So I was in the nurses office, and thought, "Need a new fic.. No time like the present." I also thought I'd try a dark-ish fic.
WARNINGS: This will most likely be a trigger for those with depression and eating disorders. It is also a fic about trying to overcome those problems, but not everything has a fairy tale ending.
As this is fan fiction, however, this story WILL have a happy ending.
This story is also based on a true story. Yes, my friend (not my friend anymore: HE'S A CLASS-A-CUNT LADIES AND GENTS) actually said what is said in this story to me. No, he did not know what was going on, and no, I was never going to tell him, because I don't trust assholes. I will say though, he doesn't do what the asshole in this story does. Granted, yes, he was an asshole, but he wasn't aware he was being an asshole. Still, those were the exact words.
Which brings me to the point. Kagome is me, in my darker stages. Yes, it got this bad, and yes, I was hospitalized. Basically, this story is a dramatized version of my life. With a little more (a lot more...) romance involved. I figured that if I can't fully recover, I'll create someone who can.
I also hope that with the growth of my character, I'll grow too, and in that growth, begin to mend myself little by little, as you will see our main character do throughout this story.
Chapter 1: That Single Moment
The last droplets of water sound in the sink as I turn off the leaky faucet. Reaching over the bath tub, I use the brown towel to pat my left forearm dry. Lifting the cloth, I look at the puffy red marks I've added to the ever-growing collection from the past few years.
A heavy sigh.
The usual realization coming to my eyes, my always-cold fingertips lightly graze the incisions, and I wince after my fingernail catches one of the cuts a little too sharply.
A hitched breath.
"Shit," I muttered.
Putting the malefactor back in it's hiding place, my head falls into my hands as I sit on the edge of the bath tub.
"When did it come to this?" I softly whisper to no one. "What happened?"
Silently, I stepped into the shower; my safe place, my release, my haven, and the only place that can, if even only for a little while, drown my problems and fears and scars and tears that have since become undistinguishable from the running water, and rinse them down the drain.
My so-called 'friends' have no idea. Nor mother, grandfather, brother. Not that they'd believe me, for that matter. There is not a single soul I've told of my struggle, my self-loathing, my self-starvation, my self-damnation.
And not a single soul that's ever suspected me of it, of any of it.
Because I'm that good at it.
And that used to it.
Being alone.
Shielding.
Hiding.
Barricading.
Keeping up appearances.
Creating a facade.
A twisted illusion.
An empty shell of a once-happy girl, now turned into a marionette, led by my will and raw desire to fit the mold.
And it makes me sick.
Sick of the world, sick of modern society, sick of the media, sick of "Hollywood standards", sick of my peers, my friends, and most of all, sick of myself for succumbing to all of it.
But I'd never take my own life, no matter how many times, how often I've thought of it.
Why?
My logical thought processes. A downfall of mine; I over-think things.
And so I start to think...
My family.
My so-called 'friends'.
Everyone that's gotten used to me being a presence in every day life.
I wouldn't want them to remember me as someone who took their own life, who sought their own escape, a selfish coward. I've kept my facade up for so long, I wouldn't want opinions to change because of the truth. The pity, also, is embarassing.
Furthermore, I feel like I'd be inconveniencing them if I left. My family would have funeral bills they couldn't afford (although I'd tell them not to give me a service; they're stubborn that way), and I hate them having to pay for me in the first place.
But then again,
They'd forget eventually.
Everyone always does.
I'm just forgettable that way.
Or,
at least,
that's what I think.
A self-identified chameleon.
One who is able to blend into groups, therefore having the persona of one with many friends, when in fact, the reality is I have no one to confide in. 'Group-hopping', as I have since dubbed it, is my easiest way of keeping up my appearance and reputation. Polite in the way of saying hello to passerby's in the hallways, and finding someone to talk with, if completely necessary, in classes.
I don't mind them, though.
The girl group in particular, though they do complain about meticulous irkings that put a damper in their perfect, skinny dimples. I sit back and politely listen, but never once mention any of the dark habits and wrong-doings of my own life outside of the learning centre. They, for some reason, accept me, and don't push me away. I'm grateful to them for that. They don't treat me like a freak.
