My stomach tightens and coils as I convulse on the ground. My body shook violently as I curled tighter around myself. My knees met with my chest, as my hands meet around my covered legs. I looked at the knife that had cut my delicate skin. The voices taunted me.
“C’mon. Do it again. It feels good to release the pain,” the voice hissed into my ear as I bawled into my soft shirt. The black sleeves caught my tears and the carpeted floor caught my blood. As I wailed into my arms, my left arm dribbled blood.
“I just want it to stop,” I mutter as I drag my right wrist’s sleeve across the under sides of my eyes, drying away any newly fallen tears. As the sleeve soaks with my tears, I scramble to my feet. After I stand, I make my way to the bathroom.
I stare blankly into the reflecting glass. My once vibrant and groomed red hair was now dull and matted. As I attempt to fix the knots and bumps, my fingers get caught in the mess and pull several strands of my once beautiful hair.
“Ow,” I mutter as I free my hands from my rat’s nest of hair. After setting them free, a sharp sting arises from my left wrist, reminding me of my newly made cuts. I grab my wrist, hoping to stop the pain from lasting longer than should be. After I turn on the cold water, I pull my sleeve up farther, revealing more cuts from previous times.
My wrist stings as the freezing water runs over the wounds. “Hnng,” I groan as the stinging soon subsides. I quickly grab the towel and pat dry the still bleeding wounds. The blood escapes from the little slits and onto the grey, plush fabric.
I breathe in slowly as I remove the towel from the cuts. I exhaled in a broken pattern as I turn around, facing the reflection that tortured me daily. “Why must I look at that?” I question myself as shut my eyes with a tight force.
As I reach out, my right hand bumps against the white, broken cabinet that held my daily supply of gauzes and bandages. I look back towards the now open cabinet and reach for my gauzes. As I reach for it, my wrist dropped little beads of crimson onto the floor. After grabbing the gauzes, I wrap my injured forearm. The blood slowly began to leak through the first few layers and onto the outermost layer. Instead of looking at the stupid injury, I pull my sleeve down and hid the wound from the cold, cruel world.
“Soon,” I quietly said to myself as I walked out of the little room, turning the blinding lights off behind me. As I walk down the hall, I force an all too familiar smile on my face and ‘perk up’ my attitude. I hid my eyes away from my family, simply because they can tell my story in my eyes. The pain of the unknown to them bulged in my stomach. I clenched my hands around my stomach and cringe as the pain grows.
“I’m gonna go,” I say quickly before they can say anything back to me about my pain. I run through the open glass door in the kitchen and into the dead grass surrounding our house. As I made my way to school, I soon remember my bag sitting on my bed. “Shit,” I say as I stop, my head looking back to the house only a few blocks back. After a quick run back to my house, I shuffle back to my bedroom window, and climb through. The shattered glass lightly scrapes against the crotch of my jeans as I finally pull my other leg through. Hopefully my family wouldn’t notice the noise coming from my room as I grabbed my bag.
After grabbing the tearing bag, I hurried out of the shattered window and back on my way to school. As I run along the path to school, the late bell starts to ring the casual Dong, Dong, Dong. “Crap,” I say as I urged my already tired body to the cold, cracked building I have dubbed ‘Hell.’
As I break through the double doors, three girls stood in my way to my homeroom. The leader, a blonde with strangely entrancing blue eyes, stared back at me, a sly smile caressed on her delicate face. Her blonde hair bobbed in sync with her tiny skirt. Her arms crossed as she came closer to me, her perfume causing me to gag in the process.
“Taylor, what do you want?” I ask timidly, avoiding the eyes that held more secrets than I could ever hide. I hang my head, my chin meeting with my chest, as my eyes looked around on the floor, hoping somehow the white tile will engulf her, dragging her to Hell.
Taylor uncrossed her arms and brought her delicate nails to my chin. As they pierced into the soft flesh, her force brought my head up, causing me to look straight into those eyes. She softly said to me, “How are you, Lynn?” Her smile grew more, ‘sincere’ as she asked softly. The two other girls stood in their positions behind her, snickering softly as they spoke to each other; their voices were too soft to make out, but I already knew it was about me.
