FicWad

Little Girl, What Happened to You?

I sat there staring at the question on the test. I don't know what am I doing. What do these words mean? My mind can't seem to process anything. I seem to have forgotten how to read for a minute as all the letters become something foreign. I'm overwhelmed with panic and it feels like my heart might leap out of my chest. My hand was shaking so bad to the point I had broken the lead of my pencil.

I started to regret staying home last week. The Government teacher didn't even bother with makeup work and catching up. My mind started to overthink everything and I was on the verge of panic.

I threw my pencil onto the desk in defeat. What did it matter anymore? Nothing mattered. I wasn't going to do anything meaningful with my life after high school, anyway. I was worthless and I can't accomplish anything. What use was it if I took the test?

I put my head on my desk, covering my face within my crossed arms. Useless, just so useless. The sound of pencils scratching on paper around the classroom made me feel nauseous. It was proving the point of how everyone was better than me. It made me think that I was better off without my existence. It hurts to think that.

It was what I thought the entire weekend and the last few days of school. It was the 4th of December. My father made me go to school after he realized that I wasn’t really sick after a week plus Thanksgiving Break. Those days I avoided everyone and everything. I didn't talk to my family much, and Scott hasn't talked to me still. I can't even look at Gerard or the boys without cringing under their worried stares. The cheerleaders have continued the rumors and approached me with verbal attacks.

It seems that everyone wants a piece of me to abuse, some part of me to hurt even though I am already bruised and tattered. It never ends. I can no longer go on with the emotionless expression on my face.

I did stay home for a day though, because I thought I might’ve gotten a stomach bug after throwing up when I woke up.

The bell rang and some people started groaning because they didn't finish the test. I noticed that Bob was one of the people that did finish the test. I got up and swung my backpack over my shoulder. I dropped the test on the teacher's desk, bearing only my name and no answered questions. The thought of failing didn't bother me much. I didn’t really care anymore.

I walked down the crowded hallway and kept my gaze to the linoleum flooring. I did look up, though, to see Gerard walk into Creative Writing. My heart gave out a dead flutter. I had kept my distance from him. I read his worried text messages but left them unanswered.

I guess I was afraid. Afraid of Brandon hurting me again if I didn't stay away from the boys.

I walked past my Creative Writing class, fully intending on skipping. With him sitting in that classroom stealing glances at me, I don't think I can handle his concern for me. It was so much easier when he was once oblivious to me. I wished my existence would disappear.

I walked up the stairs to the library, hiding in the back again. I sat on the couch and tucked my legs under me. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds around me; emptiness, pages turning, coughs. There was nothing to hurt me here.

My phone vibrated and I pulled it out of my pocket and flipped it open to see a text from Gerard.

"Where r u? R u okay?" It read.

I sighed and put my phone away. Somehow part of me believed that this was just all a joke, that he didn't really care. He just felt obligated to see how I am. But maybe he really did care. I don't know whether I want him to or not.

He sent another text, but I couldn't bring myself to look at my phone. Time passed by, and I nearly dozed off on the couch. I felt so tired, physically and mentally; my body and joints ached and I felt ill at some times during the day. I wanted to be at home in my room under the safety of my blankets where nothing could hurt me.

I spent my entire school time there, walking aimlessly along the aisles of books. The librarian didn't seem to be bothered with my being here. I read a book or two, but nothing seemed to take my mind off of the events around me. My phone vibrated every once in awhile. Every text was from Gerard.

I didn't like this. It was scaring me. It scared me from how much he seemed to care. I don't know how to deal with people who care that aren't my family. It bothered me even more with how part of me was comfortable and somehow fond of his kindness. It was so much simpler when our paths hadn't crossed by chance at the mall those weeks ago.

When the bell rang to signal the end of school, relief washed over me. I wanted to run home and sleep forever and forget everything. My stomach knotted when I realized how disappointed my father would be when he finds out how I skipped my classes. My thoughts drifted when I started to think if Gerard and if I upset him by not showing up to Art class. But then again he could be happy I wasn't bothering him. I'm not sure what to think anymore.

I walked out of the library and down the stairs. The majority of the students were gone from the halls. I walked over to my locker, sighing deeply at the several notes taped onto the locker door. I opened my locker, not even bothering to rip them down. What did it matter anyway? There would be more the next day...and the day after that...and the day after that…

The feeling of seeing not another day of this life...I yearned for that feeling.

