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For Perry, gone but not forgotten (1 Viewer)

I

ilufmusicgoil

I had to let it out. Sorry, I’m a terrible writer. Criticism is very welcome. I know my present/past tense stuff is messed up.... bah, so bad. Sorry
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Glossy. Beautiful.
Perfect.

It was no wonder. I had scrubbed the bedroom floor last night for hours on end, just to make him happy. What a waste.

I lay with my cheek on the cold, callous floor looking back into my eyes’ reflection, overflowing with hot, salty tears.

Ruined. Blemished. Destroyed.

My beautiful floor. It’s funny how its all I could think about. I couldn’t focus on the pain… I couldn’t concentrate on my trembling body… One, Two, Three… Drop, drop, drop…. The drops of blood fell from my mangled face onto the cold floor, spreading and spoiling all of my hard work. All I could think was, “Damn, now I have to redo the floors…”

I stare looking at my distorted reflection in the floor. Through my tears I could see the dark ring around my left eye and the blood that was falling from my nose and lip, creating a trail down my chin and striking the cold floor. My ears rang.

Silence. But the silence can never last. “Worthless bitch…”

All my life I’ve been told that words can never hurt me. But people lie. Bruises disappear. Cuts heal. Words say with you forever.

Without warning I am drug to my feet. I stand only for a moment before my trembling legs give way and I crash to the floor into a fetal position. It’s funny how the body knows what to do even when the mind can no longer cope with the madness.

“Fucking whore…. Get up!” His heavy boots pelts my stomach and breasts in an effort to bring me to my weary feet, but my brain and legs cannot make a connection. I cry out in pain, begging for forgiveness. I just bought him the wrong kind of beer. I can fix my mistake. Just let me go to the liquor store…

Snap. Fizz. I look to find where these sounds are coming from. Beer cans. Of course… I watch as heavy boots walk towards me. “Let this be a lesson, bitch.” Above me, the bitter, cold liquid falls from the can into eyes. My senses jolt to life as the alcohol enters my cuts and eyes, burning in my wounds and temporarily blinding me. I scream out in pain, begging for mercy. “It’s just beer…” I keep telling myself.

I am brutally drug to my feet. “Look into my eyes.” Eyes down, my knees begin to go limp. I feel his strong hands clutching me, holding my mangled body upright. “Look into my eyes, you fucking shit!” I raise my face to him, seeing nothing but dark shadows through my beer-filled eyes. His rough hand grabs my face and his icy lips mercilessly kiss my split, bloody lips. “No one else could ever love a whore like you again… You’re lucky to have me. Remember, I do this because I love you.” His words cut like razor blades.

No one else could ever love a whore like me… again. Memories of what had been flash into my brain… A seventeen-year-old girl star gazing on a blanket on the front lawn, caring about nothing but the boy beside her… A beautiful eighteen-year-old girl in a wedding dress walking to the alter… A handsome young man waiting with her friends and loved ones… The warmth of his lips and touches on her silky soft skin… His warm, chocolaty brown eyes that saw into her soul… True love. Then just as all of the wonderful memories came flooding in, they were replaced with a cold, emptiness and painful memories. Slurred speech, vomiting… The trip to the neurologist that changed their lives forever… The months leading up to the destruction of two lives… The coldness of his skin in the glossy, wooden box… glossy like my floor.

My senses return as I feel my body being viciously thrown across the room. I cry out as I collapse onto the dresser, shards of the mirror falling around me, shredding my arms, back, and face. I crash onto the floor, dragging the television off the dresser.

Drop, drop, drop… More blood my beautiful floor. Damn it. As the floor began to fade into a dark abyss, my mind could only focus on one thing… I need to buy beer.
 
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