Bella was brittle. She was rough and cruel, and breakable. Things had just gone all wrong. Life had not gone her way. Her eyes were sharp as glass. Her gaze was wary, flitting about. They called her paranoid. She just laughed her grating laugh and waved them off.
She was ruthless and vile. Remorseless. She did what she wanted.
She especially loved snorting lines at three in the morning. Even more so, she loved the way it made her feel. The maniacal laughter, the soaring high.
Her skin was cracked and dry, her teeth and nails yellowed. She liked her cigarettes.
She was splintered. A fissure in her mind. There was the old Bella, and there was the new. The old had been replaced with a hollow, soulless thing.
She rarely showed at school. Maybe once a week. And when she was, there was always a scandal. Last month it was her getting caught with two seniors in the locker room. This month, it was her doing lines in the bathroom. No one knew how she remained in school. They only had their suspicions.
No one tried to stop her descent to rock bottom. It was as if they feared her, which in a sense they did. She was fragile but she was strong. The glint in her eye was chilling. Sick.
They called her that; sick. They whispered it as she stalked down the hallways chewing an unlit cigarette. She just laughed her grating laugh and waved them off.