After she had no more to write, Clara closed her notebook and continued to just sit there.
She leaned her head back, against the wall, and felt the cool from the winter beyond it awaken her senses. It felt good against her hot, blushing skin.
Clara felt her gaze drawn down to her wrists and pulled back the long sleeves of her black, hoodie. The pale white of her skin there, was disrupted by jagged red lines that had been cut through her skin. Some of the lines were darker than other, more recent, and others were as faded as they'd ever get, now just white lines that would continue to haunt her.
Clara closed her eyes as the words and feelings all rushed back to her, like a slap in the face. She could see and hear the names they've called her, swimming through her mind.
She could still hear their voices as they yelled at her, taunted her.... left her, because they believe in what everyone else thinks.
Slut, whore, fat, ugly, useless, annoying. Were only a few of the things she'd heard.
Sometimes, it wasn't even school that Clara worried about, it was going home. At least at school, it didn't matter what people thought, most of the time they didn't even know her. Clara never understood that, why people would judge her, even if hey didn't know her, had never even talked to her, but they still thought they were right.
Because of all the bullying and all of her mistakes, over the last couple years Clara's social anxiety had gotten so much worse.
She barely talks to anyone anymore, what's the point, they'e just going to leave or betray her, or worst of all... she'd end up hurting them.
She sits in every class and just zones out, or reads, or writes, anything to keep her mind occupied from her thoughts and from the people around her.
The scars she sat staring at, they were just a reminder of how broken she was, and of everything she'd ever done wrong.