Sorry about deleting this I swear it wasn't intentional cause my mouse was acting up and lagging stupidly. hehe.

ladyxdeath get me a new mouse for d-day! haha! XD

A/N:

Anywho...as I've mentioned before on the first A/N I did for this this is pretty dark and messed up and now I decided that imma focus on Rukia instead of turning this into a diff. character thing. It hit me when I found I accidentally deleted it...hmm...maybe the universe didn't like my first idea. Anyway that's it. This is a story of a real messed up girl living like all lonely girls...it's not happy cause their lives are not happy as is hers. I just want to put this up cause I want to start writing more dark stuff. :)

Disclaimer: Bleach=awesome=Kubo-sensei. :X

Chapter One

-Strange Little Girl-

Blood.

There was a tiny pool of it on the mosaic black and gray counter top. Her distorted reflection on the remaining fragments of the broken mirror looked dead. Her skin was sallow, the dark rings on her eyes were bruise-like. The tiny veins on her face were visible, forming tiny spirals on her left cheek. She's always been pale but under the fluorescent light she was almost transparent. This fragile body of a fragile young woman she had inhabited it but she was never there. She was always somewhere else, someplace that no one can get to. A place where she can't get out of.

She looks closer at herself through blood-shot amethyst eyes, her bloodless lips pressed tightly against each other so she won't bite on them. She forced her red-rimmed eyes to keep staring steadily, her reflection unflinching.

She barely felt the sharp end of the broken glass that she cut herself with. The wound was so deep it kept on bleeding and bleeding, letting the dark crimson liquid slowly travel from her mutilated skin and to the counter top to mingle with the little pool already turning black.

Her eyelids fluttered as her lips parted as she stood there idly, her eyes bright and glowing with an almost manic glint as she watched more of her blood trickling down her arm, feeling the elation, that fucking peaceful calm.

It's okay now, she's okay now.

Small bits of glass were stuck on her palm. She could feel them and it didn't hurt. Not even close.

It was strange that she kept seeing her six year old self . She was one of the angels in the school's nativity play. The program has ended and she was standing by the manger, posing for the camera. She wasn't smiling, her wings were lopsided and her halo was slipping off her head. Her tiny hands were clutching at the hem of her frilly white dress. She wasn't wearing stockings, not even those lacy ankle socks with satin ribbons that dangled on the sides. Her eyes looked weary and her lips were turned down on the corners. She looked miserable and pathetic. She looked like she didn't want her picture taken.

She blinked rapidly, sucking in a deliciously shaky breath and letting go to just feeling. She craved it, she couldn't stop. She was supposed to have been okay but she wasn't. They lied and lied and lied to her again and again. They told her, smiling that fake smile she wanted to smack off their faces. They told her she was fine, it was a phase. Just a phase. But she had seen the fear in their eyes, the twitching of their lips as their forced smile took its toll on their facial muscles.

She saw and she believed in what she saw was real and not another figment of her deranged musings.

She rinsed her hands with tap water and watched with riveted fascination and slight detachment as her blood dissolved into serpentine tendrils of red down, down the drain. Slowly, she plucked the shards from her palm and dropped them onto the sink. She removed them all and dropped them into the sink. She removed them all and her hand bled anew. The water made it sting just a tiny bit.

She glanced at the mess all over the bathroom floor, the counter top with splashes of blood. Not to mention the huge mirror. The sight almost made her regret ramming her fist against it repeatedly until it all but vanished from its ornate frame that held it in place.

She dried her hand on the immaculate white monogrammed towel from the rack and used it to wipe the blood off the counter top. She wouldn't bother to even pretend to clean up after herself, she'd only mess it up even more.

Her hands were shaking again as she strode over to the day bed and plopped her tiny body over its fluffy confines and folded her slender limbs, reaching for the pack of Marlboro lights and lighting one up before sliding the glass window open.

She took a deep drag as she peered at the faint light starting to creep up from the distance. The breeze was chilly as it brushed past her, lightly ruffling her short black tresses, softly caressing her cheeks and tickling her nose.

The house was dead quiet. There was not a sound even from outside. It was too quiet that her ears were ringing. There was only this deafening silence enveloping her, pressing down on her. She had to light another cigarette just to keep herself from bouncing off the walls, repeating everything for the millionth time. Getting more and more crazy everyday. It was all insanely sane, this mundane life she supposed she was living.

A swirl of smoke issued from the corner of her lips as she let out an agitated sigh. Her hand felt funny and blood was still trickling down her arm. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she pulled open the first aid kit she stashed under the day bed in one of the drawers and grabbed a roll of gauze to dress the wound temporarily. Just so she won't bleed all over her cushy nook.

She folded herself again on the day bed as she single-handedly wrapped the gauze around her hand and her wrist, barely wincing at the tightness of her binding that made the blood blossom onto the fabric quickly.

Once again, her thoughts were straying to a childhood she's all but erased from memory. She's been doing it for some time now and she couldn't understand why her mind was forcing her to relieve and remember that semblance of belonging she could say out loud she once lived. Before things got blocked from her memory, before she had trouble remembering names and faces.

They told her she was clinical but it wasn't denial that they wanted from her, they wanted her to accept what she was doing. They said it would help her get better. To stop the urge, to stop the shaking and the desire to grip that cold metal and feel it. They didn't want her to feel the rush anymore.

But they were all fucking with her. They damn well meant what they said that she was not normal. Her mind had gone awry long before she was even conscious she had one. Their medication wouldn't do a thing for her.

She was happy. They said they wanted her to be happy and she was, truly very happy. Everything was slipping away quietly, like most of her existence. No one would ever hear her sighing her very last breath as she let the small bottle slip from her limp hands, the cigarette still burning precariously placed over the sill.

But they would all see her smile

And a smile at least would mean she was happy. It was what everyone wanted.

It was all that she wanted.

All she wanted...

Thanks for taking time to read. Review if you like...to continue reading more! haha. :X

Introducing kimchi-tsundere-sama. :X

-kimchi-san-