6 - Part One

I traced those bumpy lines across my arm in a zigzag motion, repetitively. One, two, three, four, five. I counted them along with the rate of my heartbeat. I smiled faintly as the memories resurfaced into my head and played like a film. The causes of these obvious, undeniable bumps were simply because of one person. Tears start to fill up the brim of my waterline, blurring my vision. I touched the first scar, and like a porthole, it brought me back to the scene.

This isn't the first, second or third time I saw you with that girl. It's been the thirteenth time and I knew I wasn't taking it well; but I couldn't help myself from spying on you, especially on those days when I knew you had day offs but wouldn't come home. Today, I followed you to the coffee shop just round the corner. It took 217 steps and 23 taxis drove pass me. I sat near the windows, three tables away from you. I watched, as you gently pulled out her chair with one hand, the other holding hers. You didn't let go, not even when it was obvious you were struggling with the wooden plushy chair. You walked to the one opposite hers, sunk into the chair, bouncing a little. You twirled the rings she was wearing and smiled at her. The way you smiled showed how much she meant to you, where she stood in your heart. Your eyes twinkled as you met hers, and you gave her the sweetest smile; a smile so sweet even your non-existence dimple had to come to light. I watched you murmur into her ears, your lips barely opening up, with her responding by sending a chain of soft giggles. You brushed against her arm and lifted her chin up just so slightly, making her peek through her long luscious lashes and gave her a kiss at the corner of her lips. Again, a ripple a giggles escaped from her tiny lips and as you took the last sip of the drink, you took her hand and brought her away from the coffee shop. I watched and counted your footsteps in the shadows until I couldn't see you anymore, my heart eroding bit by bit like rocks off the shore while huge waves crash against it. Tears started to roll down like long, red carpets, but it didn't last for a long time because soon enough they turned into waterfalls. My face heated up with embarrassment as I ran through the crowd, the streets and back home while million pairs of eyes watched my back. I fumbled with the keys just before I was even at the doorsteps and pushed the door open and banged it close behind me. I grabbed the closest bottle of alcoholic drink I saw and took a swig of it. The familiar bitterness welcomed me like an old friend, seducing me to take in more. I took another swig and stumbled into the kitchen and pulled out the sharpest knife with my trembling hand. Without thinking, I pulled it across my arm. Blood oozed out, the gravity pulling it down, making it flow like streams of river. It was painful; in a pleasureful way. It was painful enough to help me take away the pain I was suffering from. I closed my eyes and the reality faded out. I fell asleep on the floor, with the smell salt and rust climbing up my nostrils. I woke up after several hours, my face stained with tears, blood all over my arm, clothes. I stood up, cleared up the mess I made and stepped into the bathroom. I stripped down to my underwear and stared at myself in the full length mirror. An angry red line exasperated; the first mark appeared.

-to be continued-