My Beautiful Failure

By Secret Dancer

We were different, her and I, but that didn't stop me from loving her. I was nobody compared to her. I acted idiotically in my opinion and yet she forgave me every time. I regret not telling her sooner, not holding her hand while I had the chance, not kissing her or hugging her, or even telling her that I cared for her.

When she broke up with me it felt like my heart had broken up with itself and was now two different pieces representing her and I. But nothing compared to the pain I felt when she died.

I discovered after her passing that she had only broken up with me to protect me. That eased the pain slowly, as if I were recovering from a near-fatal wound. She was my bane and in her end, I was hers.

At the funeral I didn't cry. I was angry. I clutched my fists as if I were going to snap all the bones inside. I probably wouldn't have felt it if I did.

I was mechanical from then on. I was never hungry but I ate to satisfy those I was around. They needed to believe I was alright, that I was over her. I woke up every day and got dressed without even remembering doing so. Video games were just another faux act to prove my normality.

I didn't cry until I broke.

When you're mechanical you are numb. You feel an odd sense of invincibility and helplessness. You know you are so damaged that you don't feel it anymore and then you are convinced you could do anything, as long as it was dangerous. Or at least, that was what I felt.

Sometimes I'd awaken from my trance unaware of what I was doing. My clothes, my surroundings, everything was different. I was still transfixed on her memory.

I broke a month after she was gone. When I did break I was all alone. I half screamed, I cried, I couldn't breathe. It was unfair, all of it! And the thing I wanted most of all was her forgiveness. I was the reason she died.

She was standing in the cold and bitter winds of winter. Her black hair was past her shoulders and the longest it's ever been. Her face was puffy from her sadness but I still thought she looked beautiful. I had forgiven her for breaking up with me but it looked like she hadn't forgiven herself.

"I'm sorry." She breathed clenching her fists.

"I understand. You don't have to apologize." I was biting back my pain.

"I didn't want to do what I did."

"Then why?"

"I had to. I don't really want to remind you of what happened. It just happened and can we just stay friends? I don't want to lose you."

I wanted nothing more than to take her into my arms, but I didn't. I should've.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Of course I do. But do you forgive yourself?" I asked. She looked down at her feet in disgust. She was angry at herself.

"No."

That was when she raised the gun.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed.