Your Whole World Will Be Infected

In times like these, I’m surprised I still hold onto the happiness you left in me. Apparently, you changed me more than I like to give you credit for. That short amount of time was enough. I don’t know how, or what you did. 

I get another blow to the face, almost like I deserve it. Of course, I probably do. These people don’t understand why I stopped fighting, so they continue on like I’m their punching bag. 

“Stop smiling. This is disgusting.” One of them spits in my face before the group decides they have had enough.

I pull myself off of the floor of the gym. This was a usual sight, but today it happened later than usual. I used to be able to predict when they would show, then I would call you about the same time. I remember sitting on your bathroom counter as you frowned, cleaning me up quickly. 

In those times, it was starting to upset you how many times I willingly got into fights. I did it for the fun of it, hoping it would numb some stupid pain. If I was smart enough, I would have realized you could numb that pain. I was too stupid, and arrogant to notice you were what I needed. You turned my shitty life into something more tolerable. I never got to thank you for that.

As I push out the main doors to the school, I walked home, more like limped home. I pulled my right leg behind me, the damage too much for me to even relax on it. 

I allowed my mind to wander. I thought back to when you first moved here in sophomore year. I met you when you were being held against a locker. My dumbass, that was in the mood for a fight, ended up getting you out of the situation. Later that night, you took me out for dinner as thanks.

It, to this day, was one of the nicest things someones has ever done for me. I spent most of the time listening to you talk about you moving here. It was hard to smile in those moments, my jaw being knocked out of place. You swore I needed to go to the hospital, but I refused. 

You went on and on about some of your past relationships and your family. I don’t think you had many friends then, so I was always there to listen. That seemed to be a thing you just needed; someone to listen to you. 

You took some of my worst days and made them my best. I would never admit that to you though. I thought about just leaving that hellhole, but all you wanted to do was stay. I didn’t want to leave without you. 

Now, in my senior year, and you gone, life hadn’t gone completely back to shit. I got a job and moved away from my parents. My grades went from C’s to B’s, and even in some classes A’s. My look on life mostly flipped.

You took my life and held it in your hands like something that was breakable. You treated me like I would shatter at any minute, and took care of me when I did. The nights I spent crying lessened. Often I would end up crying in your arms, which was a nice yet horrible change. I can’t believe I truly was that broken.

I watch the quiet town as I walk back to my house, still dragging my leg. Eventually, I made it back to my apartment. I open the door with trembling hands, hearing my small Yorkie bark in her cage. Dragging myself to the bathroom, I turn on the light. Looking in the mirror, I don’t recognize myself. My hair was choppily cut, and for once I didn’t look tired. My lip is busted open. I didn’t taste the blood until now, after realizing it was my lip is cut. 

I sit down on the lid of the toilet as I look into a basket for simple bandages and medicine to help ease the pain. After you left me, I had to learn how to do this by myself. 

I wasn’t necessarily upset when you left. Sure, everything hurt for a while, but you built me up to get used to the hurt. I remembered your words as I lied on the couch, sobbing one night: “Baby, don’t let yourself get buried in this disappointment. If you let this one thing affect you, your whole world will be infected with this sadness.”. 

I still can’t tell if that was something I should have believed at that time, or if I should of let myself be buried. I didn’t know how to function for the longest time. In all honesty, I didn’t realize you left for months. I just thought you were avoiding me from our last fight, which was reasonable. I called you annoying and a waste of my time. I do regret those words. None of it was true.

I run a cotton swab soaked in rubbing alcohol over my beaten up knuckles. I hiss at the stinging, wishing you were still here to kiss my knuckles. I poorly bandage up my leg and give up on any more treatment. There was no point in trying when my hands were this shaky. 

I let my Yorkie out of her cage and allow her to wander around the house. I should be taking her on a walk, but there is no way I’ll be able to handle that right now. Deciding I’ll just clean up whatever I mess she makes, I slowly crawl into bed. 

I let the pain of the fight and the pain of you leaving me here wash over my emotions. You once told me it was healthy to cry every once in a while, but not healthy to cry myself to sleep. I smile at thought of you telling me to suck it up in your playful tone. I know you would never say something like that to hurt me.

Before slipping into sleep my last thoughts are about the last conversation we had after the fight. 

“Oh come on, Rose, you know I love you.”

“That, you might, but is it enough to make me stay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I turned your life around for you, I led you in the right direction, and that’s still not enough for you. When you are happy, come find me.”