Categories > Original > Drama0 Reviews
He could never look at them the same.
Do you believe in life after love?
...No, Cher, I don't.
The flowers had all but wilted, save for one, by the time he had gotten home. The bouquet drooped in his hands, and he got out the key to his apartment, opening the door quickly, so that no one could see his tear stained face. Shutting the door behind him, he frowned at the flowers, and then tossed them across the room, dropping to the ground, tears now silent that had been loud for so long before.
What he had spent his life on, what he had spent days stressing over and caring for and loving in fact, it was all gone. There was nothing left for him, nothing, nothing at all. How could he possibly go on in his world without his one true love? He didn't know it was possible, and as he got up and went to sit at the kitchen table, he watched as a flower petal, wilted and dried already, fell to the floor.
Standing again, because he couldn't figure out what to do, he began to pace, already plotting out the curses, the words, everything that he would say next time he spoke to his love next. With a sigh, he ran his hands through his hair and the tears coming again, hot and angry this time. Bending down, he picked up the bouquet, more petals falling off of the flowers as he walked back to the kitchen table with it.
Wiping away the tears with his sleeve did no good, and banging his head against the kitchen table made his head hurt, the headache already forming now worse then before. And now more petals fell to the floor as his head banged against the table, and with a sigh, he picked those up, placing them beside the once beautiful bouquet.
Our love was once beautiful, he thought with a bite of his lip, not quite believing that was a word he was using to describe the relationship that he was once in. But, that was what it was, beautiful, gorgeous, him and his love having fun at the movies, the mall, the park, ideal places that would forever hold spots in his memory. But that was all that they were now, memories, and it made the tears fall faster then before as he tried to think of his life with no one there.
Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he went into his room, no their room, the damned bouquet still in his hands, as if he was unable to let them go. After all of this time, after a year with a relationship filled with ups and downs, mostly ups really, though he could consider this a low point, he thought bitterly. Considering he had just been dumped on Valentine's Day, the day that all lovers were together, and here he was.
Shaking the flowers in rage now, even more petals flew out, falling all around the room, just like the night he had spent carefully arranging flowers on the floor their first night they had spent asleep together in each other's arms, tightly wound around each other as if they had always meant to be. He could see now that it was not in the fate's hands, but he still couldn't help yell at God, if there was a god even. How could he be left like this? Today even, why must it be today!?
Tossing the bouquet to the side table, petals going in all direction so that the flowers were all then more then half bare, he slumped down on the bed and sighed, tears all dried out now, and anger still left. It had taken him years to find a man that was willing to be with him, taken him months of dealing with his ever growing sexuality, and his choice in what he was doing, and the first man that he had found had dumped him.
He should have seen it coming he supposed, but still, the questions lingered there, long after the door had slammed in his face, after his glimpse of the other man in the room. Why did you do this to me? How could you do this to me? Who is that man in the room? Is this the reason why you always had us keep separate apartments? For how long has this been going on? These were the questions that ran through his head as he half sobbed, half choked into the pillow, the visions running through his head becoming almost too much for him to bear.
Finally, his bedroom was not enough for him to deal with his problem, and he went to the bathroom, sitting down on the closed toilet seat and sobbing into his hands.
"He doesn't want me anymore!" He wailed, thinking that it was the end, he could not go on. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong, but he did not think that life was worth living now, not when he couldn't be with him. Standing up, he went to the sink, picking up the razor and staring at it for a long while. He hadn't done this since he was younger, the small and thin incisions on his arms always hidden beneath long sleeved shirts.
"No, please, I can't. Not over him, not...please..." he said, the tears running down on his face now mixing with the blood as he slashed at his wrists again and again, the indecision making him want it even more, the way it felt, the relief he felt afterwards as the blood fell into the sinks, scar after scar being added to his never ending list.
"I'm sorry....I miss you....I'm sorry....please take me back..." he sobbed, sinking down to the bathroom floor and crying all the while, holding his bloodied wrists close to his body, petals stuck in his hair and sweaty brow. Looking through his door, he could see the petals strewn across the floor.
From then on, he would never be able to look at red roses again and not think of blood.