Defences Laid Bare
Okay. Take a deep breath. Order your thoughts…let them run through your mind as a river runs through a woody dell…calming voice…
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I don’t think I’ve ever had a calming thought in my whole life. And unfortunately, I don’t think they’re gonna start forming any time soon. Mr. Benner said that I have a hot temper, a ‘tendancy to act and speak before I think’. Yeah, well, I’m thinking now.
She closes the diary with a snap, fingering the sharp silver, testing its point. Sharp enough to draw blood. Is that a good thing? She shrugs an answer, even if the question was a silent one.
Slowly, slowly, the dormitory empties, and she’s left alone. Just her and the knife.
Should I do it? Should I? I could just end it all now… but… There’s that niggle. What will happen after? She still hasn’t solved her problem with Lucifer, and hell really doesn’t sound fun. Funny how I always told people I’d end up there, let people think I wanted to end up there, even acted pleased about it. And now I’m going, I’m prepared to do anything to prevent it.
Silent tears course her cheeks, creating deep channels in the thick white make up, dragging her heavy black eyeliner southwards. All of this, it’s too much. Lucifer, Jareth, Dean, Blair… and now Kelly’s disappeared, and Taylor hates me. The knife clatters to th floor as she clutches her hair, screwing her face up in concentration. Don’t let the bad thoughts take over, think happy thoughts. But try as she might, she simply cannot. There is nothing. Her recent past is bleak, what with the threats from Blair, her argument with Taylor. My best friend wished me away to the Goblin King. It’s obvious she hates me. And Dean…he called me an annoying kid. Even Flash. She sniffs as her nose starts to run. Maybe that’s all I am, just an annoying kid, messing everything up for everyone? Maybe it’d be better for everyone if I just ended it now? She picks up the knife again, her fingers shaking. Never has she been so scared. Maybe a taster first. She closes her eyes as she brings the knife down on her wrist, gorging a shallow cut across it. Blood seeps from it, and she gasps in pain. She clutches at it as blood drips down, and suddenly, she’s almost screaming. She was wrong. This hurts. It hurts so much. She can’t do it. Weak, that’s what she is, weak, weak, weak.
With a gasp, she heaves herself from the floor, and staggers to the bathroom. Once there, she turns on each shower head, letting the burning water drench her. The water, dyed crimson, pools at her feet, stains the white tiles of her bathroom. And suddenly, her rage returns. Why? Why me? What have I done? I’m a good person, I am. She turns her face upwards, letting the water clean the makeup off her face, run into her mouth, up her nose till she can barely breathe. I don’t want to be like this any more. I hate it. I hate me. I want…I want. She wants to be like Taylor, or one of those stupid cheerleaders, or even Rachel. Carefree, happy…normal. It’s not fair.
Her eyes narrow as she steps, dripping from beneath the water. She looks around, hate pounding in her veins, though hate for what, she cannot possibly say. Hate for her situation, her lack of friends, herself.
Soaking wet, she returns to the dormitory, and throws herself on her bed. Moodily, she pulls the fruit bowl towards her, and selects a strawberry. The crimson fruit dngles a millimeter from her lips before she notices the mould. Great, even the fruit’s rotten. Every single, little thing I touch is rotten. She approaches the mirror, at the end of the dorm, staring into it, the fruit bowl, filled with the rotten berries still clutched in her hands. Am I normal? Where’s the mark, the blemish, that makes people target me? I wish I could slip through the glass, like Alice. Just to escape, even for a while… She puts a hand to the mirror, the cool soothing her burning wrist. The blood, already clotting in the wound, leaves an ugly red smear on the glass. It’s everything. Every single little thing. She hurls the fruit bowl, and it falls to the floor, shattering on impact. That was stupid, pointless, but somehow, she feels slightly better for it. She bends down to pick up the shards, and one digs into her wrist, re-awakening the fresh cut. Agony. A hiss escapes her lips, and all of a sudden, she’s crying again. Why? Why always me? Mindlessly, she picks the berries up, smushing them against the mirror, each bursting with a satisfying pop beneath her palm.
Kelly enters, much later. The dormitory is in disarray, she notes.
“Andrea?”
She catches sight of the blood, drips on the floor, the print on the mirror, the berry juice mingling with the crimson smears. The head gir lbites her lip, a most un-Kelly-like gesture, but…she’s worried. She’s seen Andrea bad before, but blood? That’s never been the case before.
She finds her beneath a shower. Her eyes are closed, and she’s shivering, even though the water’s hot. Kelly pulls her to her feet.
“Come on.”
Her voice has lost the commanding quality it usually carries, and suddenly, it’s softer, more vulnerable. It’s the only way she could reach her.
They re-create the mask together. The long black hair is dried, the war-paint freshly re-applied. And whilst they work, she talks, a monologue. She talks of the scams, of the pranks, of the hope for the future. But the emo stays quiet. She still can’t see any hope for the future. There’s her plan…but really, she knows it’s hopeless. And that bleak heat is all she can possibly see. But she doesn’t share this. She can’t. Not with Kelly. Taylor, perhaps…but they’re not talking now. I wish I could… But as Kelly talks, she swallows it all. Her fear, her self-loathing. As the make-up is finished, she’s back, even smiling. Carefully. Not enough to crack the white face powder, her mask guarding her against the outside world. Nobody can hurt her now. She buries her feelings, locking them away deep inside, and fills her thoughts with confidence. Together, the girls look into the freshly cleaned mirror. Both are riddled, plagued with self-doubt and vulnerability. But to the outside world, they are confident, perhaps even appearing overconfident. It is a weakness to give into one’s emotions. One of the lessons she learned at school, and probably the only rule she ever tries to keep to. Kelly, of course, has it down. She is the epitome of confidence, and Andrea, a head shorter, even though Kelly is barefoot, wishes she could be the same. But, it’s time to put her fears aside, and face the world. She pulls her head up, her stomach in, standing tall. She fixes a defiant expression on her face, the best she can do. She tugs at her sleeve, making sure the plaster on her wrist is hidden. Nobody can hurt me. I’m Andrea Norton, and I… she takes a deep breath. I don’t care.