What's So Good About Picking Up The Pieces? What If I Don't Even Want To..

"Fine! It's over! I hope you're fucking happy!" I screamed as Andrew walked away from me and to his car. I took off my ring and threw it across the room. It hit the window, bounced off, and landed somewhere in the corner. I didn't care about the damn thing anymore. I didn't care about anything that had to do with Andrew anymore.
I stormed up the stairs, and into the room we used to share. I noticed how empty the room was now, with all of his stuff gone. I bit my lip to hold back tears, but it didn't help. I broke down in the middle of the floor. Just days ago everything was perfect, but I didn't expect it to stay that way forever. But I would've liked it to have stayed that way for just a while longer.
After my crying fit I called Cristy and asked if she could come over, her words were slurred but at the moment I could care less. When she got to my house it was obvious that she was wasted. The half-empty bottle of Bacardi in her hand wouldn't help her much, but I didn't say anything.
"What's up Bre?" She slurred, sitting down and taking a swig.
"Andrew and I broke up." I tried to act chill but my voice cracked and I felt the tears in my eyes.
"I'm sorry Bre, what happened?" She asked, trying to grab my hand but missing it and letting hers fall back to her side.
Then I proceeded to tell her what happened. Andrew had snapped at me, saying he was tired of having to "prove" that he loved me even though I "cheat" and he's still around after everything I do to him. And when I told him sorry all he did was yell some more. "And so I told him we should just break up, he seemed so happy when I ended it. Maybe he never really loved me...maybe no one ever really loved me...and I'm stuck going through the same situation over and over again, never having a happy ending." I whispered, letting a few silent tears roll down my face. Then I thought of something. I hadn't done it in a while, and now I had this odd craving to feel a cool blade against my skin again. I looked over at Cris and noticed she was asleep on the couch now. I smiled, getting up and walking to the kitchen.
I went to the top drawer on the left side of the sink. I opened it and looked at all the different knives inside. I pulled one out and smiled at it. "You're a pretty one, aren't you?" I whispered, turning the blade in my hand, making it shine in the light. I felt like I was separated from myself, watching someone else take over my body and mind. Someone scary.
I went into the bathroom and sat on the counter. I pulled my sleeve up and looked at my arm, showing scars from old cuts. I brought the blade up, pressed it against my forearm, and drug it across, applying pressure the whole time. I pulled the blade away and smiled when fresh red blood rolled down my arm. I did a few more cuts on my arm, and then washed the blood off. I pulled my sleeve down and walked back into the kitchen, putting the knife in the sink. I woke Cris up and told her she could stay in the spare bedroom tonight. Then I got into bed....alone. I cried myself to sleep.

Love, Brenan.