Addiction
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Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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A/N: Lately everything has been in the toilet. Thus I must make someone elses life be in the toilet. Gotta love it ;)
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They are laughing. In a group. Without me. A year ago I was one of them. But now that seems all like a dream. When those girls liked me. When they welcomed me laughing. When they actually wondered where I was.
But now, its like I was never there. Those pictures of us once plastered on our walls? Im the only one with my walls looking that way now. The rest of them took all those pictures down. And replaced them with new ones. I feel my heart pound faster as I look at them. They look my way. And quickly look at me. I hold back tears as I feel adrenaline rush into my head.
The type of adrenaline that makes someone say stupid things. Like my stupid words. That got me shunned. I squeeze the black and blue can in my hand. I bite my lip as I look at the floor of the car as tears drip onto my jeans.
God. This is all so stupid. One screwed up night and this is where I end up. One night of sleeping with someones boyfriend, not even my fault, and Im alone, and back to hitching rides from my mom. My mom kept talking as I squeezed the monster can harder.
The one thing that kept me going these days. To be honest I only drank them in hopes that it would buy me a one way trip to the hospital. And maybe... just maybe somewhere in her hearts of hearts my old best friend would realize I was dying... and come to say goodbye. But not happening.
So I continue to wallow. She only hates me because he always liked me more. Tried to sleep with me. I never did. But still. The simple idea sparked it in her mind it would happen again. And I was alone. Poison spreads. And sooner or later they dont even bother joking about childish things to do. They simply freeze someone out.
The outsider? Doesnt exist anymore. Its as simple as that. The saying 'threes a crowd' becomes an understatement. As the outsider realizes, they were always the outsider. Desperately trying to crack jokes with the rest of them. Trying to talk about the same stuff as the rest of them. But it doesnt work.
And sooner or later the smart ones figure out that it was coming sooner or later. Or if that outsider is me? They dont notice until they get an anonymous email telling them. And then they cry. And cry. But then, they find an addiction. Not something silly like social media stalking the ice queens.
No an addiction that they hope brings them back. But it doesnt.
My addiction? Paper. The feel, the taste, the smell. Its something so easy to get my hands on. A failed test, junk mail, a homework assignment that never got turned in. The feeling of the paper cutting my tongue... my cheeks. The feel of blood on the soaked fibers. It all just makes a smile come to my face. But they dont know that. They never will. Because they dont care.
And I cant share.