I study my hands – where the fingers meet the palm, the skin is transparent, almost like webbing. I can see my bones if I hold my hands before the light of the red candles that sit atop metal spires. My arms, too...I wonder if it continues.
Suddenly, a white cloth flutters to the ground with the petals, stirring them up briefly before they settle again. I pick it up, and it's a simple little shift, just a little bit of silk that will barely cover me. I hold it up to a candle, but it isn't transparent like my skin. So I stab my fingers on one of the sharp spikes of the iron bed and with my blood stain the cloth red.
Blissful, transcendent sleep – I just can't get enough of it. When I awoke this morning, the sun was shining in through my window. It brought a smile to my face – I haven't been able to sleep past sunrise in a long time. Then I drifted off again.
Lindsay said some things that really pissed me off today. "I hate him! I hate him for having his stupid crush on me. I hate him putting me through all of this. I hate him for making me worry all the time. I hate him for scaring the heck out of me!" "I can't put up with anymore! I am sick and tired of all of this! Because of him I can't function properly at home. I am making my mother mad at me because I am always snapping at her, and it's all his fault!" So shut up already! None of us can understand why the heck he has a crush on you, but he does, so be a big girl and deal with it! You're entitled to hate him, and as long as it's a free country you're free to tell that to whomever you please, but don't be surprised and hurt if we're upset by it! Do you not realize you have no tact, no social decorum, and that you sicken me with your ineptitude? The guy is freakin' depressed – medically diagnosed with depression, no less - and do you think that your spouting off about "If he commits suicide I won't shed a tear!" helps at all? Honestly, who lets people like you out onto the streets? You need to be locked up in a cell with Miss Manners and not allowed out until you absorb a modicum of decorum. (Of course, I think most of the people I know could stand this treatment. Myself included, probably.)
So I thought I was ticked off. But when I showed some of her comments to Bandaid (because these things are meant to be shared...if anyone tells me anything, they'd best realize that Bandaid'll know too, before the day is up.) she was livid and went off on Lindsay like nobody's business. I was in hysterics and Lindsay came to me and updated me, "She called me a b******!....oh my God.....oh my sweet Jesus....she just.......she...." Ooooooo, but it was good. Mean has such a tasty flavor and a kinky aftertaste. "You shouldn't have told her! You should've told her to just talk to me." Sure, I should have, but where the heck's the fun in that? For being selfish, immature brat who can't properly care about the guy who has a crush on you, but still claim to be his best friend – I will make sure you suffer.
I hurt myself today to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real. The needle tears a hole – the old familiar sting - I try to kill it all away but I remember everything. What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end. You could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt.