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“She says tomorrow, she don’t wanna wake up.”
At this point in her life, she couldn’t tell if it was really worth it anymore.
Blinds filled the bedroom, as sunlight was absolutely forbidden from being able to peek in Wemmbu’s room. Darkness and the small little lightbulbs from her vanity was the only thing that accompanied the emptiness inside her body and mind. She felt utterly numb, and it feels like she had already lost her sense of touch a long, long time ago.
Everything just became so difficult to do — nothing felt worthwhile to even try. Even moving her body felt like an exercise to do, and it was one of the most difficult tasks she has to do every single day in her miserable, life. It was Friday, and she should have left her house hours ago — but she didn’t. She didn’t wan’t to look at ‘him’ again. She didn’t wan’t to hear ‘his’ name again. And she didn’t wan’t to remember the horrifyingly vivid image that popped up in her mind every night to haunt her in her already terrible nightmares.
The gaze he gave to her made Wemmbu feel uncomfortable when they were alone together. Each step he moved closed to her after class made her stomach drop. She hated it. She hated as much as her mind rejected the overwhelming sensation — her body reacted to it. Every part of her felt geniunely disgusted over herself and her existence in this world. Each move she did made her remember each memory that flashed into her mind.
Almost everything in her mind circled around what he had done. How could he get away with this? As much as she wanted to tell someone, she knew nobody would think it was his fault in the first place. Of course, everything to blame is to Wemmbu when she’s the one to actually tell. They never believed her, and she would highly doubt they will at such a especially strange and ‘disturbing’ story for others.
“They’ll never believe you.”
That’s what he said. Without any actual guilt in his foolish, wretched mind.
All she wanted was to feel loved for once in her life. And it brought her to such a conclusion that she hated how it felt. She hated how easy she got closer to him, and how he made her feel happy, how he didn’t judge her for being who she is — atleast for a short period of time. She hated how she wished it would all go back to normal.
Everything was her fault anyway. She should have noticed the signs in the first place and actually move away before it would have escalated further. But she failed to do so, and she couldn’t understand why — this was practiced and drilled to her for years without and actual end. Every soft gesture that didn’t end with a yell made her chest warm. Every charming smile he gave was treasured inside her heart.
-x-
Long, luscious purple hair covered Wemmbu’s entire face. Pale and soft skin that almost looked like it was sewn perfectly by a literal god. She didn’t know what time it was currently, but all she knew was that she won’t be planning on going to school ever again and probably sign up for homeschooling if she succeeds in not killing herself this morning.
Multiples times this has already happened, and this is already the last straw. She’s already dealing with bullying. Overwhelming amount of classes and studies. Literal five competitions this week. She doesn’t need anymore burdens, yet she gets more and more and more every single day of her life.
-x-
A short figure stood inside of her room, staring into the mirror infront of her body. A questionable amount of blood dripped from from her slim arms. Her white pristine large ass shirt was stained a deep red, as Wemmbu let the overwhelming though satisfying sensation take over her own senses. She closed her eyes, and imagined she was in a life she enjoyed and cherished.
At first glance, she didn’t know why she was looking at the mirror. Seeing her own face and body felt more and more wrong every single time. Her face looked wrong. Her anatomy looked wrong. Though it never changed. She was still an malnourished slim girl who hated life but can never make herself just die already.
The painful sensation from the angry, red and deep cuts from her body felt good to feel — and the blood that trickled down onto the purple carpet beneath her. It felt satisfying, and for once again she felt like the burden of everything was able to go away. Just like every single time she does this. Each cut that formed felt so pretty to her, even if it wasn’t to everyone else when they saw her like this.
Whenever she did this, she felt like a small little flower blooming to it’s greatest state — even for such a short amount of time. The first time she did this, she felt guilt. But now, she didn’t know how long has she been doing this, though all she knows is that she was wrong about feeling guilty over doing it. The best she can figure out is that this is atleast the thousandth time or more.