The ones in my larger classes are a different story, though. Not only because it's a group activity, but because I don't fit in.
And they don't like me for it.
They couldn't make it more obvious.
But I paid them no mind,
at first.
I'm involved in extracurriculars, in the hopes of finding a friend, but alas; I don't fit there, either.
Of course, I have the talent.
Any one can see that.
But do I recognize that?
Of course not.
Do they?
Who knows.
I pretend not to see the way they look at me, the way they talk when I'm gone.
Pretend.
I'm not stupid. I'm actually too smart or my own good.
No, no, never stupid.
I'm just smart enough to know when to be ignorant.
The day begins with P.E.
Emily, Amelia, Yvonne, the background noise, break through my silent self-loathing session.
"...and now I'm just waiting for him to finally ask me out!"
I lifted my head, smiled as excitedly as I could, and congratulated my friend. I should be happy for her, and am doing my absolute best to be.
I wasn't, fully, because the envious emerald fire was burning in my chest, leaving a bitter feeling in my lungs. But, my 'absolute best' was really just being sarcastic. And I'm quite, quite good at being sarcastic, so to the point where you can't tell whether I'm kidding or not.
"It's about time, Emily!" Yvonne told her.
"Yeah, especially since you guys have had a thing since Homecoming! I mean, you'd think things would've sped up a little by now, being December and all," Amelia said.
"Yeah, and of all people, you deserve this, with everything you've been through," I add.
'Irony abounds. If only they know what I'VE been through, am going through. It's my goddamn catchphrase, "You deserve this more than anyone"'.
Despite my own problems, I put others before me. Always. It's not just because of my lack of self-worth, but I have a big heart, and I always have. I've always cared for others before caring for myself. I also thought that that was just how people thought.
I could not have been more wrong.
I mean, who do you think set up that relationship? First football game, I was the one who introduced Emily to Nicholas. Homecoming, I helped him figure out how to ask her.
Now they're dating.
Because of me.
With all of my experiences comes knowledge. I think, sometimes, I'm too wise for my age. But that's why everyone I know always comes to me for advice. I, for some reason, have a vast understanding of emotion and how the world and the people in it work.
I cannot remember a time when any single one of them have said thank you.
You'd think people would at least have manners. But you can't expect to many fish from shallow waters.
"Kagome?"
I stopped spacing out long enough to answer.
"What?"
"I said, do you have any exciting plans for winter break next week?" Amelia asked me.
Of all of them, I like Amelia the best. I think she's the kindest and most thoughtful of these three. She's really the only one who will try and include me in a conversation.
"Oh," I looked at her, "nothing special. What about you guys?"
Off they go, buzz buzz buzzing away;
and off I go, blending into the background, yet again.
The second class of the day, English.
English is one of my favorite classes, next to Spanish.
My teacher is so enthusiastic about English, and it makes me smile.
If it makes me a nerd to appreciate and enjoy literature with great literary device usage and plot points, then so be it. Despite myself, I volunteer to lead discussions in class and things I notice about whatever the assigned reading happened to be the night before. This is why my teacher likes me, she thinks I'm very sociable and intelligent.
That's half true.
I try not to be sociable, because when I am, I get louder and tend to ramble, which is one of the top ten reasons why I hate myself.
But I can't really stop when people talk to me first. I consider myself very well-manered, and so I make it a point to be polite. Until I start rambling.
But in this class, I'm able to come out of my shell a little.
That's the same with Spanish. My teacher is also amazing. She's like me, minus clinical depression and green hair, and about 30 years older. I had her last year as well as this year, so she's kind of like a good adult friend more so than a teacher.
Another thing that these two classes have in common, as well as first-period P.E.:
Inuyasha.
Inuyasha Takahashi is one of the star athletes of this school, and for some reason, he's not a pompous ass. He moved here at the beginning of this year, and he's surprisingly... Gentle. He'll joke and talk with anyone, and he's respectful and mindful of others. When in English, he and I pretty much discuss with Mrs. Aono while the rest of the class, not having read the assigned section, takes notes.
