That Girl

"That girl is this..." "That girl is that..." That's all i heard when i walked by myself on the street everyday...

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2. Welcome to My World

A headache wakes me up. No, more like a knife in my brain. I groan, knowing it is nobody's but my own fault.

I slide in a black top with the words, "Stuff you" written in white. Black jeans. Black boots. I carelessly comb my black bob, and put on some black lipstick. Spiky bracelet. Gray eyeshadow. A black leather jacket goes on, and i'm in the bathroom, sitting on the side of my bathtub. I sigh, as the pain grows. I open a drawer, and reach for a box. I lift the lid, and take out three objects: a syringe, a clean needle, and a bottle of a drug i don't even remember the name of. I assemble my equipment, and poke the needle into my wrist, my eyes shut. I press the syringe top. Hoping i didn't miss my vain, i take out my addiction and hold a piece of toilet paper againts my bleeding hand, and leave for school.

You might want to know why i do it in the first place. Well, i'll give you 3 good reasons...

One, I'm an orphan living on my own in the middle of L.A.

Two, I am hated at school.

And three, I hate this fucking life of mine...

"Hey, look guys! It's our favourite little goth girl! Come and give us a hug. Come on, weird girl, give us a hug..." they laughat me. I give them a dirty look and stick my middle finger out. It isn't easy being a gothic 17-year-old who self harms and is a dealer. Stuff you, Gretta Maxwell, just like my shirt says!

"Gretta Maxwell! Stop your daydream and answer my question!" i hear in the middle of a history lesson.

"Erm... could you please repeat your question, sir?" I ask, having no idea what he's talking about. He just points to the door and i know exactly what to do. I grab my stuff and leave the room. I'm supposed to go to the headmaster's office, but i don't bother. I sit in the girls toilet, take a pocket knife out of my bag, and cut 17 lines on my wrist. One for eac year of the life i no longer wanted.

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