Authors Note: Hey there, Thanks for lovely review on some of my stories. This is a bit more of a dark/dramatic story. It doesn't take place in a certain episode. Hope you like. Or love. I'd prefer love. Because I love you. Do you love me back! Just review to prove it. Now for the beginning of the story.
"Hey Jade, I need your help with something…" Trina said running down the hallway to Jade's locker. "Try on this bracelet on; I need to see if it looks good on you."
Trina was in charge of creating costumes for the new school musical at Hollywood Arts. She thought she had a natural talent for creating costumes, even though she never created a costume before. Not even for Halloween.
"No, why are you even in charge of costumes? You never created one in your life." Jade slammed her locker shut and started to walk away, but Trina grabbed her wrist, causing Jade to shriek.
"OW! What the hell are you doing?" Jade yelled, startling Trina, who instantly let go of her wrists.
Before Trina could say anything else, Jade walked away.
"Ugh, what's her deal? She'll try on this bracelet one way or another." Trina promised to herself.
"Hey, Trina, have you seen J—Whoa! What's up with your hand!" Beck said, staring at Trina's hand. Covered in something dark and red. Blood.
"What are you talking-", Trina started, but stopped when she looked at her own hand, dripping in blood. "I-I don't know how this… I touched Jade's wrist when… Jade!"
"Oh no," Beck rolled his eyes and groaned, "Not again. Where did she go?"
"She went to the bathroom. Eww, she seriously needs help, that freak." Trina said while walking away and rubbing the blood on a nearby students backpack, as if it was just water. Then the bell rang and everyone started to rush into their classes. Beck waited to see if he'd see Jade going to Sikowitz's class. No luck. He reluctantly went to class.
Jade's POV
Scissors, in my hands. Blood, coming from my wrists. Tears, coming from my eyes. Why can't I stop? I mean, this is pathetic. I'm in a bathroom stall, all alone, with the door locked. But, it just feels good. And right. I'm basically letting out most of my anger out on my wrists. That's a plus. Right? I just have too much on my hands now. Homework, a boyfriend, being the star in a play, pressure from my family about not being "enough". What am I, then? Am I just a piece of nothing to them? I slashed my wrists, more and more. Thinking of my crappy parents and their lack of respect for me. Tiny droplets of blood fell to the floor. Wait, did I miss class? Shit.
I went to the sink to clean up my wrists and to wipe off my blood-stained pants. I pulled down my long-sleeved sweater, unlocked the bathroom stall and walked to class. I hope motor mouth Trina didn't say a word to anyone, or else…