Miserable, tired and alone, Gerard is failing at seeing the point in living his uninteresting newly-single life. Could one attractive midget change his opinion completely or ruin him all over again...
In Shakespearian plays, lovers kill themselves if they can’t live with each other, convinced that they will not survive and would probably die of a “heart break disease”. The kind of bullshit that doesn’t exist in real life and someone with little imagination wrote, thinking they’ll captivate people for years with their boring and predictable story lines. Except Shakespeare. Thus, to this day I will never fully understand a purpose for any of his plays.
Even though “heart break disease” doesn’t exist in real life, and no one believes in that shit, I seriously feel like I’m dying from it. Or maybe I’m just overthinking all of this nineteenth century bullshit that I’m starting to act like them. Maybe that’s why I’ve been lying in bed for the last three days, sobbing like a 12 year old girl and chain smoking.
Anyways, enough about my teenage girl hormones and back to the point. In modern day life, “dumpees” tend to have a sob for a couple of days and feel sorry for themselves, before moving on and living a (hopefully) happy life. At least, I think that’s what girls do, from the large amount of ‘chick flicks’ I’ve watched with Lindsey. Before it all ended.
It was just a normal fucking day at one of our School Magazine meetings, when I’d noticed how she’d distanced herself from me. Normally we’d chatter the whole time and occasionally kick each other secretly under the table at the boring points of the meeting. But no, she sat on the other sit of the table and avoided my gaze for that whole hour in that shitty abandoned art room. After the meeting, she’s plainly walked up to me and said that it’s “not working out” and that she thought we should “move on”.
To this day I still don’t know the full reason why she broke up with me, and it shall forever remain a mystery. I really am being dramatic. It’s no surprise that she left me. She’s masculine than I am. She’s probably already over me. She probably didn’t need to even get over me. She’s been planning it, I bet. I knew I should’ve been a better boyfriend. I mean, I thought I was okay but it turns out I was probably a piece of shit. Fuck girls. Maybe I should just go gay and have hardcore anal like they do in those shitty pornos.
Not that I watch a whole lot of gay porn.. I’m really getting off subject.
I chuckle lightly at my own pathetic frame of mind and rummage around in my draw for my packet of smokes, pulling out the nearly empty packet. Only three left. Fuck. I tip the cigarettes out onto my hand, chucking the empty box to the other side of my room, missing my rubbish bin by about a meter. Chucking my other two cigarettes in the draw beside, I grasp onto the chosen cigarette and fish around in my Capri girl’s pyjama pants pocket. Don’t judge me, okay. They’re really comfortable.
I shakily light my cancer stick and inhale a long drag of the poisonous smoke, sighing as I exhale. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad after all.