Empty bed:
356 Words
P.O.V--Quintana
Finally waking up, I stood up from the bed, cautiously away from Ishmael. He never allows me to get out of bed, he was always possessive, even when we were kids. I even remember this on time:
As I updated my status, I began reading my stories on w*****d: ‘Silent and Deadly’ by @SA_Jinxley, this was the first and the last book in this emotional drive rollercoaster. I knew I should go back to Ishmael, in his sleep he could sense me not being there, and his body goes into a traumatic state.
Moving back towards the room, I was already washed, dressed {a black jeans, a olive green checked shirt over my white tank top, and my white/green} and getting my books for class ready. My eyes fell on the bed, but no sign of Ishmael. Moving further into the room, and I began to worry. Ishmael never leaves the room, unless he has to leave to go to work early. But even if he was going to work, he’d tell me, and then go.
Then I started panicking, my breath began to hitch, and my knees were trembling unable to hold my body weight. I soon found myself in the corner of the room crying, I cradled myself, rocking my body back and forth.
I muttered myself soothing words, usually Ishmael does it, but he wasn’t here.
*Maybe he left you, you aren’t good enough*
“Shut up, shut up!” I shouted, not at anyone in particular, but to myself, I hated myself, I hated who I was, who I became.
Moving to the drawer, I pulled out: ‘Old faithful’, Ishmael proberly missed this one when trashing them.
Although why would he care? He wasn’t here to stop me now. Was he? No. I was in control. Me, Quintana Cult.
*It’s time*
Said my mind. “I’ll do it for you, Ishmael.”
Moving the object to myself, I did it repeatedly until darkness swept over me, and I blacked out.
*Only for you, Ishmael*
- Writer
