She's running through the city in a rampage

Pressing on her fingers 'til the bones break

There's blood all in her nose from the propane

Bet a needle to skin will make the pain fade

-Chase Atlantic

M A R N I E

My steps were heavy as I made my way to my bed, my shoulders slumping and tears streaming down my face.

Why was I upset? We weren't dating, we were not anything. We just kissed.

We simply kissed.

Arthur doesn't owe me anything, she can go fuck whoever she wants.

I wiped my tears before entering the bathroom. Stripping entirely and then taking off my jewellery, I put my long brown hair in a bun before sighing at myself in the mirror.

I'm tired of the same old same old.

I want something new.

I unclipped my hair as it fell down my back in waves I ran my fingers through it before grabbing a pair of scissors and sectioning my hair.

The first cut was haunting, I was breathing so fast I felt like I would collapse.

I have never had short hair, well not since I was a kid. Ever since I turned 10 I had been growing my hair out, giving it simple trims.

But here I was making the chop near my collarbones.

Ma will kill me.

I sniffled and blinked my tears back. My hair is too precious, if I can't see then I'll be fucked.

I ended up giving myself short hair and going in to cut curtain bangs. My phone rang and rang and rang but I never picked up.

The small pieces of hair stuck to my body as I collected the hair very carefully so that I could donate it.

There was something so haunting about the warm hair on the sheet of paper I had laid out that was now going cold. It felt as if a part of me was abandoned for a part of me that I didn't know. That is how change worked.

I observed it, I had cut more than 15inches off. Oh my God.

I looked at myself in the mirror, sure the cuts were a bit uneven in some places but it was nothing I couldn't fix.

I felt different, I looked different.

I just got heartbroken for the first time. I had never in my life dated, crushed on someone so hard, gone for a weekend holiday with them, watched them sing the songs that were close to their hearts, or made friends with their friends. Never.

Is that too dramatic?

Turning on the shower I let the warm water cascade down my body and take away all the small pieces of hair that stuck to my body. A couple of them pricked me on their way down.

Parts of me that I abandoned came back to hurt me.

I shaved, I exfoliated I did everything because I knew that I may not be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning and I didn't want to feel like ass while lying in my bed for more than 12 hours.

Wrapping the towel around my body I sighed before wiping the foggy mirror with my hands and then doing my skincare.

I've sighed a lot in the past 3 hours.

My phone rang so much that I had to turn it off just as I exited the shower. I had stopped crying, by now I was numb. I was convincing myself that whatever we had was in my head. That she was never my first kiss. The first person I ever held hands with romantically. She was not the first person that I skateboarded a really long time for. She was not the first person that ever made me come. She was not the first person that I felt this for.

I'm in denial I know, I know.

It feels good though. To not let yourself feel. But that was the issue with me I shut the door between what I felt over the smallest inconvenience, and made myself believe that I was being crazy and that it was all in my head. I was scared that maybe when I do want to feel, I won't be able to.

My room was lit up with lamps and candles. Random tapestries hung on the walls. A swing in the corner of my room that I barely used. Lights hanging from the ceilings, plants adorning each corner. A hanger on which all my sunglasses were arranged. My vinyl cupboard just sitting there, not touched for a really long while.

I walked over to it, playing ABBA. My mom used to listen to ABBA all the time which then made me obsessed with them.

Pulling out a piece of paper I started writing.

Whenever I felt as if someone wronged me, I would write a letter.

I would write a letter when someone made me feel on top of the world too. But tonight was not the situation.

Dear Art,

I hate the power you hold over me, I hate that a single word from you can turn my world upside down.

I hate how you look at me in admiration through your beautiful dark eyes because what if that was me being delusional?

I hate your honey-soaked words pouring from your velvet lips because I want to kiss them so hard while my heart breaks.

I hate that I would choose you over and over again in a hundred lifetimes.

I hate how I don't know what I feel about you.

Everything, from the top of my head down to my soul hopes that I will hate you just so I will never have to figure you out.

I hate that I will never hate you enough to leave.

Your lover,

Marnie

As I wrote that I put it inside a pink box named "Arthur fucking Walker". It was ridiculous how many letters there were in the box.

How close she hit to home was also very fucking ridiculous.

I sat there, clutching the box feeling ridiculous because why was I upset about something so small? Upset over someone who isn't mine.

"Fucking get over it," I whispered before wiping my tears and sliding the box underneath my bed.

I turned my phone and saw that Arthur had left me a couple of voice mails.

I sighed clicking on one as I started doing my skincare.

"Marnie, please call me back."

Beep.

Another.

"Marnie, at least let me explain. Please call me back." Her voice was worried. Cautious. I knew that she would never be able to explain. She would just go quiet.

Beep.

"Tesoro, I am so sorry for what happened today. It is not what you think it is. I ask for very little of your time please talk to me." She said her voice desperate now.

If I ask her questions that truly intrigue me she wouldn't answer she would say that, 'it's better if you don't know'. To hell with what's better.

So I did what I shouldn't do.

I called her.

Within two rings Arthur had picked up.

"Mer." She said and I internally sighed.

"Go on, explain," I mutter picking off the chipped nail paint on my fingers.

"She didn't have a place to stay for the night-" Art starts but I interrupt her.

"From the beginning Art," I said monotonously. I hear a sharp intake of breath from her side but I let it slide. Try not to think of what she's thinking right now.

"From where?" She asks and I adjust in my seat.

"From the fucking meeting," I say and I can literally see her body tense.