Enlivening A Dead Heart

[Stinkin' Internet hasn't been workin' all weekend]
Here's another one of my random short short story.
(Dedicated to ChibiHunter, who told me that I "have to post this on my blog." [and who is scary hyper right now XD])

TODAY'S MUSIC:
Hale - The Day You Said Goodnight
(Jus cuz' I'm feeling Hale-y today and this song fits my not-so-bright mood ryt now.)

Anyways, ignore my blah-blah-blah's and get on with the story:

PG for a reason.

Enlivening A Dead Heart

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything. But he believed it happened because of him. He isolated himself. He made himself suffer. For days he had not come out of his tiny room, with doors and windows tightly shut and locked. The air was suffocating. Darkness surrounded the room. Anger and hatred against himself enveloped his body. He was quiet; he hasn’t said anything for days, but his almost-dead heart screamed. It was telling him it wasn’t his fault, but his mind was saying otherwise. He was there. He told him to go. And that’s why he died.
He just stared at the wall. For days he hasn’t eaten or drunk anything, and to him it didn’t matter. If he dies of starvation or thirst, then fine. He deserved it anyways, at least, that’s what he thought.

Days later, he finally went out of his room. He walked to the kitchen and saw a knife. He was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, when he saw a paper airplane on the floor. It seemed to have come out of the tiny kitchen window. He picked it up, and unfolded it, barely being able to read the words because of his lack of energy.

‘GO ONLINE ON YM TONIGHT.’

With his dry, flaky hands he crumpled the note and threw it on the floor.
It still made him curious. Who was this note from? And why should he really go online tonight?

That night, he suddenly found himself on the computer, signing in, though invisible.
PUNKMAN: Y!M STATUS: INVISIBLE
Automatically, as if he signed in as available, a user, whom he he had no idea who (but he or she was added as a Y!M friend and he apathetically accepted) sent a message.
‘WHAT THE ARE YOU DOING THERE, PUNK? YOU HAVEN’T BEEN SEEN OR HEARD FROM BY ANYONE FOR DAYS!!!’
‘Who the heck are you?’
‘Doesn’t matter! Answer my question!’
‘You answer mine!’‘I asked you first!’
‘Whatever.’
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘Answer me, you punk!’
‘Nothing. I have done nothing.’
‘Oh, get a life! It wasn’t your fault he died!’
‘It was MY fault!’
‘NO, IT WASN’T!’
‘Who the h*ll are you to say it wasn’t?’
‘Chloe! I AM CHLOE!’
‘Well, CHLOE, it was MY FAULT!’
‘Listen to me, even if you two didn’t fight, and you didn’t tell him to leave, your best friend would’ve left anyways. He had lost a bet with me, so he had to pick me up and be my personal driver. He would’ve left anyways. He would’ve dies in that car crash even if you two didn’t have a fight and you didn’t tell him to leave.’
‘THAT’S NOT TRUE!’
‘Oh, IT IS! And besides, the crash was an accident! His brake didn’t work! And THAT wasn’t YOUR fault! Now, punk, GET A LIFE! No one’s blaming you except for your stup*d, mistaken self, and you don’t even have a reason to. So, please, I beg of you, to stop doing nothing, eat, drink, go to work, pay your bills, etc.’

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“She saved my life.” he muttered to himself, as he recollected the steps of his recovery from depression and self-resentment that started three years ago.
He slapped himself lightly on his thigh, annoyed at himself for thinking of another girl, with whom he has only chatted once, while waiting for his girlfriend, Claire, to arrive in his apartment for their romantic dinner date.
Soon, the doorbell rang.
“Hi, babe.” he contentedly greeted, giving her a peck on the lips afterwards.
“Hi.” she replied, and then returning the short kiss.
“Come in. Let’s eat dinner in the living room, alright?”
“Sure.”She looked around. Plenty of aromatic candles ignited around the room. As she sat on the couch, he brought her their meal, placed it on the coffee table, and sat next to her.
After finishing their tasty dinner, they just watched TV, side-by-side on the couch, cuddling each other.Later, he informed her he needed to use the bathroom, and he did. When he came back out, she was gone.
“Claire?”
He noticed the light on the kitchen was turned on, and so he walked there. Instead of finding his girlfriend, he spotted a paper airplane. Surprised and suddenly feeling nostalgic, he took it and unfolded it to reveal a note:

‘Did I ever tell you that for some reason, I REALLY hate the name Claire? Call me Chloe from now on, please. And you did well. I’m so proud of you, PUNK.’

His eyes opened even wider. He then sensed someone behind him, and so he turned around and he saw her: Claire—no, Chloe.
She just stood there, smiling with him, as happy tears threatened to fall from her moist eyes.He came closer to her, and put his arms around her, giving her a sweet embrace, full of warmth and tenderness.
“Thank you, Chloe.” he whispered.
They let go and stared at each other lovingly. “For what?” she asked.
“For bringing my dead heart back to life.” he answered.
He saw her lips expand from ear to ear. Softly he whispered, “I love you.”
“I love you more, punk.” was the last thing they both heard before their lips passionately locked, their hearts perfectly alive.

End.

No beta this time, so any errors are mine. (Gomen! Gomen! Gomen Nasai!) [Alas, the hyper diesease has spread upon me. XD]