The Power of "What If"
A/N: Hey guys! So this is something I had in my head after completing the final chapter of my Tainted Hearts story. I planned on it being a one shot, but as I sat down to write, I wasn't sure how many chapters it could end up being. I will leave it as in progress, though, so that if it blossoms into more than I expect and y'all like it, I can continue. You don't necessarily have to read Tainted Hearts first to follow this story, but it may be helpful to you just for reference if you do. This is mostly going to be from the perspective of Raye Anne, one of the characters in that story, and explore how things could have played out entirely different had her suicide attempt not been successful, but will have perspectives of some other characters too. That story dealt with some heavy things like suicide and addiction, and this one will have its share of darker points too, albeit with a bit of fluff thrown in if continued; Just a forewarning. I know I have another ongoing story, In the Name of Love, that I haven't updated in ages, and I'm really sorry about that. I've just gotten back to writing and all of the things I had going, so I promise to try to update that one soon, too! As always, thank you all for all the support and love!
I wrote the note in black ink, and for someone about to complete an action that had such finality, I was surprisingly lacking emotion. No messy, hurried writing, no smudges or ink streams down my page due to the wetness of tears. I was rather meticulous and laboured in the way I had thought this out. Some may call it selfish, and it may have been, but I also believed it selfish of the people around me to continuously surround me but not see me, treat me like shit under their shoes, diminish my feelings, yet expect me to stay here and be loving in a world full of cruel. Honest in a world full of bullshit. People will tell you they care, and they act like it to your face, but behind your back, your friends become your enemies and we're all out for ourselves.
Maybe this was my way of looking out for myself. Leaving. Everyone else did it to me, and if they didn't do it to me, they acted like they wanted me to do it. As if the world would lack nothing more than a breath's worth of the vast amount of space it held, without me. You know what? I was starting to believe that.
I get really good grades, and I'm really smart, but I'm not really that popular. People tend to think that if you're smart and at least kinda pretty, it automatically grants you a free pass into the 'right' crowd. It doesn't. That's actually the biggest crock of shit people will tell you about school. I'm not gonna brag on my looks or anything, because I definitely know more gorgeous people, but even on my worst days, when the bullies are relentless and the bitches are so fake, I don't really think I'm completely ugly. My Mom isn't really there all that much, and by 'there' I don't mean she isn't one of those soccer every week, bake sale going, pick me up after school kind of Moms and I wish she were. I mean, she isn't really present at all. She's an ADA, and I know she's busy, but sometimes it feels like I don't have parents. Daddy died before I was born, Mom said it was an accident. I wonder what he'd be like all the time. If he'd make up for the times Mom wasn't here. We've had some good moments, Mom and I, but I wish they weren't so rare. Maybe the fact that they're so few and far between is why she thinks I have so many friends. She doesn't know any better. I have friends, but not very many solid ones. Not as many as she'd like to think. That's why I say I'm not all that popular. Actually, I'm somewhat of a loser. I get bullied a lot.
Lunches are sometimes the shittiest. I've eaten in the bathroom on the closed seat of the toilet before, listening to the popular oh-so-fakes walk in and out, preening themselves, and talking about other people. Me, a lot of the time. It sucks to sit there and hear everything being said about you, without them knowing you're there and not having the balls to make your presence known. Maybe that's half my problem, I have no balls. I'm too nice to everyone. The few good people I've come into contact with, and let into my world even a little, have told me that bullies are just insecure, so they lash out. I'm insecure as shit about a lot of things, but I don't go spewing hate. Maybe I should start. Would that make me feel better, to do what they do? I doubt it, but sometimes I wonder.
Anyways, I sat there and I wrote that note, and when I finished, I didn't even read it over. I folded it into a small cube of paper, crisply white and innocent on the outside, unaffected by the poison that would be released upon its reading. I then thought better of folding it, and laid it out flat on my desk. It needed to be seen, right? If I was gonna be so much of a selfish bitch, I could at least leave an explanation where it'd be easily noticed.
Sometimes, I have happy moments amidst the darkness and I wonder if this night, its outcome, will be worth it. If I could just will myself to be a little more patient, a little more understanding, a little stronger when around all these forces that attempt to weaken me, would the happiness be more frequent? I don't really know, but I don't think so.
I went into the bathroom and found a bottle of my Mom's sleeping medications in the cupboard above the toilet. If I were going to die, I didn't want to do so in a bathroom. I went back to my room, took a copious amount of those little white capsules, and pushed all thought of anything out of my head as I waited for sleep to save me.