Page 132 of My Lovely Tragedy
I throw it down with a muffled scream, fingers digging into my hair and yanking at the strands, relishing in the burn as they rip from my scalp and tangle around each digit.
But that just makes me think of Tobias playing with my hair. How he’d tug gently until every bit of his fingers were covered with my hair and his hand was pressed against my skull with a comforting pressure.
I let go, watching as my hands fall into my lap. On top of his clothes. Covering my body, surrounding me, just like his fucking car, with his smell and his echoing presence.
He’sfesteringinside me, not allowing me to take a single breath without him.
And even as I yearn for the solitude, I know I don’t want it.I can’t.
“I fuckinghate you,” I sneer, wiping snot dripping from my nose with his coat sleeve. And then, I crank up the volume for the radio all the way until I can’t evenmovewithout the reverberation guiding the way.
I’m numb as I travel through the streets, heart thrashing painfully against my ribcage at the mere sight of all the… people. The evidence of life and theworld.
Each breath draws shorter the deeper I get. My feet move of their own accord, tapping the gas and the brake when they’re supposed to, but I don’t register the movement. Or the flash of traffic lights. The blaring horns of other cars. The roar of voices.
It was only ever us.
But now, I have nothing but this. A city that doesn’t want me, a family that doesn’t understand me, and a man, whom I fucking love, that sent me away, leaving me more alone than I have ever been because he fuckingetched himselfinto me, hollowing out his own Tobias-sized hole, and then he ripped himself away.
And itbleedsfor him. Screaming out into the abyss with mangled fingers scrambling forsomethingto hold onto.
My eyes catch on the plain, black notebook where it rests haphazardly in the passenger seat, outlining what lies on the pages within. My lyrics to his music. Pages and pages of scribbled nonsense, all for him.
And now, that’s all that’s left of him. Of us.
Of me.
A horn blasts, impossibly close. I slam on the breaks, hands banging into the wheel with a jarringthud.Someone screams out their window, the screech of their horn never-ending through their tirade. I wince, shoulders drawing close as I curl over the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the gray road in front of me.
A fist slams against the glass. A scream rips from my mouth as my heart bucks into my throat. I jerk back, head slamming into the headrest. My head whips toward the window, finding a guy on the other side, huffing and puffing with his meaty fist smudging the window.
The sight of smeared sweat streaking the glass draws something hot and acrid from my gut. My molars slam together with a jarring click as I press the button. The window lowers a crack, just enough to let the sound of his voice through.
“Do you not know how to fucking drive?” he shouts, slamming his hand on the roof of the car. I glance up, through my lashes, toward the sound, then back to my left. My fingers curl around the wheel until my knuckles blanch.
The red-light glares back at me, mimicking the burn in my stomach.
Anger. Hatred.
Betrayal.
“Hey! Are you fucking listening—” My foot slams on the gas the moment the green orb illuminates. A shout follows me through the screech of burning rubber and other horns. It’s all a cacophony through the rushing of blood in my ears and the hammering of my heart in my stomach.
Sweat clings to me, melting my clothes to my skin. My legs can’t stop twitching and bouncing, causing my foot to slip on the accelerator. The car jerks, then lurches when I regain my footing, only to slip again.
“Fuck.” I pant, catching the rise and fall of my chest in my peripheral. The surface of my eyes burn as tears form and blur, and I can’t—I can’t see anything.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” I stutter through a sob. The wheel jerks, tires screeching as I whip onto a side street and slam the car into park. My forehead bounces off the wheel. I curl in on myself, trying to feel as small as possible in hopes the blinding agony I feel brewing, threatening to explode won’t be as strong.
Just as I think I can make it through the seventh bout of torment, that fuckingsongcomes on the radio.
“Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
And I scream. And screamand screamuntil there’s nothing left inside me. Until my face burns from the strain, lips cracked and bleeding. My hands throb from the cuts of my nails. Until my voice is nothing but a croaked whisper, still pushing any noise out, expelling everything I can.
But it’s not enough—and I don’t think it ever will be.
I’m back in his loft with Tobias beside me, offering histhingsto me. Back when Ichoseto stay.