“Well, well, looks like a little skank is lost,” I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise when I heard her nasally voice. I turned around slowly to see where Brittany was sneering with five other girls standing behind her. Why did it always have to be like this?

She pushed me, making me lose my balance and fall flat onto the hard floor. She put her foot on my chest to keep me down. “Guess what I heard?” She sneered. “Heard that you were whoring around with my boyfriend again.”

I closed my eyes, wondering why this kept happening. When would the lies stop?

“Hey!” She snapped, pushing her foot down harder onto my ribcage. “I’m fucking talking to you, you little bitch. I’m going to fucking destroy that little face of yours for being a slut.”

With that, Brittany sent a kick to my side. The other girls laughed when my face contorted in pain. Pain flashed over and over again in my sides and legs, my head and arms every time she kicked me. Laughter suffocated me and every minute felt like eternity. Every girl would gibe or make a remark. Every word would drag out by syllables and make me shake with fear. Brittany sent one last blow to my side, close to my left lung. I gaped but no sound left my mouth.

“That’ll teach you from being such a whore,” She snickered, walking away with her group following close at her heels.

I laid there for a few minutes, trying to regulate my breathing. All I could think about was when it would end. I wanted it to just end. I didn’t care how, I just wanted everything to stop. I wanted my life to be without or torment and pain. It wasn’t fair. I picked myself up and tried not to grimace from the pain in my sides. I put my backpack over my shoulders and continued down the hallway. I walked through the doors of the school and onto the sidewalk. The sky was a light gray with a light wind. It was cold and frost covered the grass.

I could feel gloom over me as I walked down the street. My body had a dull ache and I felt ill. I took deep breathes and shifted the weight of my backpack. If anything, I didn’t cope well with having to be reminded that I still had several months of school left, and then another year. How was it possible for someone to continue on in such a pathetic life like mine?

I neared my house and let out a sigh. I just wanted to be home. The sky started to darken and it grew colder. I walked up the path to my driveway and up to my door and unlocked it, going inside. I met the warm air of my house and breathed in.

I closed the front door behind me and trudged up the stairs. No one was home; everyone was busy and wouldn’t be back till later. My legs felt heavy when my feet would land against the carpet. I dropped my backpack by my dresser when I walked into my room, kicking my shoes and pulling my socks off my feet. Snow fell from the clouds outside when I glanced out my window. The purple walls of my room looked faded; so did the bedsheets. The black paint of my vanity was peeling. I hated looking at the mirror above it. I hated who stared back.

The drawings, the pictures taped or hanging from the frame...I hated those too. I couldn’t look at them anymore. Those drawings from when I was little, those pictures of my family, pictures of mom and I, those sketches I did when I went into high school. I hated them all. I couldn’t bear to see the little girl that drew or smiled.

What happened to that little girl?

I tore them all down so they littered the floor. Every single one I ripped down the mirror brought hot tears down my face. What happened to that little girl?

My hands shook when I gripped the last drawing, the one from when I was six. It was awful, childish scribbles of Mom, Dad, Scott, and myself. I ripped it off and held it to my chest, shutting my eyes tightly while I cried. I didn’t want this pain anymore. I wanted my old life, the one when I was whole. I didn’t like this. I couldn’t bear the pain, the hole in my chest. The numbing pain made it hard to even know whether or not if my heart was still beating.

I can’t feel my own heart beat.

I didn’t want those, memories, those reminders, of all the awful things I had endured. I don’t want any of it.

I don’t want this life.

I blindly shuffled out of my room, the drawing still held to my chest. I ended up in the bathroom. I shut the door with my back and locked it. I cringed when I looked up to see my face in the mirror. God, how I hated my face. Those dark bags under my dead, blue eyes. That pale face that judged every little thing about me. Ugly. So, so ugly. That body, that face, that hair, those eyes, those clothes. I can’t bear to look at it any longer; I can’t bear to be myself any longer. I don’t want to have something like me exist.

I set the drawing on the counter, and rooted through the medicine cabinet. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but my hands seemed to know. I blanked out. My vision was blurry. Maybe from all the tears that just poured out? I don’t know. I brushed over a packet of Scott’s replaceable razors and two bottles of pills.

