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Her bones shook and shattered like glass. She kicked against the wall opposing the toilet with her full strength. She rammed the front of her forehead against her knees. Her fingers dug into her hair and she pulled desperately.
She was going to die. She wasn't supposed to be kept alone. She would die. And no one would be there to help her. She would die alone. Alone.
She slapped her cheeks and scratched at her face. Her teeth bit into her tongue and a coppery, irony taste spread through her taste buds like a plague.
She was going to die. She's all alone. She wasn't supposed to die alone. She's all but royalty. She's a member of the noblest clans. She wasn't supposed to die alone!
She bit harder in the cloth stuffed into her mouth.
Her body kept shaking and shaking. Her teeth rattled against her head. In that little bathroom of room 11. The room at the edge of the hallway. The hallway in the large, dome like building. The building that is far away from home. In the bathroom of room 11 of the large, dome like building, was a girl with desperate eyes, wild hair, a shaking body, and muffled screams…
Ichigo's POV
You have to get up, wash your face and brush your teeth, change into black jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, and notice how everything's in black and white.
Your life is like a movie playing scene by scene until you drop dead and just fuckin' die already.
It's too bad your movie is like half a star worthy. Doesn't even make it to a fuckin' DVD worthy.
Look in the mirror, shove your light-bulb worth hair to the side, glance over your face, chew on your piercing and be on your way out.
You trudge down the hallway looking at the –of course- forest green paper in your hand.
A schedule. The words were dancing around, spinning, black against green. Mocking you.
Numbers laughing joyfully as you trudged around your extremely large cage. Because no matter how large a cage is, it's still a cage.
With bars. And locks. And people with shitty minds that don't work properly who sit lifelessly in chairs in offices, speaking monotony, as their souls bang on the door and plead to be let out until the end of the one hour therapy session.
And halls filled with loud chatters of young people with bubble gum commercial smiles, believing that they will be released from this cage, alive and sane. And others who mutter to themselves insanely, no longer caring about their sanity as long as they're out.
"One foot in front of the other, counting tiles on the floor so I don't have to focus the blur of painted smiles, fake faces."
You look back down at the schedule.
8 – 8:45 A.M: Meet with Unohana-sensei and Isane-san.
Great. A shrink.
All you needed now was a shrink.
Bam! A sound of books toppling to the ground.
"Hey! What the fu-?"
"Ow. My head…"
You look up. You notice a thin, short girl with shining unruly raven black hair and the deepest amethyst eyes ever possible to be given to mankind.
She pouted. Stood back up onto the short heels of her white metal ankle length boots and straightened her black pleated skirt, the edgy silver studs glistening in the hall light. She pulled her carefully sequined, silver halter top back down to her hips and dusted off her white blazer, the thick, metal, wrist-hugging bangle reflecting a glow, her thumb ring ringing against the buttons.
Smack. You need to slap back into reality.
She looked…upset? Your eyes follow down to what she's looking at. Her gray stocking were ripped at her knees.
You look back into her eyes. "Sorry."
She attempted, and apparently nearly died in the process, to smile and whispered "It's alright."
You pick up the books she dropped and hand them back to her.
She drops them into her black messenger bag. Another whispered thanks, and she was on her way in the opposite direction of where you were heading.
You watched her enter the office marked: Shiba Kaien – Faculty Advisor.
You look away.
You lift your foot to keep walking, to attempt living, when you hit something. A little black, gray, and blue notebook was lying there. You lift it up and open it to take a peek.
Kuchiki Rukia was written in pearly blue ink.
Kaien's POV
She said her name was Kuchiki Rukia. A pretty girl she is. Dark hair, violet eyes, and she had great long legs that contributed the most to her petite height.
Delicious.
She looked at him with extraordinary eyes, their beauty outlandish. Beautiful. Dead.
"Excuse me, Kaine-dono. But my brother told me that Yoruichi-sensei was going to be my therapist" –the word was spit out-"but it says Unohana-sensei here." She handed him the paper.
He pretended to look over the paper as he raked his eyes up and down her body. She wasn't a slut. No. Her dressing was conservative. Her eyes mostly modest. A prime candidate for fun.
He quickly looked up her name in his laptop and saw that she was right. Yoruichi was her therapist. He fixed the error and printed out the new schedule.
"You're right." He said as he handed her the paper. "Yoruichi is your therapist."
"H-h-hai. Arigato", she stuttered and walked out.
Fun. This was going to be fun.
Rukia's POV
You must not shake. You must not shake. You must not shake, Rukia!
Do not shake. Do not shake. Do not shake. Do not shake. Do not shake.
The noise is too much. The noise disturbs. The noise scares.
They were laughing. Who could laugh when they were condemned to life in prison.
They were screaming joyously. Why would anyone want to be joyous.
The noise causes the shaking. The noise and laughter and screaming has to stop.
Do not shake. Do not shake. Do not shake. Do not shake.
And the more that they joked,
And the more that they screamed,
She retreated to where she is now…
You can do this. Hold it in. Do not throw up. Don't clench your fist so tightly, you'll make yourself bleed…
That's right. Walk down the hallway, you heiress. Raise your head.
Raise your head up, pretend you are okay.
Pretend so intensely that even you start to believe it.
"It [death] chokes you, gags you, but you have to pretend that you're doing just fine, not trembling with this fear because the end is close."
-Ellen Hopkins
A/N: We are finally on chapter four. Late upload, I know. But I have been writing these 1, 100 and something words in ten minutes each day until I got here. Special thanks to Ellen Hopkins, Elizabeth Scott, Marie Digby who have all supplied this story with such lovely quotes.