WHEN he saw the way her brown orbs flickered to the side, not daring to look at him, he knew. He wondered when she had realized it. When she had made the conclusion. Why she had made the conclusion. The conclusion that they were over.

Every atom of his being wanted her to tell him a lie and stay anyways. She wouldn't though, because he wouldn't make her. There was a maddening part of him that wanted her to rot for doing this. That wanted her to ache the way he was aching.

He begged her not to hurt him. All she could do was grip him by the shoulders and leave drops of salty tears against his collarbone. He wrapped his quivering hands around her, eyes wide and jaw slack. He was in a state of shock and hurt, yet there he stood, comforting her for breaking him.

He could feel it. His chest bursting, ripping apart. Her fingers clutched his shirt, clawing at him. Begging him to speak.

"It's hard to be with you," she cried out, voice muffled.

It's hard to be with someone who's not stable. Who runs out on the highway randomly, hoping for a car to hit him. Who sees things that aren't ever there. Who can barely keep up with when to take his meds.

Did she think about how hard it was for him? To accept the fact that anyone whom he had ever come to know left because it was "hard"? Now she was just another name added on to the list.

"Okay," he mumbled.

That's not what he wanted to say. He was sorry, sorry for burdening her. Sorry for being the way that he is. He had gotten treatment many times in the past, but that didn't stop it. She though, she had made him a little bit better. And now she was leaving.

"I love you so much, god, you're everything to me. Everything. I don't want to do this," she blubbered. "I'm sorry."

He held on to her tightly, as if that was his way of trying to tell her he didn't want her to go. Why was she ever with him in the first place? She knew from the start that he wasn't like everyone else, that it wouldn't be easy. Why couldn't she have saved him from this feeling of misery?

She moved away from him, adjusting her disheveled appearance. Walking over to his cupboard, she opened it up and grabbed the sertraline bottle. Spinning around the cap until it came off, she headed back over to where he stood in front of his breakfast table, frozen. She placed the bottle down on the wooden surface and slid it his way.

"Please don't ever forget to take these," she whispered. "It was real, this was real don't forget that."

That was the last thing she said. The room went cold, he tilted his head up and looked around, wondering when she had left it. Then he reached out to hold something, for he could feel his legs buckling underneath him. He accidentally grabbed the opened bottle as he collapsed onto the tiled floor. The pills splattered out, rolling. His emotionless eyes rested on them.

They all mocked him.

And he lost his mind another time that night. Hit after hit after hit, he kept going until the wall pummeled inwards. Debris scattered around his ankles, falling onto his feet. White chips of paint began to float down. He looked inside the hole. Emptiness.

He began to choke on his solitude, slumping down and sitting overtop the mess he made. His tee shirt was now stained with the aftermath of what he did. There was blood on his hand, he thinks it's his own. It's trickling, splattering slowly on his cotton briefs.

He cried out. Oh god, he could almost taste it, the sadness. It settled on the tip of his tongue. He tilted his head back. This body was not his, it was nothing but a mere skeleton.

Yet no matter what form he was in he could and would always still feel her in his bones, lingering on, crawling towards his brain. Rattling inside him. Urging him to forget the disgust and rage she caused.

Slowly, she reached where he tried to keep her out, and then suddenly he couldn't remember what it was like to not love her. Because there was never a time when he didn't. It had always been there, blooming, becoming.

He tried pushing her away, but then he became hypnotized once more. She soothed him, hushed him, took care of his throbbing knuckles. She bandaged him up, kissing the bruised parts. She brought him to his bed and tucked him under the sheets. She slid in after and positioned herself against his back. She engulfed his soul and urged him to fall into a peaceful sleep.

His eyes remained open, basking in her embrace. Wallowing in the art spoken from her lips, caressing his skin. She stopped lulling him, allowing him to stay awake. She fed him affection.

He knew this was madness. She was his madness. He was far too deep to pull away. To shout at her, make her feel what she did to him. She knew it too, she used the love he still possessed for her against him.

"I thought you left me."

"I'll never leave you," she cooed, moving so she hovered over him.

When her lips touched his, he fell into his own utopia. A smile formed onto her face, for she knew he would never be able to rid of her. She would always be with him. In mind, heart, body, soul, spirit − she would never leave.

She wrapped around his trembling body, numbing what hurt the most. And then she opened his mouth, and she grabbed the bottle. Pill after pill after pill, she slid one in. Her eyes twinkled as he swallowed each one.

Pain does many things to people.