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It's over, isn't it?
The harsh reality stuns you every time you open your eyes, like cold water thrown in your face. You almost preferred if it was physical, then you could actually watch your wounds heal. But this was a heavy weight that festered, chafing your heart with every breath.
Waking up and snoozing your alarm were painful enough. Even more so that you had to change your alarm song from your previous novelty ringtone. The sound was too reminiscent of… him. Hard enough that you simply couldn't cut him out of your life. Harder still that he's still around, openly smiling with your friends. His and your lives were so intertwined: how cruel it was that things are only almost like they were before.
Is this what death by a million cuts felt like? No matter how many you bandaged, there would be another injury. Salt in the wound. The first wound marked by, "Hey, can we talk?" The second wound being the knife in your back, God forbid he twisted it. The third wound in the soulless smiles he gave you afterwards, avoiding eye contact. The countless reminders of his presence: doodles stashed away, the matching necklaces, his Polaroids littered across the desk. Everywhere you went was touched by his mirage, the echoes of days past. And you were powerless to stop reliving those moments.
You didn't think this was what he wanted, but it happened anyways. You thought he was ready to scale his walls; instead, he took a sledgehammer to yours. You let your guard down only to be seized at your most vulnerable. Is this how he felt, to have been hurt before? Is that why he thought he had no choice but to run? To ruin something at its zenith before it had the chance to blossom into something more?
How could the world keep on turning like it was nothing when you were struggling to even breathe? Getting out of bed was nigh impossible. You didn't feel like you were worth anything, so why even try? Your everyday world tilted on its axis. As far as you were concerned, up and down, left and right were the same. All you felt was overwhelming sorrow drowning your very being.
Every step made you feel like you were falling to your knees. How you longed to be where you thought home was: in his company, fingers entwined, comfort in small nothings. What you had lingered in your mind, wondering if it couldn't always be that way.
Three sharp raps against the door stir you out of your stupor. "Hey, I know you're in there. You need anything?" Deja's gentle voice floated into your room.
The door creaks open. "Leave me be," you mumble halfheartedly, covering your face with the blanket.
Deja merely leans against the door frame. "It's not good to stay inside all the time. Cam's here too."
You groan once more. "More witnesses to my suffering. Joy."
"You can take time for yourself, but you can't hide forever. You know we're here for you," Cam says softly. "You can tell us anything."
Their words just made your eyes prickle with tears. You barely manage to choke out, your voice wavering, "It's fine. It happened. He just… didn't want what we had anymore." Just like that, the tears overflow and dot the pillow.
Cam is there in an instant, pulling up your desk chair, while Deja situates herself on the edge of the bed.
"That's on him," she reassures. "But he hurt you. It's okay to not be fine."
Cam grabs a wad of tissues from the bookshelf.
"How could he say he's sorry… that hurting me is the last thing he wants to do…" You sniffle, accepting Cam's offering. You ball your fists, inadvertently crumpling the tissues. "How can he say he still cares about me when he's the one who hurt me to begin with."
Deja exchanges a silent look with Cam.
"The worst thing is I still think he's enough, but that makes it worse somehow. I just wish…" you sigh. "I wish he would've said something."
Your eyes look up towards Cam after they squeak out a sniffle. "It's not your fault he didn't say anything. But I know that doesn't help right now. You're hurting, and he caused it."
"I just can't stop thinking that somehow it's… it's my fault," you choke out, before Deja sharply snaps her manicured nails.
"Absolutely not. We want you to feel out all of your emotions, which are perfectly valid. What we're not going to do is blame yourself for things out of your control."
"Maybe I could've… been there more for him. Listened. Maybe I was just too much…" Your eyes squeezed close, forcing tears down your face.
You feel a warm pair of arms encircling you, squeezing you in some semblance of comfort. "You are never too much. We love you just as you are," Cam whispers.
You hear a jangle of jewelry, and suddenly Deja is joining you on your bed in the cuddle pile. "We'll get through this together."
Even though nothing has really changed, you feel just the slightest glimmer of hope. One day, these clouds will dissipate. And you know, with all your heart, that Cam and Deja will be there on that sunny day.