan was to watch me waste away, but I'll make sure that doesn't happen.

Because the only thing worse than pain, is not feeling. Trust me, I would be glad to be rid of this awful ripping of my innards, but to be happy and whole again, not numb.

So, that's what I'll do to you. Make you numb. Only for you, there will be no coming back.

It might not ease my pain, but it will make me happy through the heavy mist of my own despair. The mist, the fog rather, will make me sluggish, dull, and boring to anyone who knew, but through it all, I would be laughing. For I had won. Really, I did.

You just won't be around to see it.

A/N-- Ok, this is a first for me. Realize, you don't actually see what's killing the "I" in the short story. I thought it was interesting to have it like this.

Reviews are welcome.