:: Part II ::
I awoke again, the pain in my heart pounding with fear of separation still. My room was still dim and my wall still covered in drawings. However, I was in my bed, staring up at my make shift tent over me.
There was a vague memory in my mind of climbing into bed from my collapsed sobbing state in the dark. I had no dream and no recollection of how long I had slept.
“No Point” I breathed hopelessly and rolled over in a careless manner. My hand flopped down from under my quilts and hit the cardboard box I used as a side table. My fingers raked blindly through an assortment of empty medication bottles, charcoal, water cups, paint brushes and random pieces of jewelry until at last they touched the cold surface of my iPod.
I picked it up, staring at the screen in a hazy fog that often possessed me when I woke up. Finally I got my bearings and realized what I was doing, and then my face hit the floor again; there was no message from her. That was probably my fault.
I shook it off and dropped my iPod back on the box. Love wasn’t sure at all. But for some reason it was there….
I rolled over to face the wall, squishing my stuffed Cheshire cat hard against my face in an attempt to block out the thoughts.
Even when I was in my happiest state, it seemed this hauntingly notorious stomach ache of anxiety still lingered. It seemed like there was no end. Except when it did end for a shining moment in time, I took a deep breath. But merely one breath isn’t enough to sustain anyone.
I dropped the stuffed cat and sat up, slouching against my wall staring down at my paint blackened hands. Then a black line on the inside of my wrist caught my eye again. The seven pointed star.
A long exaggerated sigh escaped my lungs as I knocked my head on the wall behind me, none too gently. My eyes shut and I drifted into a strange world of half reality and half dream. There, behind my eyelids was the star, thin and sharp, like Celtic symbols I had embroidered on a dress when I was little. My mind was trying to decipher it, almost as if I knew somewhere in me what it meant. Anger was beginning to burn inside me. Why the hell couldn’t I remember it?
My eyes snapped open and my wrist flew to my vision again. I knew it. It all started to rush back into my brain at once, making me feel slightly bombarded and lightheaded. I had seen it before; something to do with a dream a long time ago. I shook my head, it seemed so clear in my mind, but I couldn’t fight through all the images. It was there, I knew it, I just couldn’t see it…
Then it clicked, like the world coming suddenly into vision. I saw it. A shot of excitement burst in my chest as I leapt from my bed.
There was chiming in my head and a blind smile on my mouth as I stood; charcoal in my hand and suspended an inch over my wall. I paused. Or more like, the world paused.
It was so clear, yet again. But I couldn’t visualize it. I dropped the charcoal and frowned as I examined my drawings again. Would I ever leave this pain? Or would the pain leave me?
My head banged on the wall as I fell against it in disbelief of myself. ‘Damn it.” The words escaped my mouth subtly so that I was almost taken aback by them.
Suddenly something seized in my chest. My eyes forcedly squeezed shut as I curled against the wall in discomfort. It was in me; like my heart pounding so loud my veins burned and my head throbbed.
But there, so far beyond my vision was the star with seven points. I focused on it, keeping my eyes shut now. It came closer rather suddenly and I felt myself drop to the floor in a crouch. I stared at it, the sharp image burning against the back of my eye lids. But it was changing now, and I didn’t panic at attempting to capture it. It was dripping a thick red liquid, like paint. I could feel my expression trying to figure it out. But it wasn’t paint. It was blood. The star was…bleeding.
A sharp burning sensation on my arm forced my eyes open. My jaw dropped as I stared down at my wrist. My star, it was bleeding. Panic took place in my mind and I leapt up faster than I thought physically possible to race to the bathroom. It was almost identical to the image still on my mind. I slammed the door behind and yanked the tap of cold water on. Putting my wrist under the water I flinched at the fierceness of the cold bite, but my eyes couldn’t help but to notice the lack of blood that was apparently there. I pulled on the old rusted tap and dried my wrist frantically with my shirt, to find; nothing. I fell backwards in a sudden manner, my wrist still clamped against my body. No star. No blood. It was all gone. The abnormally pale skin of the inside of my arm was painfully bare.



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