He sits next to me, so he talks to me when there's a free moment. He's pretty funny if you talk to him, too.
I don't, though.
HE talks to ME.
He, Mr. Popular-New-Kid, Mr. Girls-All-Over-Him, takes the time to be the one to start a conversation with me.
It's quite admirable, which is one of the reasons I admire him.
I don't think it's love, but one could call it a 'Crush', of sorts.
I'm one who is not easily captured in this sense, but somehow, he got in. I don't know how, but he did.
Upon walking into class, I saw that today is a discussion day. This means that the desks are arranged in six groups of five desks each, and the groups discuss with each other the novel we are currently reading at the time. This time happens to be Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter.
(A/N: If you've never read it and are considering it, read the SparkNotes beforehand to understand what's going on. My teacher suggested this, which is how you know the work your reading (deciphering) is rather challenging.)
I sit in the desk closest to the left wall, and not 30 seconds later, Inuyasha is setting his things down in the next seat over.
"Hey Kagome, how's it going?" he says as he sits down beside me.
"Good."
Liar.
"What about you?"
"It's going good, thanks. What did you think of the chapter last night, all of this 'baby-daddy-drama'?" He asks with a grin.
"It's ridiculous," I quietly voiced, haughty derision evident in my tone. "It's like Les Miserables, but rather than being 'A Guy Steals Some Bread and Shit Goes Down', it's 'Dimmesdale Can't Keep it in His Pants, So Shit Goes Down'."
Evidently, Inuyasha found this particularly amusing, because he started laughing, and a lot.
"That's hysterical! Really great. You're pretty witty when you want to be Kagome," He told me, his eyes aglow.
'I wasn't trying to be funny, but alright', I thought, though my heart still skipped a beat in my chest at his compliment.
Instead, I chuckled a little and said my thanks.
He enjoys my sarcasm, and appreciates it. And, unlike most people, UNDERSTANDS it.
He, for some reason, can tell when I am and am not being sarcastic. I don't understand how he can, but he does.
Another reason why I admire him as a person.
There's a lot of things Inuyasha does that I don't understand.
For example, how he's nice to me.
Or the way he smiles at me with genuinely kind eyes.
I don't know why,
but he does.
The day, however, after English, had not gone well.
I came home (in the middle of the day) a mess. A makeup-smeared, runny-nosed, heavily-panting, out of breath, mess.
Without stopping to greet my mother, grandfather, or brother in the next room, I headed straight upstairs and locked myself in my bedroom.
I threw my backpack into a darkened corner of the room, then myself onto my bed, trying to catch my breath and insanity all in one go.
I walked the usual path from algebra with my "default-friend-from-association-by-class", Naraku, to his locker, then to the hall where the path splits to either the cafeteria or the next hall down.
Naraku had decided, however, that today would be different.
He veered me, almost forcefully, down another hallway, a hallway that was a dead end, unless you counted the staircase that led upstairs (that no one really knew about, let alone used).
"Where are we..." I was cut off.
"Detour, Kagome."
Some part of me always hated the way he said my name.
He led me down the hallway, and pulled the door open and held it for me, silently nudging me through the doorway.
"Why are we..."
Slam.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, suddenly in fear for my life.
"Kagome, Kagome," he said as he circled me in the small corridor.
I began to feel small, worthless, like nothing, and it was justified by what he said next.
"Maybe we should get to class," I shyly offered.
"Maybe you should kill yourself."
My eyes, now brimming with oncoming tears, widened slightly.
He was never my friend. He never even liked me. He knew from the beginning that things would turn out like this. I should have know from the beginning that things would turn out like this.
Not realizing that I had been backing up in the first place, my back hit the wall, making me jump a little.
He matched all of my steps, and was now a hair's length away, as he said,
"Tell anyone about this, and I'll kill your family, one by one, while I make you watch, before I kill you."
I was in complete and utter shock. Naraku had always seemed like a decent guy, but there was something I could never be sure about when I talked to him. A single word that wouldn't come to mind when I thought of him. Standing there, in that single moment, I could finally think of that word.