“What are you doing?” My mind asked. I don’t even know the answer

I ignored the voice and stumbled over my shaking legs to the bathtub, my sweaty hands grasping the three things tightly. I settled myself into the tub, resting my head against the cool material. I took my hoodie off and set it on the edge, so I was in my long-sleeved shirt. I nudged the handle with my foot so that the water started to run from the faucet. It was cold, then transitioned to lukewarm. My mind couldn’t comprehend what I was doing, filling the tub with water while I was still in my clothes. I could feel the material of my skinny jeans and shirts stick to my skin. I twirled the packet of razors in my fingers, just getting lost into them. I opened the packet and shook one out. The cold metal was flimsy, but still sharp. I pushed my wet sleeve up to my elbow, ghosting the blade against my skin.

I pierced the skin of my palm with the edge, and squeezed my eyes. Every single stroke, every single line turned into two, four, seven...many. Beads of blood trickled down my skin and into the water. Every cut trailed from my palm to an inch away to the bend of my elbow. The pain numbed with every second. Blood dripped down from both of my arms, red against white. My left hand pulsed with pain, the cuts deeper than any on my arms. I dropped the bloodied razor onto the edge of the bathtub next to the two pill bottles.

My tired eyes gazed upon the orange bottle. The words on the label blurred into one black line when the pain was all my mind could focus on. I reached for one of the bottle and grasped it. I winced at the pain from the cuts. I uncapped it and shook out what was left of the bottle. Ten or eleven red and blue pills. The red ones would make me fly and the blue ones would make me fall. I closed my eyes, hearing the sound of water rushing, the drips of blood hitting the surface. I brought my hand up to my mouth and swallowed every pill. I inhaled a shaky breath and exhaled, leaning my head back against the wall of the tub.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember everything. I thought of my family; Cassie’s little smile and Jack’s silly grin. Dad’s graying hair and comforting smile. Mom’s eyes and her voice. Scott’s teasing and grin. He was going to hate me even more for this. I thought of the friends I made; Bob and Ray’s kindness and love for horror flicks. Frank’s child-like nature. Mikey’s awkwardness and shy smile. And then Gerard...his smile and just everything about him. I couldn’t bear the guilt I felt by upsetting him.

But the pain was all I could feel.

This life wasn’t meant to be lived. I wasn’t meant to be here. I’ve troubled everyone, I made everyone worry about me. I caused people to be angry. Maybe I was everything that the girls at school claimed. Maybe I was a slut, or a whore, or ugly, or fat, or worthless. I wasn’t rare or beautiful. I was nothing. Nothing. How did I survive? How could I live this life with burdening everyone? I was sorry for my birth, for affecting everyone’s lives. Saying sorry to everyone wouldn’t make up for my existence. Just erasing any evidence that I lived on this Earth was enough for an apology. The world would be a happier place. I would be lost into the world, just for the sake of everyone I cared about.

I started to sob quietly. I felt dizzy, and the water was starting to go cold. I could see spots in my vision and my skin felt cold. How long have I been here? Thirty minutes? An hour? Time was an eternity. A minute was ten years. My breathing was lighter and I felt my blood run slower. I wasn’t sure why, but Gerard was what I started to think about, just the little things. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I wanted to tell him everything was going to be all okay without my presence. I wanted him to know that he was important to me. I remembered when I first met him, when I first talked interacted with him, when he held my hand, when he brought me to his house, when he said that he was my friend. I remembered him telling me that I was beautiful, even though I didn’t believe it. It felt nice knowing him.

I just want to hear his voice one more time. Not Scott’s, or the twins’, or my father’s, but his. Why his? I don’t really know.

I reached for my hoodie that was still hanging on the edge of the tub and weakly rooted for my phone. I flipped it open and went to ‘Contacts’.

What was I doing?

I scrolled down to his name and hit ‘Call.’

I felt like I was fading away when I heard the line ring. It was already too late, I was going, I realized.

I heard the line pick up and his voice sound over the phone. I closed my eyes, just hearing his voice.

“Willow?” I heard his voice. My heart beat gave out a dead flutter, the beats slowing down with every dragging second.

My world started to fade away when I whispered, “Gerard…”

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the edge, and I could hear Gerard yelling from the receiver after hearing my voice for the first and last time. I slipped into darkness, his voice the last thing I could carry with me.