I Know This World is Killing You
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A Breakfast Club Fanfic
Rated R

Allison slammed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against it, breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall in the damp, dark bathroom. They were steady, and yet unfocused, an unwavering placid expression flashing in them. Her eyes were ringed in black eyeliner, but tears had smudged the makeup, and her mascara ran in streaks down her splotchy cheeks. Her face was that of a china doll, pale as the ceramic sink next to her, but dirtied, like a thrashing child had roughly discarded her.

Abandoned was certainly how she felt. Abandoned and a million other things- trashy, unwanted, ugly, alone.

There was a cracked mirror hanging on the wall to her right, and she slowly peered at her reflection from beneath a shaggy tuft of hair. Allison flinched when she met her eyes- her own hollow, empty stare. She was filth, and she knew it.

"F-ucking slut! Whore!" she screamed at the mirror, her own voice breaking as she slid down to the floor. The tile was cold, and she drew her bruised knees to her chest.

A haunting voice rang in her ears. "Don't you remember the feel of him thrusting into you? He never even looked at you; not once. He only fucked you because you opened your legs, like a bitch in heat." She recognized the voice as her own, but it wasn't audible. Allison realized the voice was in her own mind.

"Go away!" she cried, slamming her head back against the door.

Laughter. Laughter that made her skin crawl. Suddenly she felt the sickening sensation of something hard pressing against her belly. But it was only her imagination; it had to be.

Allison pulled herself to her feet, her own legs seeming to fail her. She fumbled for the latch to the medicine cabinet above the sink. The voices grew louder, and her movements became more urgent, more desperate. The cover swung open, revealing shelves littered with narcotics of all sorts- sleeping pills, antidepressants, painkillers, the works. The staggering possibility of the drugs was the final push she needed. Allison grabbed a half empty bottle of painkillers her mom had been prescribed a few months back when she tore her rotator split. The voices were becoming louder, and more insistent. She had to shut them out.

Once she had begun, it was nearly impossible to stop. Every motion seemed beautifully choreographed in her mind, as if she was somehow born to do this. She poured herself a glass of water. One by one, the coated pills slipped down her throat, and gradually the voices subsided. Everything became quiet, and Allison felt oddly peaceful. Two pills remained in the bottle, and she was beginning to lose feeling in her arms and her legs. The dirty, damp room transformed into a wonderful dream, a dream she was slowly fading into....

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Don't worry! It's not over. More coming soon!