This story should last as long as the deepest breath you can take.
Guts
I've only let myself walk these halls a few times and I can tell that they will be forever stained into my minds eyes.
These eggshell white walls, the dirty tiled floors they don't let us wear shoes on. The smell of something constantly on fire.
If I ever got out of here with a right set mind I don't think I'd be able to handle it because of these damned hallways.
The hallways that don't look like your average high school hallways, and nothing like prison hallways with bars on either side holding in the dirtiest of criminals.
No, the hallways that hug the mentally unstable and the psychotic inside.
I was put into this place because they thought I couldn't handle normal. I wasn't fit for society for the things that I've done.
So I'm here. In a goddamn psychiatric ward.
I don't have a mental illness. I'm not sick. I just did something that most people wouldn't have the balls to do.
You want to know something? I don't regret a minute of it.
I think about it every time I close my eyes. The tears and blood mixing together to make a beautiful swirl. How he tried so hard to let me let him go.
I don't give mercy to those who treat others like dirt. I don't do second chances.
Lets get this straight. I didn't kill anybody. I have never had the intention on killing anyone.
Anyways…
People do not change, and you'll learn that quickly in life. Cheaters stay cheaters.
Perfectionists won't stop till they get that last ounce of ecstasy from the Botox they inject into their faces. Addicts will always be jonesing for the next fix.
Its how we grew up, its conditioned. It will not leave the body.
For the rapists, the pedophiles, and the abusers? They should never get a second chance.
If I had it my way, they'd all be booted off somewhere on a island undiscovered and left with no food or water.
Just the survival instincts they think they have until one by one they all drop dead.
Enough about my opinion on things, time to tell you more about who I am and what I've done to deserve the place I've been sent to.
I'm Bella Swan. I'm nineteen years old, going on twenty this September.
Only child of Charlie and Renee Swan. My parents divorced and moved away. I went with my mom and then my soon-to-be step-father Phil came to the picture.
Phil was an okay guy, treated my mother and I amazingly. I didn't want to stay there. I hadn't seen my dad in I don't know how long.
So I moved to Forks, Washington where he resided. I met a lot of new friends, moving to Forks.
Jessica, Eric, Angela, Tyler. I became friends with Jacob Black, an old friend of my dad's kid.
This group of people kept me, in my mind, sane. Everyday we'd have adventures at La Push beach.
Swimming was optional, only because it was always cold and rainy. We'd have bonfires and we'd go to see movies. Normal teenaged things.
My senior year, a new group of kids joined our school. The Cullen Clan people would like to call them.
They were perfect in every aspect I could see.
Every day they'd come into school looking like models right off the damn runway.
Right off the bat it wasn't a good first impression. If you look like you're too good for everyone, you probably think you're too good for everyone.
I'm not cool with that.
What would you know? One of the Cullen's were in my biology class.
Surprise, surprise.
His name, Edward. He didn't talk to me for the first few weeks. I don't blame him. A plain looking girl talking to a hunky model?
Oh, never.
Eventually he talked to me. He asked me a question about our project we were partnered on. Of course I answered his simple question.
Sorry. I am, for some reason, amazing at biology. I just get the stuff, you know?
Weeks went on and we became alright-friends. He introduced me to the clan.
Emmet, Jasper, Alice, Rosalie. They weren't bad. Before you knew it, all my La Push gang and the clan became conjoined.
This is where I should probably end this summary of my so-called life. I can't really concentrate right now.
I get this weird itching in the back of my neck every time I feel an anger pain, as I like to call them, come on.
I just get frustrated for no reason and start scratching at things and punching random objects I can find within reach.
So…I guess you could say I'm not right in the head.
But I haven't told you enough for you to believe that I'm insane. Do I want you to think I'm an insane crazy bitch?
Hell no.
I'm as normal as they'd like me to get. Everyone's 'normal' in their eyes.
I just want to show you my side of the story and the events leading up to it for you to understand everything rationally.
You think only crazy people talk to themselves?
No way.
You wonder things. You think, don't you? Well, in a way you are talking to yourself. Maybe not verbally, but the things your saying in your mind are thoughts.
Words are thoughts.
I just want to make sure people don't think I'm crazy for talking to myself.
The itching again, shit.
I've been clawing at this damn ankle bracelet they've got on me for weeks now. It has so many marks and scoffs from running it against the walls and banging it on bed posts.
I have the worst bruises on that ankle. I just don't like jewelry, of any kind, on my body.
I hate necklaces, rings, bracelets. They don't feel right on my skin.
This is just a piece of jewelry I cannot take off.
I'm rambling. I do that too much. I ramble my thoughts so much, they don't switch off.
In this room they have me in, I only have a bed and a barred window. A sink over in the corner for some water. No toilet.
Bastards.
I'll hold it till my kidneys begin to rip at the seems and then I'd piss myself. I've pissed my bed so many times in hopes they'd move me into a room with a goddamn toilet.
They refuse, I keep pissing.
Cooperation never works here and neither does refusal. You're stuck between a rock and a hard place.
I hope you enjoy this story because it'll only be told once. Maybe I won't be around to tell it again?
One way or another, it will be heard. You won't forget it. Hell knows I can't forget it.
I guess I just need to get it out so that it's a weight off my shoulders. A few pounds couldn't hurt, could it...?
A/N: R&R! Should I continue?