I sit on the floor, weak and simple before him, with the gaping wound in my torso. I watch him lift one bloody hand after another, pounding on the faintly beating heart that he tore out from my chest. He has the look of a deranged lover as his fists come down on the dying muscle. And when my heart is finally purple and shriveled and bloodless, he cleans his hands with my tears, takes her hand and they both walk away. I watch them go. They don’t turn back. Why would they? They left nothing behind. There is nothing for them to see. Nothing to regret. Nothing to apologize for.
I continue to watch their retreating backs, the echoes of their laughter ringing mercilessly in my ears. At first, I remain like this, sitting half dead with my grotesque organ lying on the floor in front of me. The pain I feel is unbearable, unimaginable. I cannot get up, will not get up.
“Really?” Veeka asks me. I slowly look up and see Veeka, my mind’s manifestation of a
n alter ego, the rational side of me who thinks with the head, not the heart. I know who she is, though I have never met her before. She has always been there, lurking in the corners of my mind, cautioning, warning. I pushed her away when she warned me about my vulnerability, shut her out when she told me to guard my heart around sweet talkers like him. But now she stands before me, no longer a little voice, but a visual presence that can not be ignored. She has seen enough.
n alter ego, the rational side of me who thinks with the head, not the heart. I know who she is, though I have never met her before. She has always been there, lurking in the corners of my mind, cautioning, warning. I pushed her away when she warned me about my vulnerability, shut her out when she told me to guard my heart around sweet talkers like him. But now she stands before me, no longer a little voice, but a visual presence that can not be ignored. She has seen enough.“You will sit here and watch them go, bore your eyes into the back of their skulls until they have gone too far and disappear from your sight?”
I continue to look at her but I do not reply.
“Are you waiting for him to let go of her hand and come back for you?” she asks.
I turn away from the truth I see in her face. I focus instead on my bruised heart. Veeka kneels beside my limp bloody body and whispers, “He won’t”.
I continue to look at her but I do not reply.
“Are you waiting for him to let go of her hand and come back for you?” she asks.
I turn away from the truth I see in her face. I focus instead on my bruised heart. Veeka kneels beside my limp bloody body and whispers, “He won’t”.
A new wave of excruciating pain engulfs my entire frame. My heart turns a deeper hue, almost black. My vision becomes a blur. The tears and the pain are beginning to blind me. I hear the bloodcurdling scream before I realize that it escaped from my own throat. The scream drains the last shred of strength left in me. I am left a pitiful sack of bones and skin. Veeka remains quiet and allows me a moment to let out my sorrow, to grief. She watches me closely as my face twists with anguish. And then, after an eternity of pain, she says softly, “Aren’t you tired of this? Aren’t you tired of playing the victim?”
I say nothing to Veeka. My conscience is so tired of having been muffled all this while, she makes no effort to sugarcoat her distaste for my actions. But all I did, I did because I was in love.
“You say were in love. I say you were spineless, foolish, weak, spoony! Allowing him to trample all over your heart like that, in the name of an affection that he did not return. Look at it!” she vented, gesturing towards the large prune-like object that lay barely five feet from were I sat. “Well, no more. There is no one here to take your hand, or carry you, or heal you. Look at me,” I turn to her slowly, weakly, “Get up.”
“You say were in love. I say you were spineless, foolish, weak, spoony! Allowing him to trample all over your heart like that, in the name of an affection that he did not return. Look at it!” she vented, gesturing towards the large prune-like object that lay barely five feet from were I sat. “Well, no more. There is no one here to take your hand, or carry you, or heal you. Look at me,” I turn to her slowly, weakly, “Get up.”
Then, she’s gone. Once again, I’m alone. Veeka has retreated into the depths of my mind, and there she will remain, cautioning softly like before. But I know now that she will not stay quiet if I falter again. I look around me. I see nothing but my heart on the floor. I ignore all the pain I feel as I get up and walk slowly towards it. I pick it up and it feels cold and hard in my hand. I put it back into my chest and wait. Slowly, it begins to pulsate. The blood it pumps through my body is cold and dry but at least it’s alive. It continues to thump weakly. I fall back to the floor. I get on my hands and knees and I crawl.
I am still crawling. Sometimes, I fall down from weakness and pain. My wound is still open. My purple heart still pumps black stale blood. But one day, I will heal. The sore in my chest will close and my heart will be huge and red and pulsate rhythmically with the movement of fresh blood.