I answered quietly back to Taylor, “I’m fine. May I go to my homeroom?” I ask her, my dull grey eyes looking to her, hoping for a single shed of mercy for just this morning.
Taylor sunk her claws into my skin deeper than before, and brought my head close to hers. “Fine. But remember this act of kindness from me. Now get going you little whore,” she hissed lowly into my ear. As I shut my eyes tight, blocking her out, she released me and shoved me to the ground, making me fall fast to the floor and scattering my things. I was lucky this time not to have lost more blood or received kicks from her this time. Or to have had my belongings torn or broken.
I landed roughly on my lower back on the cold white tile. A dulled pain erupted from the already bruised spot, as I scrambled to get up. After I collected my things from the hallway floor, I shoved them into my bag and hurried to my homeroom class.
I quickly enter, my entire mind and body a scattered mess. As I turn around to shut the door, my teacher tapped on my shoulder and whispered to me, “I need to see you after class,” he said quietly as he led me to my seat in the back.
The entire class period, I wrote a small story about a young girl, living a tortured past. At the age of eleven she was rescued by a kind heart, and that same kind heart turned around and took advantage of the little girl. After persuasion of The Voices, she finally freed herself from the dark place she was born into.
Finally the bell rang, and almost everyone had left by the time the teacher called me to his desk. His deep voice was low as he told me, “You have been missing my class a lot lately, and you have yet to return any of your homework or anything. As of now, you are failing my class,” His blue eyes looked into my dull, grey ones. I looked down at the floor and muttered an almost inaudible, “I’m sorry,” my voice cracked as I responded to the elder. “You must stay here after school for detention. I’m sorry, but it’s the consequence for your laziness,” he said as he dismissed me from his room.
As I left the room, I groaned at the thought of staying longer in Hell. What was worse though, was the fact of disappointment in my parents’ eyes. “I’m always a failure,” I mutter as I hang my head, my hair draping around me to shield my eyes from the people passing by.
When I finally reached my locker, Taylor and her best friend Tabatha, hovered around, taunting me to ask them what the hell they wanted with me. I looked to them with pained eyes, and said with a scratchy voice, “Please move. You’re in front of my locker.” They both looked at me and laughed. Tabatha looked at me with her olive green eyes and said, “Whatever, loser,” her voice taunted the voices in my head again. As I looked away, Taylor snapped at me. “Fucker! Don’t you ever look away unless we say so,” Taylor’s claws dug into the familiar spot it had been in only an hour before. The sore spot rang with ache as she dug her nails past the point of drawing blood.
I squeak as the blood falls from under my chin and onto her hand and the floor. I start to shed pained tears as she pulled her hand away quickly. “Eww!” She squealed as she shook her hand, trying to get rid of the blood caught under her nails. I force my hands to my chin to stop the bleeding, hoping it would end sooner than the last few times.
As I held my hands to my chin, the blood fell through and dribbled onto the floor. Taylor looked at me with those eyes again, except of the fact that an intense rage burned inside of her. “You little twat!! I have to go clean my nails, AGAIN!” She yelled at me, her voice rising in pitch and volume as I stood there and absorbed the abuse.
Finally the bell rang for the next class, and she and her friend left me. My stomach fell as I knew what the voices were telling me. “I can’t take this anymore,” I said as I broke down, my voice cracking as I sunk to the floor. I curled into a fetal position, and dug my head into my arms, hiding the visible pain away.
As the crying softened, I felt a light, but welcoming touch on my arms. There stood a rather tall teenager. “You okay?” His voice was deep and smooth, welcoming to the ears.
I shook my head ‘no’ as I dried away the tears. He knelt down near me, and used his own sleeve to help dry my wet face. “C’mon. Let’s get outa here,” he says to me as he takes my hand and leads me out of the school. I shield my eyes from the bright sun as he led me to his little white car.