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The flowers died last monday. I know I’m an idiot for buying them but, I felt like if i didn’t he’d hate me. He’d never hate me. He was in love with me and I am in love with him. I remember every single detail about my time with him. How he was aggressive, how his hair looked wet, how he whispered to me, how he’d glare at me with hatred as I actively tore myself to shreds. The flowers were a light purple, I can’t remember what kind they were because as soon as I set them down I refused to look at them till now, and now they’re dead. I don’t want them back. I’ll have to spend another set of agonizing time avoiding them. I hate him. I hate Kaworu Nagisa. He’s nothing to me now. He’s nothing at all because he’s gone. I like thinking about how his hands ran across my skin when we laid in bed with our lips touching each other's, no one knew. He stared so deeply into my eyes, it was like a promise, but when I watched his eyes become glossy I knew that he would never keep the promise. Then I hate to think about that one night. I’d harmed myself before. Of course I had, but he watched me. He stared down at me with pity, as he watched me run a sharpened piece of metal I’d found across my skin. My thighs. He sat down below me and wiped away the blood, then he took my tool and pressed down harshly across his bare chest, a wound exposing everything, a wound so deep at the time I couldn't bear to even consider why he’d done that to himself. He knew I was thinking that. He knew everything about me, I still know what his voice sounded like as he told me.
“I couldn’t breathe.” He told me while unfathomable amounts of blood dripped from his chest, the streams of fluid running down his pale and smooth skin. As me and him sat there I finally noticed the mirror. My eyes were sorrowful and wet, tears streaming down my face, I didn't even notice till now. Kaworu sighed.