Bloodshed

I'm sitting across from T, and he's upset. Angry. Staring at me. I don't even know why anymore. I'm drunk again, and I don't care to "talk things out". I'm tired of talking things out with him. I'm tired of him being the one mad at me and making me out to be the guilty one. I'm tired of saying sorry when I don't mean it, and I'm tired of his stupid fucking logic because none of it makes any sense. He dips his head into his hands.
"Do you love me?" He asks without looking up. I think for a moment.
"Yes. I do." I state.
"Do you even want to be with me?" He says, looking up at me. His eyes are drooping sadly. His face is flushed. He's making me feel guilty. Hes doing it unintentionally, but hes doing it nonetheless.
"Of course I want to be with you. You just frustrate me because you get mad over stupid little shit and you're becoming impossible to deal with. I love every minute of the good times with you and I can't imagine myself loving anyone else more than you. But you're pushing me away. The good times are become more rare. I don't know what to do with you." I say, the words spilling out of my mouth like excess mouthwash. I begin blushing. I hate emotions. He looks at me, and doesn't say anything. He hugs me. I kiss him on the cheek. I get up to start playing music and start talking to him even though I know hes not listening and doesn't give a fuck about what I'm saying.
"Have you ever wondered if people all belong to one collective consciousness but we haven't tapped into it yet? Like what if we're all so much more connected than we think we are and the only reason depression exists is because society is robbing us from all the natural things we need to be happy?" I know hes still not listening. I'm annoyed and so stop talking.
A few silent minutes go by and he stands up from the computer and walks into his room, slamming the door. Suddenly full of rage, I pick up a glass full of ice and throw it at the wall. I go after everything in arms length. Picking it all up, throwing it down, breaking it.
"FUCK YOU" I scream. I knock over a cabinet. What the fuck is wrong with me? I feel like I'm watching myself from outside of my body. I'm throwing a tantrum because I'm not getting my way. Isn't that exactly whats going on? I'm being immature, but I don't care. If he doesn't want to listen to me when I'm civil and wants to call me a child, then I'll give him a fucking child. I hear him stomp from his room and into the room I'm in.
"Oh. Look whos decided to come out." I say calmly, as if I wasn't just destroying the fragile items on my parents desk.
He doesn't say anything. I knock over a glass vase.
"Do you even know what I'm mad about?" He spits angrily.
"Nope. And I don't fucking care." I say.
"You never fucking care." He says.
"THATS BECAUSE YOU'RE ALWAYS PISSED." I yell.
"YOU'RE SUCH A BITCH" He screams.
"AND YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE. GUESS WE'RE EVEN." I say. I turn around and walk back into my room and slam the door.
"WE'RE NOT DONE TALKING, GET YOUR ASS BACK OUT HERE." He says. Drunk and raging, I walk quickly back into the room. I get as close to him as possible and scream "THIS CONVERSATION IS FUCKING OVER.".
At that volume, I scare myself. For a second he is my stepfather. I remember the many nights I spent screaming that same thing at him.
T turns around and punches a hole in the wall. He leaves through the front door with his hand swollen and covered in plaster.


I don't even know why we're fighting. I don't want him to be mad at me. I don't want to be so angry at him. I want us to get along and I want to be fucking sober so I can at least defend my case. I take a step from the place I've been standing, and a piece of glass a few inches long goes directly into my foot.
"Ow. Shit." I mutter, sitting down on the ground. I bury my head in my palms, feeling myself slip into a dark place. I feel alone. I feel like self destructing. I feel... something. I stupidly pick up a shard of glass and make a long cut across my arm. I'm going to regret this in the morning.
Tempted to make another cut, I throw the piece of glass across the floor.

T's gunna be pissed.



Remembering what my psychiatrist used to tell me to do, I start counting down backwards from ten.
I'm fucking stupid. 10
I should have fasted. 9
I hear the door open and footsteps behind me. 8
Not again... 7
The footsteps stop behind me. 6
I open my eyes to look at my foot that is now gushing blood. 5
I hear him bend down and watch as he tentatively picks up my foot and looks at it. 4
"You hurt your foot." 3
I don't say anything for fear I'll start crying. 2
"Sophia, I love you." 1

He picks me up off the floor, and doesn't notice my arm. He sits me on the counter and takes the glass out of my foot. Kisses me on the forehead. Cleans the wound. Puts a giant bandaid on it and wraps it up. He hugs me long and tight. I hold onto him fiercely.

We lie in bed and apologize to each other. He tells a joke and I begin laughing. Giggling, he starts to tell me a story.
"You know, my friend told me the funniest joke, but I can't remember how it went. I could never tell it right either. Hey, have you ever -" He stopped mid sentence. He's noticed my arm.
Shit.


I flip my arm over and look at him. He has a look of shock on his face.
"Let me see." He says, holding my wrist tightly.
"Please stop.." I plead. I feel sick. I ruined it. I ruined the moment, the happiness, and now I've done the one thing he asked me never to do to myself.
"Let me see." He repeats again, holding my wrist so tightly it hurts.
"Ow. Stop you're hurting me, T stop, T please just stop don't look at it." I whisper. Tears are streaming down my face, but its too dim to see them. Blood is smeared all over my shirt from it, and my forearm looks like a painting. Streak of red here, running here, along there, smeared there. All painted on a pale canvas, just a few shades darker than paper.
T holds me. Throws himself on me.
"Why, Soph? Why would you do that to yourself? Please don't ever do it again. Promise me. Please just promise me. You're too pretty.. You're too fucking pretty to go cutting yourself up like some Thanksgiving turkey." He says, his face buried in my neck. He sounds hurt... He sounds upset... He doesn't sound angry. He gets up suddenly and runs to the bathroom to get a wet rag.


Once again he cleans me up, glues me back together, and makes me fall in love with everything about him. He tells me I don't have to sleep alone tonight. I fall asleep with him holding me to his chest, and am thankful when he wakes me up a few hours later after I have a nightmare.



I've never wanted to make something work with someone so badly in my life.




XOXO Sophia Ruins <3