"What would it take, for things to be quiet?"
Those words struck deep with her.
It was the song blaring in her headphones.
"What would it take, for things to be quiet?"
What?
"I could...
I could...
I could be better!"
She knew she could be better. It was there to.
She had already found a raspberry bush.
She had already purposely scraped her arm.
It didn't bleed.
She wished it had. She wanted it to drip through her finger tips onto the ground.
She wanted to bleed.
She wanted it so bad.
She wanted him to feel bad.
She wanted him to see what his accusations did to him.
He had so simply implied it was her fault. It was such a simple, stupid thing.
Internet.
It had all vanished, but she had not done it.
It was so damn stupid, so damn dumb.
Why was she crying?
Why is she so damn weak?
This was beyond her, but her tears were leaking out.
She had removed her glasses, and her black makeup ran down her face.
Lines, following her tears.
Following her sorrow.
She hadn't wanted to cry. She wanted to be that one who was strong willed, helping the others.
No. Here she was, alone in the woods. Hurt, but not bleeding. Why didn't it bleed?
Why...
Why...
Why did he blame her? Why was he so agitated.
He could have spared her.
He could have left her just leave the house without that remark.
The painful one that stung her.
"Why didn't you do that before?"
The internet.
"Unplug it before you did that..."
The pain.
It was so stupid! Why did she have to cry?
Why the hell!
Other people felt had worse experiences!
Their fathers could have beat them!
Mine just hurt her inside. Blamed her for something she didn't do.
Her makeup was worse.
She had wanted to look pretty today, I mean it was her Sixteenth birthday.
Sweet sixteen, huh?
Not for her. It certainly won't be one to forget.
She got a text from a friend.
"Happy birthday! Hope it's fabulous!"
Tears amplified. She cried harder.
"It isin't" she cried at her phone.
"Thanks! It sure was/is!" She sent back.
Her arm still wasn't bleeding.
She thought about punching a tree.
Didn't. It wouldn't make her bleed.
She looked at the sky, closed her eyes.
Her earbuds fell out.
It was finally quieter.
"Why are you crying?"
She looked back to see a boy with a hood, cat eyes ablaze with red.
He hugged her.
She hugged him.
She cried into his shoulder. Hot tears.
Cold pain.
"Shhhh..."
It was Kano.
She smelled his sent, breathed him in.
Never letting go, never wanting to.
Crying.
"It'll be okay..."
"I'm here..."
"I'm not leaving."
Voice soft.
"Please don't."
Tears.
He pulled back.
He was not there.
Was never there.
He was fake.
Fiction.
It wasn't a happy ending.
No one came out to hug her, tell her it was fine.
He doesn't exist.
Won't ever outside of pictures.
Her tears had run out. Nothing left.
Fake person gone, real person not coming.
Never coming.
Cold wind, Un-bleeding arm.
Happy Birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
It was a lie about the tears.
I still cried.
I have to go back.
Have to go live my version of a 'bad ending.'
I'm sorry I cry over the little things. When other people suffer worse than me.
Mom won't sympathize.
Dad's the problem.
No one to cry to.
No one to listen.
Except you.
You.
Listening to my 'bad ending.'
I'm sorry, and happy birthday to me.