There is always a breaking point lurking in the shadows waiting for the opportunity to send everything so carefully constructed crushing down into flames and destruction. No matter how thick the walls, there is always a fault leaving them frail and susceptible. Deceptive walls giving a false sense of security that itself exists as a weakness when so much faith rests upon them to protect and shield. Such is the way faith generally goes, full of betrayal and disappointment and abandonment to the stark reality that everything and everyone will always prove faulty and illusory.

Breaking points, the bane of existence and one of the few sureties of life. Sureties of life. Pain, suffering, and betrayal. And breaking points. The beauty of cold detachment is the ability to finally see the truth and reality of life. There's no reason, no purpose for it. Every day just one more day in a series of days that all end without a point. The great lie that everyone swallows. There's a point to it all, a great purpose for all the misery and hardships. Lies meant to control the masses, to keep people complacent and believing that at some point things will change for the better.

The greatest lie of all. Nothing ever changes for the better. It's all just one steady decline, one tragedy woven into a thousand other tragedies. A reason for it all? Only if life has a sense of humor because it's all just one sick joke. A sick, cruel joke. Reason? Tonight's reason, the reason for all this, betrayal. Stupidity. Naivety. And a phone call better left ignored.

Friday night coupled with graduation and raging parties of drunken teenagers. Kind of a cliché really. The best friend and reluctant crush. The sensible one and the reckless one. A horrible cliché yielding a somehow shocking climax. Surprising, unsuspected. A sick, cruel joke.

It's almost beautiful, the startling contrast of crimson blood against shiny white porcelain. Tiny droplets giving into widening splatters and soon forming streams down the porcelain flowing into the drain. Light reflecting from the razor flashes across the mirror, distracting. Lacking the distinct impact of blood on porcelain, the contrast of swollen red eyes and faint bruises against too pale skin is more haunting than beautiful.

Haunting and barely recognizable. Same dark veil of ebony locks framing the face, but the jade eyes peering back lack familiarity, seemingly devoid of all emotion and vibrancy. Dull and fading. Life already fleeing their depths and sinking into oblivion.

Doors opening and closing downstairs. Laughter and voices drifting through the vents. Steps resounding off the walls and drifting down the hall, growing louder and clearer nearing the bathroom door. Knob turning and catching on the lock, followed with the faint nock against the thin wood door. "Sis, you gonna be long?"

Knees buckling and legs folding against the floor. Cheek pressing against the coolness of the wall. "Stormie, you in there? Hey? Come on, I really need to use it. Stormie?"

"Rob… Robbie?" Barely more than a whisper, his name lingers, silence following. Eyes closing in acceptance, strength draining into compliance. Everything just slipping away. Sureties in life. Betrayal, pain and suffering, breaking points, and finally the end of everything.