Dedication: Lucy.
For inspiring this.
[ B r e a t h e . ]
That's all it takes.
A breath, in, out.
A deep breath that she hasn't taken in so long, but it doesn't help her at all. It doesn't stop the rush, it doesn't stop the feeling of insecurity, the vulnerability, the pressure it takes being the daughter of TJ Tyler.
She sits by the canoes, looking at the sunset, the breeze blowing her hair all about, whispering words that make her feel less about herself, make her feel more insecure, more vulnerable, more pressure.
It tells her sentences about her past, about her father, the man she never met, the man that probably would never have cared to meet her. It tells her about her dreams, and how she'll never have as much success as Connect 3. It tells her how her mother doesn't care, how she was never there, "Don't you know? That's why she's always on her phone ignoring you."
It never stops with the ridicule, yet she can't escape. Everywhere she goes, she hears the voice…maybe because it follows her? Maybe because it wants to torment her? Maybe because…it is her?
A hot tear rolls down her cheek and burns at her skin, but she doesn't wipe it away. The hot sensation feels good. It's the first sense of warmth she's had all summer.
She wears heavy sweatshirts, big, heavy sweatshirts, and pants, but she's still cold. So, so cold. "Just like your [ h e a r t .]"
The other campers have noticed the changes, but they don't say anything to her. They don't acknowledge her. If anything, they talk about her behind her back.
"She's gone crazy."
"Nobody likes her."
"Tess Tyler? She's just looking for attention."
"Attention? Psh, please, she get's it every day."
"She's an attention whore. That's all she is."
Attention, attention, attention. Is that what they think? That she's an attention whore? No. That is what she thinks. Do they really talk about her? Yes. Because they're worried about her.
They're worried because she hurts herself.
Because the slits on her wrist make her cold, which make her want to wear the sweatshirts.
Because the fingers down her throat make her slimmer, this is why she wears the sweatshirts; to make her look larger.
But Tess can't accept help. After all, her heart is as cold as a bat's.
--
She fangirls fangirled over him. Mitchie has him. Will have him forever, for the remainder of time. She sees the way he looks at her. She sees the way her mother looks at her; the way her father hugs her on the visit day, on the day of Final Jam, she gets the look of respect.
But who respects cold, attention-whore Tess Tyler?
Certainly not her mother.
Certainly not her father.
And certainly not Shane Gray.
"She doesn't even respect herself."
"She's not very pretty."
"She's so fat."
"She's really pathetic."
"Her heart is so cold."
"Why does it hurt her to breathe?"
Because she doesn't want to.
Why should she have to?
It's not like anybody cares about her. It's not like anybody respects her. It's not like anybody can see her, sitting here, by herself, at the docks, by the canoes.
She's killing herself slowly day by day anyway.
What'll she do? Drown herself? Too drastic.
Cut her wrists vertically? Long, cold, suffering. She needs a quick job.
Hang herself? No lofts.
What will Tess Tyler do?
There's always the possibility of ever so falling over something, hitting her head on a rock, and -
"Hey, Tess?"
A voice.
She becomes…paranoid. Almost as if she can't [ B r e a t h e . ]
She turns her head to look at the person in front of her. Tall…compared to her spot on the ground. "What are you doing?" he questions.
"Sitting."
"Duh. Stupid, stupid. Tess Tyler, yeah, she's so stupid."
He chuckles, though, and she [s m i l e s .] But she is still cold. Still craving attention. Still unsatisfied with herself. She's never good enough.
He sits next to her. "Why are you sitting here all by yourself?"
"I'm just…thinking."
"Oh yeah? 'Bout what?"
"Lots of things."
"Final Jam?"
"That's on the list."
"No talent. Tess Tyler has no talent -- she'll NEVER win the Final Jam. Ever."
He nods. "I'm sure you'll do fine. You always do."
"That's so biased," she states.
He nods. "I've been told I'm a biased person. But in the end, I'm always right."
He taps her chin, and pokes her nose. "I've never been wrong before," he adds.
She nods. "I can see. 'So that must be the girl," she mocks.
He grins. "Yes. That was one of my more intuitive predictions."
She looks at him, and her smile fades. "Can you predict what I'm thinking write now?" she whispers.
He leans in. "I think so."
His top lip hugs her bottom lip for a few short seconds in a kiss full of passion. A kiss full of respect. A kiss Tess has never experienced. A kiss that made it so she couldn't [ B r e a t h e . ]
He smiles after he pulls away.
"You're beautiful."
"Not."
"You've got talent."
"Not."
"You're perfect."
"Not."
--
He gets up and says, "I have to meet with Shane and Jason. I'll see you later?"
She nods with a (fake) smile.
"He's leaving you.
Leaving, like everyone else has,
Like your dad has,
Like your mom nearly has
Like all your friends.
Leaving, because
You're pathetic."
And he's gone, and now she can't [ B r e a t h e . ]
She needs him back. Needs him. Needs Nate Black. But he's gone. He left her. So she screams, and cries, and sobs, and she doesn't stop. She runs to her cabin ignoring the voices eating at her. The voices that are following her, can't get out of her head.
She goes into the bathroom and rips off the sweatshirt, and the longsleeve shirt, leaving her standing there in a tank top. She's so, so thin. She takes her razor, and presses it to her skin.
Satisfaction?
"No, you're not dead. Keep going."
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
"Tess!"
Mitchie.
"What are you doing?"
"I have to end it!" she shouts. "I can't take it anymore, Mitchie! I can't do this, I can't, I can't, I can't."
She slashes vertically and Mitchie grabs her arm.
Too late.
Tess Tyler no longer has to
[ B r e a t h e . ]
--Fin.
Thoughts?