2. Questions. (may be triggering)
Questions. (May be triggering. Read at your own risk.)
She sits at the back of the room. Hiding, worrying, thinking. She feels people staring, she pulls her hoodie closer hiding her hands in her pockets. 'Why do you wear a hoodie? It's hot.' She's constantly asked, she just shrugs with a smile on her face saying, 'it's comfy.' Then the subject is dropped.
She goes home, her headphones in her ears, blaring Pierce the Veil, Sleeping with Sirens, and so many others. 'Why do you listen to that? It's not even music!' They question. She just shrugs and with a smile says 'I like it.' A few scoffs are heard, a few disgusted faces are seen, but the subject is dropped.
Her wrists are covered in bracelets, 'do you ever take those off?' They ask, she rolls her eyes, with a smile on her face and says, 'nope.' They ask why and she shrugs and says she likes them.
But truth is, the hoodies, they're like a security blanket. The music, her saviors. The bracelets, they hide her secrets. But in her room, the hoodies are taken off, her saviors forgotten, the bracelets thrown across the room as she stares in the mirror. Looking at each and every scar, recalling exactly how it was made. Finding each and every flaw. 'Why me!? What have I done! Why am I so ugly!' She screams as she pulls a blade out and slices through her skin. Watching as blood slowly gathered in the fresh wounds, then spills out. She smiles, looking at her art. And releases a sigh of relief. For now, and only now, she's happy.