Title: Numbers.
Rating: M.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Implied UsCan; Lovina, Maddeline, and Emily.
Summary: They both had different reasons, they both had different methods; they both had the same goal in mind. They both wanted to die. – One finds she is alone; the other finds she isn't.
WARNING: Implied rape, mentioned incest, and suicide attempts.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight; she counted them all out, one by one. Hazel eyes were dead, as she watched the little, white, round pills fall into her equally pale palm. Soon, it would be over.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight; she counted them all, one by one, as she slipped each under her tongue. Once, twice, thrice, eight times she lifted the bottle of water to her lips and swallowed each little pill. Soon, she wouldn't have to hurt anymore.
Eight times, once each minute, she gazed at the clock on her nightstand. Then, she curled into a ball on her side, after finishing off the bottle of water, screwing the cap back on, and setting it back on the nightstand. The bottle of sleeping pills sat beside it. Hazel eyes dull, she smiled a bit; soon, everything would be gone.
She re-read the directions in her mind, though lifeless hazel eyes couldn't see them anymore. Take one tablet every four to six hours; take no more than eight every twenty-four hours. Funny, wasn't it, that eight was supposedly her lucky number… Soon, everything would be over.
Soon, she wouldn't remember the "early birthday present" her "father" had given her. Soon, she wouldn't remember how much it had hurt, to have her innocence ripped from her. Soon, she would need to hurt anymore. Soon… soon… soon, everything would be over.
The red, digital LED numbers on the clock flipped to midnight.
She faded to white, just as she turned fifteen.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight; she counted them all out, one by one.
Eight times, the razor bit into the flesh of her right forearm.
Eight times, she cursed herself for her own feelings.
Eight times, she hated herself for falling on love with her own twin sister.
Eight times, she asked God why her Papa and her Daddy ignored the fact that she even existed.
Eight times, she sliced her skin, and watched the blood drip into the bathtub, violet eyes dead and tear-filled.
Eight times, she prayed she would die, as she watched the hands on the wall clock creep closer to midnight.
The ninth time, she sliced vertically – all the way up – rather than horizontally, praying that it would finally end.
The tenth time, half-way up her left forearm, the razor blade was ripped out of her hand.
She faded to black, as her twin caught her, and the clock struck midnight – the day they both turned fifteen.