Amnesia and Star Child

“Great. Just - fucking - great!” I hiss to myself, slamming the door behind me.
I lurch and then wheel - vomiting into the basin until my knees feel weak.
I wipe the bile off my chin and turn on the faucets, washing the putrid muck down the drain, before going over and checking the door.
I lock it.
“Fuck this.” I swear and look back at the mirror.
I look fine despite what I’ve just been doing.
Transfixed, I walk back over to the mirror and glare at my reflection - I can almost see Blue laughing at me, mocking me for being such a tool.
“I hate you.” I whisper.
He smiles.
“I HATE YOU!!!” I’m screaming now - so furious I could - could...
I slam my fist against the glass panel; it only vibrates from the impact.
He’s laughing at me now.
“I HATE YOU - I HATE YOU - I HATE YOU!!!” I scream over and over, pummelling the glass.
I hear a snap - and another, then a few more, but I don’t care - over an over again I smash my fist against the mirror, blinking back tears of shame, hate and agony as there’s another audible ‘crack!’ when my hand collects with the pristine glass.
Even though my head’s swimming in pain I wheel back, throwing all my weight into the next strike - for one last time, my hand belts the glass - there’s more than a snap this time.
I cry out sharply from the searing pain, after a moment, I calm down, breathing through my nose, glaring at the mirror.
“I hate you... I hate you all.” I whisper.
At last I break down, tears falling from my eyes as I nurse my broken hand.
I cry like a baby as I take small steps towards the shower, tears falling from my eyes in a constant stream - it takes me almost half an hour to just step into the shower.
As carefully as possible I let go of my wounded hand and turn on the faucets, turning the hot on full blast and with only a little cold.
I don’t care that it’s scalding; it doesn’t hurt to me anymore.
I slump down and sit with my wounded right hand in my lap and the other supporting my head while I cry.
Who knows how long I sit there, just sobbing, I don’t know when the shower water will run out - I don’t know what I’ll do if it does either. Just sit there like a beached whale I suppose.
I break down in a fresh wave of tears.
Why the hell do I hate myself so much?

~*~*~

“How long has he been in there?” Brad asked Rob.
Rob shrugged.
“Since one I think.” The drummer said.
“But it’s seven now!” Brad wheeled around to look at Rob with a frustrated expression, but he had already walked off.
Brad bit his lip and stared at the door, listening to the raining of the shower on the other side.
What’s taking so long?
He sighed and walked up to the door.
“Hey, Mike - you right in there?” He rapped the door with his knuckles.
There was no reply.
The guitarist stood his ground for a few more moments, before walking to the kitchen and looking through the fruit bowl.
He plucked a key from under a banana and went back to the bathroom door, unlocking it and peeking in, hoping he wouldn’t catch Mike naked.
Or maybe he did want to? He wasn’t sure - but it might be funny.
The scene that met his eyes however - wasn’t so funny.
Mike was sobbing silently, his head bowed and his hand rested in his lap - it looked wrong, deformed beyond sense.
What the...?