25 01 2001

Alexa turned her eyes from the computer screen, unwilling to let his simple words rake at her vulnerable heart. She hiccupped. Slowly, the tears began to gather under her eyelids. They pooled and dropped into her folded hands. She quickly wiped them away with the hem of her shirt. This was no way to react over a jerk. “Just walk away. Walk away and forget about him. He can’t and won’t affect you,” she told herself. But for some strange reason, she found herself drawing herself inside — ever closer to her problem. It was so strange, the pain cut her off from normal life, it turned her into a mindless zombie… hollow face, steps leading nowhere, actions accomplishing nothing. And yet, she found herself drawn to that inevitable void. She WANTED to be cut off. She didn’t want to care anymore. She didn’t want to feel. She didn’t mind wallowing in her own misery. Her own pain. Eventually washing in her own blood — her life force. She wanted that. She wanted to be numbed by her pain. She would blame it on him. Blame him for not treating her right. He would see. Unfortunately, because of previous problems, sharp objects werent’ a prevalent entity in her abode. …