The frigid air surrounds her. She can hear the wind whispering to her, urging her to jump. Yet, she cannot feel anything anymore.
She stares up at the ceiling in the darkness.
"You're fat and ugly and worthless. No one will ever love you. All you are is just a burden."
She covers her ears, rolling onto her side.
"Shut up!" she cries, "Shut up."
She stands in front of the mirror, smoothing down her dress. Stupid insomnia, she thinks to herself, desperately trying to conceal the bags under her eyes.
"No amount of makeup will make you beautiful, you ugly piece of shit."
"Are you okay? You look tired," he asks her for the third time that day.
"I'm fine," she lies.
He gives her a questionable look.
"I'm fine," she repeats.
Taking the razor, she snaps the plastic in half and slides the blade out. She runs the cold, sharp metal across her thighs and wrists before pressing hard into her skin. It hurts, a lot. But, for the first time in a long time, she feels something.
She screams into her pillow and throws it across the room. She wants to cry, but she can't. Too many tears have already been shed.
"You need to lose weight," she says to her reflection, "Maybe then someone will love you.
Her reflection nods in agreement.
He watches her at lunch. He watches as she refuses to eat, claiming she had a huge breakfast. He sees right through her lies.
She steps onto the scale. It flickers for a moment before finally landing on a number. Her hopeful smile drops. She's skinny, but not skinny enough.
"You need to eat," he tells her forcefully.
She fakes a smile, "What are you talking about?"
"Don't lie to me!" he snaps, "You're sick. I can tell. You have to eat something."
"I don't know what you mean," she says quickly and turns away from him.
Tragedy. She carves the word into her skin, right in the center of the rest of her scars.
"I'm an ugly tragedy," she murmurs, "Definitely not a beautiful one."
She's only wearing baggy sweaters and sweatpants now, hoping no one would notice. He does though. And he isn't having it.
"What are you hiding from me?" he demands.
She shrugs, turning to walk away from him, "Noth-"
He grabs her wrist, yanking her back. She lets out a yelp.
He rolls up her sleeve. "What the fuck are these?" he yells, referring to her scars and fresh cuts.
"Get away from me!" she shrieks, shoving him off.
She collapses against her bedroom door, tears streaming down her face for the first time in months.
This was the final straw.
She digs through the garage, searching frantically for what she needs.
She's outside now on top of a high hill, writing furiously in her book. She tears the page out and staples it to the tree.
He's sprinting to her house now, pounding on the door.
She pushes the chair against the tree and ties the rope around the tree branch.
"She's not home right now," her mother tells him, "I thought she was with you?"
She glances at the Tragedy scar on her wrist. This is what she has to do. No more constantly feeling numb, no more feeling like nothing, no more misery.
"She's not," he croaks, "Are you sure she's not here?"
She ties the rope around her neck and takes a deep breath.
Her mother nods, "Why? What's wrong?"
The wind is wailing now, almost begging her to let herself fall. She looks around at the scenery in front of her. Her quiet neighborhood, her school, the mall, all the places where she lost herself.
He feels himself breaking inside. She was going to kill herself and he didn't even know where she was. She was going to kill herself without knowing that he was in love with her. She was going to kill herself without knowing she was the most beautiful girl on the planet.
This is it, she tells herself, this where it finally ends.
He falls to his knees. "She's going to kill herself," he chokes out.
She jumps.