8
"The clouds felt heavy underneath my skin, their twinkles of blackberry and tamarillo disintegrating as I entreated for air, but I collected nests of dejected stamps, and I was blinded by everything except for his eyes, and how they suddenly, tore away the darkness I've been living in for years. . ."
Calum
"How have you been feeling, Calum?"
Cheyenne ordained me into repetitive therapy sessions, my subdued mind becoming a splinter, the only paradise I could once recall vanishing with the troposphere that once meant the world to me. I didn't want to remember. "I'm fine, I don't really have a reason to be here."
"On the contrary, Mr. Cabera, you have been doing illegal drugs for-"
"Hood," I corrected, the silver overcast inundating above me, vaulting through a maelstrom, tracking the pandemonium portion of my encephalon, distracting me from red-yellow lips and sapphire hair. "It's only methamphetamine and a couple of cigarettes." A getaway from that damn cage.
"Which can cause heart failure."
"Maybe I want to die," I wailed, café au lait eyes convulsing the pedestal of his germanizing stare.
I didn't want to exist.
I didn't want Michael to exist.
I wanted us both not to exist, together.
But maybe I was just being selfish.
"I see, and why is that?"
"Those damn ribbons of amaranthine are the only thing keeping me alive right now," I refuted, saddle arms hooking with frazzled headrests, heartbeat invigorating at the thought of amethyst appendages.
"Is that Michael you're describing?"
"Pullulating luminescences fashioned holes in my mind, aircrafts of effervescence stripped my breath, and it made me realize that I didn't want her pepto-bismal hair, but those paisley eyes that give me something to think about, something to make existing worth while. . ."
"Yeah," I reciprocated, golden shells parching through my lungs, "I don't want him to exist."
"Why?"
"He's the only thing that makes me want to live," I retaliated, yearning for a nebulosity of smoke and a crepuscular eyesight, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't want to be alive."
I belonged with my family.
Not here.
I wasn't meant to exist.
"That's all for today, Calum."
-
I simmered behind a hindrance, fingertips meshing a cigarette, my pheromone of fog and palliatives commiserating me as my physique gamboled with the wind.
"Rough day?" Winnie transfused, temples clustering with the mortiferous weapon. "I haven't forgiven you for what you said to Cheyenne, yet."
I vellicated, memories submerging into the incinerated panorama of my brain that I tried to abstain.
"Today is your third birthday, Cal."
"B-Birthday?" I controverted, assiduous hands reaching for the wrapped material, sealed with love and my mother's smiles. "Open it."
A baby blue teddy bear.
"F-For me?"
"For you, Calum."
I smiled, clinging to the soft materialistic object. "Love bearie so much!"
"Happy birthday, lovely."
"You okay?" I blanked out again, chest heaving with hurricanes and whirlpools.
"I miss them, Winnie, I miss them so much," I flaked out, wasting the night with three cigarettes and impoverished tears. The curtain was opening - my shadow that I refused to reveal to the outer-world was no longer concealed by the darkness.
"You'll be alright."
"Will I?"
"Only if you try to be," Winnie prevailed, the moonlight casting in her trilateral eyes, firewater absconding her blistered, pecan lips.
I didn't want to try.
I didn't want to exist.
But I did it, anyway.
"Promise me you'll try?"
"I promise I'll try, Winnie."
"Maybe I was making an infinite amount of promises towards everyone, including myself, or maybe I was trying for something. . . anything that wasn't him, even if he was the disaster, and the flame, and the midst that left me breathless and at haze every time I tried to forget about what made death exciting in the first place . . ."
I didn't want to find out.
-
A/N;
Thoughts?
These chapters are going to start getting shorter and shorter, sorry. :/// that's how it's supposed to be.