Victim of Circumstance | UNDER RIGOROUS EDITING

Chapter 8 - Triumph & Power

||Pius||

After taking a quick shower I step out of it and wrap a towel around my waist. I take another one to dry my hair. I asses myself in the mirror, taking in my terror-like appearance.

What are you doing? Something chimes in.

Do you want history to repeat itself again?

Isn't that how it happened? The thing that has been haunting you?

Why do you even care...?

"Stooopppp!" I yell, punching at the mirror against the wall, shattering it in the process, leaving a splinting noise echoing throughout the bathroom, with glass scattered all over the floor.

It's one way to burst my bubble and remind me of my fucked up past.

I take in a baited breath and look down at my hand. It's bloody and bruised. My knuckles are creased and bleeding. I pick up the towel that fell down on the floor during my emotional tantrum, to wipe away the blood. I see myself from the peripheral view from the remaining portion of the mirror still remain attached to the whitely painted wall. I look like a mess. My eyes are blotchy and I have bags under them like a sleep-deprive lunatic, which in fact I really am.

I didn't sleep in the last 24 hours.

Why?

Do I even know the reason?

Yes, you do you dickwad, that irritating inner voice yells from behind my mind.

It's time to man-up and face your emotions, it adds.

Face what?

Emotions?

I release a humorless chuckle, erupting through my closed mouth, splattering spit all over the broken half of the mirror.

I don't know why I feel like this? Like my world has been shattered into million pieces? Like everything just doesn't make sense anymore.

I can't deal with this no more. I hate being in pain, and not just any but emotional pain. Why? Because it causes under-surfaced emotional turmoil to suffice and I don't want that shit weighing me down.

I have been having an internal brawl with myself.

About what?

My upcoming house party.

Why? What's there to celebrate? that irritating inner voice questions.

I think you might have an idea. But it's not more of a party but a way of burying my emotional trouble showing that bitch that I don't need her.

She betrayed me.

How?

I kick at the soft-cushioned black chair next to me against the opposite wall, breaking it into splinters, frustrated. I stagger backwards, gasping.

A lone stray tear runs down my cheek.

I wipe it away quickly with the back of my hand.

I don't like this. She breaks me. She makes me feel things I don't want to feel. She keeps breaking my walls slowly without even lifting a hand or putting in effort. I hate being weak, because weak means vulnerable and vulnerable means pity and that's one thing I ain't going to take from no one.

I need to get her out of my head. My life. She needs to vanquish otherwise my life will turn into a complete carbon copy of what it used to be.

I love my life. Just the way it is.