Quick Short-Story, Split-Personalities, Angsty Love Options

[Sa-Chan]

I think this is about someone with a split-personality...some kind of disorder that messes her up emotionally and what she did to the one person who saw her for herself.

This is very fragmented, and makes little sense.

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"I think...I broke him."

It was just another sobbing cry whispered over the phone to my bestfriend. It was just another sentence pleading for help. I had uttered many words strung together much like this before. This was not the first, nor the last time I would call with tears rolling down my cheeks.

So...what makes this time any different?

I wasn't the victim. I'd hurt someone. Someone who was flesh, and blood. Someone with a soul, someone who ran off of tears as I do. I cared for this person. At one time, I loved this person. At one point in my life, I would have given all I had to help him.

This time you hurt him.

I didn't need anyone to tell me what I did was wrong. That other me inside my head kept inserting snotty, little remarks into my thoughts. Like -she- had never hurt anyone before. Like -she- had never ripped a person's heart out with one twisting, sickening motion. Like -she- had never made a person bleed. Like -she- had never made another person cry.

Never like this, though.

"You broke him, what do you mean?" It was the calm, collected voice of my bestfriend. I hated the way his tone never changed. Never cracked. Never shattered. Not monotone, just...not...real.

How was I suspected to answer that question, anyways? He and my victim were friends afterall. Hadn't he heard? Hadn't he heard? Hadn't he heard the news? The fact that I was just another traitor. Just another liar full of colorful deceptions. Just another person that I hate...

Does this mean...? Everytime you spoke, you never felt a thing? And everything you said, was just another clever cover story?

I couldn't breathe. I tried gasping for the air that would fill my lungs. The beautiful air. -She- was right. I needed the oxygen. I needed it. My lungs craved for it, longed for it. They needed it. My lungs were going to break. Going to...break. Another gasping breath, followed by another, and another. I could feel my eyelids shutting already. I couldn't remember...How did it go? Inhale? Exhale?

"Hey, hey, calm down! Breathe!" my friend's voice was calling, it seemed so far away. So...far...far away. I wonder where he had gone? Had he put me on speaker-phone? Was he...yelling from his room? Was he...somewhere farther?

Listen to him...if you go down. I follow.

A rush of air filled my lungs. I took several minutes to breathe. In...and out. In...and out. A continuous phase. A never-ending tempo. Like a musical instrument. Like the drums. A beat. A never-ending beat. The oxygen felt so amazing...And then, I could see again.

"Are you alright now? Will you talk now?" The voice over the phone once again.

Don't talk.

"Y-yes..."

Don't talk.

"I..."

Don't talk.

"I'll try..."

If you start. It will never stop.

I pressed the off button on the phone, and hung it up. I couldn't try. Not with that nagging voice in my head. I curled up, in a ball. This fetal position couldn't protect me, but...maybe...I could fall asleep. The phone began to ring, and it rang...and rang...and rang.

I counted the rings. One...two...three... It could probably go on forever. Four...five...six... We didn't have an answering machine. Seven...eight...nine... Why didn't we have an answering machine? Ten...eleven...twelve... I'd have to ask Mom about it. Thirteen...fourteen...fifteen... She'd call it to expensive. Sixteen...seventeen...eighteen... Whoever made up numbers must have had a lot of time on their hands.

Like you?

"Shut up..."

The phone stopped ringing. Finally. The noise had been making my head hurt more. Not that it wasn't already throbbing insanely.

You're insane.

"Heh..."

Suddenly! A thought occurred to me. I jumped off of the couch I'd been resting on, and ran towards my room. Throwing the door open, and flicking on the lights. (I didn't even know why I was bothering to turn the lights on. I could find everything I need in the dark.) I ripped pictures of him from my wall, grabbed my small diary and tore it to shreds, took the rose he gave me on Valentine's, and the picture of us together. I threw it into the trashbin in my room and, grabbing the matches from the side of my desk, set fire to our...my memories.

"I broke him. I burn him. I hurt him. I hurt myself..."

And you can never fix him.

"And I can never fix this..."


-Fin (Maybe To Be Continued??)