Disclaimer: I do not own the Clique series, nor any of the characters involved.
We All Fall Down
The dim lights flickered violently, casting a sickly glow on the girl's pale face, accentuating the dark cirlces under her forest green eyes. Running a small hand through her limp, brown hair, she sighed deeply, tying the rib cage length strands into a hot pink elastic at the base of her neck. The long, electric blue tips of her finger nails clinked against the dirty porcelain sink, as she took in the cramped, truck stop rest room. Using her arms, she squirmed a bit, adjusting the fit of her bright purple bra, underneath a white lace tank top, the straps of her under garment falling over her thin shoulders.
Rolling her eyes, she cringed in pain as the familiar feeling of nausea resulting from non-stop migraines racked her head, making her hands fly to her hair, tugging, her fingers coming back smudged the same color of the lime green highlights she had put in herself, three cities ago. Her thin fore finger snapped the band of her heather gray cotton boy shorts, before trailing the line of her now-sickeningly skinny thighs. With a grunt of disgust at the small feeling of fine hairs, she disgruntingly lifted her left leg onto the sink, reaching into her black make up bag for a light blue razor, turning the faucet on maximum heat.
She stifled a giggle as the low burping noise came from the tube of make up remover, the creamy white foam making a large circle on her knee. Wiping the cream onto her leg, she tried her best not to slip, as the razor made it's way up her calf, curving at her shin, stopping at the hem of her boy shorts. She repeated the process nine more times, letting out a loud curse when she felt a stinging sensation on her thigh, and noticed the cream becoming light pink, mixing with the blood flowing from the small wound. Slowly shaking her head, she took a hearty swig from the bottle of vodka in her duffel bag, before starting on her right leg.
This had become a regular routine for the now seventeen year old. She had been seen as the weird, almost cool, but not cool enough girl in school, finding solace in herself. But it had not been enough, and she had taken up travel when she finally recieved her driver's license. The night after turning "sweet sixteen", she packed a bag filled with common necessities, stole her brother's Lexus, and left New York for good. A year later, she was twenty five pounds lighter, three inches taller, and stripped of her virginity, her inhibitions, and her sanity.
Looking herself over in the clouded mirror, she felt her blood shot eyes welling with unshed tears. She imagined her brother twirling her around, like he used to do when she was seven, lifting her as high as his ten year old arms would allow. She choked back a sob, silently chastising herself. Emotions were a thing of the past for her; they were selfish, something one only kept to herself, not willing to share with anybody else. She then laughed at the malicious irony of it all. She hated herself when she found herself becoming emotional, thinking it was too selfish, even though she was the one running away, becoming a thief, leaving her family and friends to worry. She was the epitome of arrogance, yet her she was, cursing selfishness in all it's cruelty.
She turned slowly, bending down carefully. Months of vicious, barbaric hands doing with her what they pleased had taken it's toll on her fragile body, as well as her mental state of being. She used to get a high off of the attention men gave her; she used sex as her weapon, the ultimate form of power any women could want. But now, that victorious feeling she got everytime her partner reached his peak was just another sick reminder of what she foolishly left behind.
Her hands ruffled through her bag carelessly, and she was not suprised in the least when she felt the stinging tip of a needle sink into her flesh. Biting back a curse, she sucked on her baby finger, scrunching her face up when the taste of blood registered on her taste buds. Maybe she deserved that; maybe she deserved a twisted reminder that she was still alive, and that she was still scaring her friends and family sick.
The faucet on the sink still running, foggy white steam arising from the stream of water jutting out from the silver spout, she gathered a little bit of water in her hands, and splashed it onto her face. The heat was biting at her skin like an animal, which only added to the mental and physical pain that had built up in her like a fire cracker, waiting for the perfect time to release.
Unscrewing the cap off of the orange cyclinder-shaped bottle she had retrieved from her bag, she looked at the bottle's contents. She looked at the tablets long and hard, until her vision became a blur of orange, blue, and purple, her eyes glazing over dumbly. Without another moment of thought, she sifted five or six tablets out onto her dry hands, a few more tablets falling to the tile floor, bouncing like pearls on fine marble.
She tilted her head back elegantly, letting the tablets sink onto her tongue, dancing around the silver piercing, before finally making their way down her sore, scratchy throat. Her mouth went dry as she fell to the muddy floor, clutching her throat solemnly. In a daze, she saw, but did not feel, her hands go to the floor, mixing in with the blood, water and dirt left there by the restroom's earlier occupants. This is it, she thought to herself, I've gone too far.
She felt as if someone had taken her by the wrists, how small and bloodied they'd become, and begun to twirl her around in the air, like her father would do when she was a small girl. He'd laugh merrily, his cheeks becoming pink, and he would sing to his only daughter. She would laugh harder and harder until she ran out of breath, and still then, she'd join in on the song.
Ring around the rosy! They would happily chant, both slowly becoming breathless, a pocketful of posies! Everything around them would become a blur, father and daughter, complete as one. Ashes! He would emphasize this by swinging her higher, and she would scream with childish joy. Ashes!
The feeling halted abruptly, as she slowly crippled herself into the fetal position, clutching her knees to her bruised chest. I've gone too far, she repeated mentally, shaking her head, silently sobbing, I've gone too far.
The happiness of childhood was gone, gone with her pride. It was replaced by defiance, sorrow, emptiness.
Her vision became blurred, then black, as she relaxed onto the ice cold floor. She licked her cracked lips, tracing the lines in the tiles. Her eyes fluttered slightly, before dark, unconciousness overtook her, enveloping her in it's arms for eternity.
We all fall down.