Liar.
He slid off his jacket and attacked me, roughly forcing his slimy yet chapped lips on mine. I tried to turn my head away, but to no avail, as he used dry vices to keep my head in place.
I had lost all sense of rules and morality at that point, the only two things on my mind being 'GET OUT OF THERE' and the fear I now held for my seemingly otherwise pathetic life.
My instincts finally kicked in, and after playing along for about ten seconds, I gave a mighty yell in his ear and a mighty kick to the groin.
"Worthless BITCH!" He roared as he lunged disorientedly in my direction, missing me by a fraction of an inch, giving me the time I needed to grab my backpack and bolt out of the door at the bottom of the staircase and out into the frozen December afternoon.
I did not stop.
I did not look back.
I did not catch my breath until I had reached my house and locked the door behind me.
I walked into the bathroom and let the water from the faucet come within degrees of forming icicles before splashing my face, trying to calm down.
I looked at myself in the mirror, staring, searching for someone happier to appear.
She didn't.
After what happened today, I wasn't sure that I even wanted to keep on living.
What is life? Why is it worth living? What's the difference between trudging through life, hopeless and depressed, and simply being dead?
I pulled open the cabinet behind the mirror, pulling out the fairly large bottle of ibuprofen.
"Maybe you should kill yourself."
I twisted the cap off and set it on the counter.
"Tell anyone about this, and I'll kill your family, one by one, while I make you watch, before I kill you."
I took about fifteen pills in my hand before filling a cup of water from the faucet.
I looked up at my face in the mirror. Mascara ran down my face in flowing charcoal streaks. Deep, dull, lifeless, pitiful eyes stared back through my reflection. I no longer recognized this as the Kagome I once faced when I looked in the mirror.
"Kagome, what's going on in there? You've been in there for a half hour!"
One by one, I began to fill my mouth with salvation.
I closed my eyes, brought the water to my lips.
"You're pretty witty when you want to be Kagome."
My eyes snapped open at the memory of this morning. If at all possible, I cried harder.
Inuyasha.
The moment of hesitation that followed that thought allowed for a few things to happen at once.
Out of sheer shock and realization, I went into hysterics after coughing up all of the capsules that had been in my mouth moments before.
My mother broke down the door and found me, pills, bottle, and shattered glass lying on a soaking wet rug.
"Oh, Kagome," she breathed.
That single moment.
That single thought.
That single PERSON.
Saved my life that day.
45 minutes in the nurses office turned into (what will be) an uplifting story about overcoming tragedy, put-downs, depression, mental illness, isolation, and knowing you're not alone.
So, in short, IT GETS HAPPIER.
This was the introduction (or foreword, if you will) just to get a feel of how our main character here views the world.
It's kinda sad.
But I love a good vocabulary romp.
It's a completely different type of first person than Reality is a Bitch, and I think I like the change. But her view does get better. Of course, some things get worse before they get better.
And I only wrote the first 1 1/2 scenes in the nurse's office. The rest was written where I am now, a random hotel some miles off of the College campus I'm visiting in the morning. PARTYYYY.
OH YEAH, AND UPDATE ON ME, I GOT...
Lol before you read this, please know that it was actually written before turnabout, which was this Saturday. So I now finally finished this. Woooooooo
1) Not a boyfriend. (SURPRISE SURPRISE THERE GUYS I KNOW)
2) a Turnabout dress whilst wasting time today (the hotel check in was at noon). Anyone ever heard of the store/ franchise called Deb? Wonderful place, check it out.
3) A NEW JOB! Old Navy was a dick, and after three weeks of sending me blank schedules, I emailed them and said 'I'm guessing this is your way of telling me I'm fired. I want my final check.' BOOM.
Now I work in a small cupcake cafe, and it's adorable and my co-workers are hilaaaaarious. Plus, the owner seems to think I've got a real talent for baking, because my cupcake-frosting-skills and general work ethic (evidently) kicks ass. So shveet. Yep.
Tell me what you think, do I keep going? Let me know in a review!
Thanks for reading,
Jimmies
