She felt numb, she could understand that much. Although, she wasn't sure how she knew she felt, or how the words came un-beckoned to mind, unwanted and misused. Lying on her back, in the middle of her dormitory, feeling un-feeling after her latest dream.
She was down there again, in the place where she had died. And he was looking at her, looking at her coldly. So coldly, it made her skin tingle with the chill, and her eyes tear up in fear.
"How can I save you, if you won't save yourself?"
And she couldn't tell him that she had been trying. Trying so hard. Trying too hard. Because like it or not, she didn't want to be save. Salvation was for the strong. She was anything but strong. Strength was for the brave, but she had tried that before. And trying was for the alive; she had been dead for years- dead inside.
She got up each day, and she ate occasionally. She wasn't hungry; although sometimes it felt like her stomach was eating itself. Trying to survive, while the rest of her slowly rotted away. Her body was trying to live, while she decomposed. The thought was ironic, and not a little bit bitter.
It was bitter like the reheated days-old coffee that she hated, but drank anyways. Drank it with 18 cream because there was no milk. She hated the cream too. Cream was for the living; but she wouldn't deserve it even if she were alive.
Sometimes, it was hard for her to pinpoint the moment when she had died, because death is never instantaneous. Maybe she had died in March, March of that year so long ago. Or maybe it was earlier- maybe it had been October. The month of her first soul rape.
Sometimes she hated her brother, and his friends. Sometimes she hated him, for rescuing her already dead body. Sometimes she loved her brother, and his friends. And sometimes she loved him for reasons totally different. But sometimes, she couldn't feel at all.
There were always sometimes. Maybe sometimes was all the time and no one ever noticed because people were dumb as cattle, although they hid it behind their pretty masks. And shrouded their secrets with cloaks. People were better than cows at acting.
She couldn't find her mask when she was alone. She always looked to see if she had reclaimed it, but she never had. But she hadn't checked lately. The last time she checked she broke the mirror. The mirror was vain though; she had to punish it for its vanity. Just as she punished herself for her own sins.
She was alone, and couldn't talk to anyone. Because anyone who might understand had bigger problems to deal with. Or anyone who could help her was watching him... watching him as the pressure slowly killed him.
Maybe they'd pay attention to her if she was beautiful. She longed to be beautiful- it might even make her happier. And she longed to be happy, but the thought frightened her. What would she be without her misery? She'd had it for so long they'd even began to co-exist. She would miss it were it gone.
Maybe she would be better off six feet under. But she knew her family would miss her. She stayed alive for them. They wouldn't understand because they were still alive.
Fin.