Goodbye

Eight

I remember when we kissed.
I still feel it on my lips.
The time you danced with me,
With no music playing.
I remember the simple things.
I remember until I cry.
The one thing I wish I'd forget,
The memory I wanna forget,
Is goodbye.

Her cheeks were red, raw; her eyes swollen and painfully dry.

She'd used all of her tears already.

It didn't stop her from dry heaving though, and clutching to the dress shirt of his that she wore. The lone item covering her body. The only undergarments she owned were ones to entice him, but now…

Her knees bumped her chin as she fiercely curled in on herself. Fingers buried themselves into blonde hair and fisted, tugged; tried to make her forget the burning ache in her chest. Her hot cheek was plastered to the cool tile floor, a welcoming feeling if only the tears hadn't made it stick uncomfortably.

She untangled her fingers from her hair and ripped at the dress shirt, staring down at her chest. It was impossible, but she saw no gaping hole where her heart used to be. She grasped at it, held her hand in place, felt the beating of her heart.

Air forced its way out of her lungs in a keening cry.

Her face scrunched up, eyes shut tightly, teeth clenched, lips pulled back wide, nose crinkled. She fisted her hands over her eyes, attempting to block out the truth. Her mind was trying to go blank, trying to make her forget, trying to help her grieve.

Stuttering, her breathing was harsh and painful. Weak mewls whispered out every so often and her body trembled, still in shock.

Taking a deep, gasping breath, she cried out his name. Screamed it. Hoped the world would hear and grieve with her for the loss of him.

Wiping her eyes, she stared at her fingers, black from mascara, and recalled the last time they had touched him. They had been hugging, her fingers laced in the hair at his neck.

She dragged his shirt to her nose, attempting to remember his scent. Moaning in anguish, she let go of the soft cotton, watching as it unwrinkled from the force of her fingers. It barely held his scent. It killed her that she couldn't remember it without aid.

Gathering strength, she forced wobbly knees to extend so she could stand. She grabbed onto the marble countertop for stability.

Staring in the mirror, she didn't even recognize herself. Lifeless, swollen eyes, red cheeks, dripping nose. Her normally immaculate hair had mostly been torn out of the ponytail, though the black band still dangled, attached to a few hairs. Tear tracks stained her cheeks and when she brought her hands up to cover her eyes, she felt the stickiness of left over from desolation.

She shook her head, still unbelieving. But as she peeked through her fingers, getting one last look, the truth was personified in her.

Screaming, she lashed out, punching she mirror for all she was worth. Glittering shards rained down, iridescent beauty in her moment of suffering. She watched as they fell, covering the countertop, tinkling into the sink. When she looked up, she saw what was left. Of the mirror and of her.

Only half of her face could be deciphered in the shattered mirror.

And Misa knew that was all that was left of her, now that Light was dead.

End.