Today's the day
Her alarm went off buzzing three times before her hand slapped it down. She sat up swallowing the giant lump in her throat; it was going to happen. It had to. All the shit she went through was becoming too much for one person to handle. She looked down at her hands, which still had fresh cuts from the day before. Another breath you can do this. Inhale. Exhale. She stood up planting her feet on the wood floor and headed to the mirror. Bruises hidden around her face, like always. Just below the catch of her chin or right near the back of her jaw. Her anxiety rose, punch it. She urged to shatter the mirror in front of her, what's wrong with me! Her head was going in loops again and she picked up her phone to dial, who else to call but you. She hit the numbed and a voice sounded at the other end.
"What's wrong? Did something happen?" his voice was filled with worry. Too much worry.
"I'm going to do it. I have to." She could barely breathe, am I going to do it?
"You know you can get in serious trouble..." always the word of the wise.
"I know. But I'm doing it…" she paused not saying anything until they were just breathing, "I promise I won't get hurt."
"That's my girl." She clicked the line off and threw her phone on the bed.
It was her time and she turned back to the mirror, chopped hair and dark eyes.
"Let's go." Her heart dropped hearing her own voice through the silent room.
She walked over to her bag under the bed then pulled out the one thing she had left. That one thing that could solve everything. Make those people, that girl go away. The silver pistol; now her silver pistol. That redrill replica that did more than just harm. She drifted her hand down to her left thigh where she was hit by a bullet. It still stung, but the pain was just a memory now. She traced her fingers down the metal and blinked making it all real. The gun was shoved into her jacket pocket and she was off. Her feet hit each step down the stairs; no turning back now. Her hand shook as she opened the door and she paused, looking back up the stairs. You can still turn back. She shook her head and carried on outside, down the sidewalk.
Freak. Lezzer. Fuck tard. Spacko. Lameo. Shit magenet. Each word made her walk faster and faster towards her destination. Her heart was beating faster than she needed it to, remaining calm was the least of her worries though. Breathing wasn't second nature anymore. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She was getting closer and closer and her hands were pools of sweat. Then, there it was. That off green door that made her want to vomit. You can still turn back. She shook her head; this is it.
She walked up the stairs slowly, each step making her regret she ever came here. That voice in her head panicking and telling her to go back was screaming at the top of its lungs. Go. Go home. Run home! She clenched her fists and her nails dug into her palms, making the voice die down for that moment. Her finger rose up to the doorbell and pushed it down. Heart pounding, sweat dripping, and pain pouring; this is fucking it. The door slid open, like slow motion and there she was. That face. That disgusting face that tortured her daily for no reason. You're a freak and you'll always be a freak. Her eyes shuttered and her heart stopped. Everything around her stopped in that very moment, because she knew she could just run away and forget this ever happened. No. No fucking way. She pushed her hand into her pocket when the door finally opened all the way. The gun gripped in her hand and fit ever so perfectly. You're making a mistake. Turn around. Run. Run far. It slid out slowly and in seconds was pushed against her head. "Bye."
Crack.
She shot up from bed shaking and drenched in sweat. Her hands ran through her hair while her breathing slowly steadied and her alarm clock sounded three times before she hit the button. Her heart was still going haywire. She shifted out of her bed and placed her feet on the wooden floor. No thoughts went through her mind as she walked over to the mirror. Her face was filmed with a little sweat but she still looked the same. Bruises in spots that couldn't be seen, fear prominent in her eyes, and a heart that wouldn't stop racing. She turned around and went to the bag under her bed to find the same pistol. Not her pistol, not anymore. She picked her phone up and dialed a number, the only one she could.
"Dean... I can't do it."