A/N: okay, let's make a couple things clear. I never apologize for my words or actions, so this is not an apology, it is an explanation. Some people took offense at the last chapter's author notes, which is not what I intended at all. I was really just joking. And what Morgan and Mordred said was true. My mom got the wrong pads and I was pissed off. I've taken criticism before, I will take it currently, and I will take it again. Outright flames are given to Fawkes, my art and design muse, to play with. Plus, I believe that anyone who writes, draws, acts, sings, whatever, has a certain amount of artistic license, no matter what it is they write, draw, act, sing about.
*gets off soapbox. * Anyway, welcome to chapter…*checks* 4? Yes, 4, of shadow in the night. Thank you everyone who reviewed, blahdy-blah. On with the fic!
Two weeks passed. Lily slowly faded out of living. Oh, she didn't commit suicide, nothing like that, but she just started to…fade away. She was lethargic and distant; the only time she moved when she didn't have to was if someone got too near her. Not even her sister was allowed within two feet of her now. She was even starting to get reluctant to take showers because her hands on her own body reminded her of *his. * Her grades were slipping even more. Her life felt like the movies.
She was sitting on the roof one evening, smoking a cigarette. She had continued to smoke, and her new friends bought her cigarettes for her. She blew the smoke from her lungs and contemplated the spark at the end of the cigarette. She then contemplated her arm. She turned it over and looked at the porcelain skin there, laced with blue veins.
And ground the cigarette into her arm.
It hurt – god, did it hurt – but it made her feel *alive. * After two weeks of watching her life like a movie, she was jolted back into it, *experiencing* something instead of just letting it happen. She saw stars and birds and when she closed her eyes the back of her eyelids were white, but it didn't matter, because it was a stark but needed reminder that she was not dead yet.
She flicked the cigarette over the edge of the roof – tomorrow her mother would complain about the unknown hooligans smoking outside the house – and climbed back through her window. She found burn ointment and a bandage and cleaned the burn, covering it up when she was finished. She looked up into the mirror and blinked. She chanted to herself, ::I am Lily Randall, I am Lily Randall, I am Lily Randall::, but she still couldn't make herself recognize the gaunt face in the mirror. She caught herself wondering if this was what Shady Lane looked like. Long and thin, with dark circles and hollow cheekbones and haunted eyes. She looked away. She hadn't really seen herself in awhile; she avoided the mirror in the morning and it wasn't hard to do the same elsewhere. She looked down at herself and noticed she had lost weight. When was the last time she really ate much at a meal? Lily couldn't remember. She finished cleaning the wound and went downstairs. She pulled out a bag of chips and tried to make herself eat, but it was like chewing on paper. She put the bag away after only a few chips and got out a glass of soda, thinking that if she couldn't eat, she'd get calories through what she drank. But it, too, tasted like liquefied paper, had such a concept been possible, and the bubbles annoyed her, and she ended up putting it back for someone else to drink. She looked down to her wrist where the burn still stung slightly and realized that something needed to change soon.
*gets off soapbox. * Anyway, welcome to chapter…*checks* 4? Yes, 4, of shadow in the night. Thank you everyone who reviewed, blahdy-blah. On with the fic!
Two weeks passed. Lily slowly faded out of living. Oh, she didn't commit suicide, nothing like that, but she just started to…fade away. She was lethargic and distant; the only time she moved when she didn't have to was if someone got too near her. Not even her sister was allowed within two feet of her now. She was even starting to get reluctant to take showers because her hands on her own body reminded her of *his. * Her grades were slipping even more. Her life felt like the movies.
She was sitting on the roof one evening, smoking a cigarette. She had continued to smoke, and her new friends bought her cigarettes for her. She blew the smoke from her lungs and contemplated the spark at the end of the cigarette. She then contemplated her arm. She turned it over and looked at the porcelain skin there, laced with blue veins.
And ground the cigarette into her arm.
It hurt – god, did it hurt – but it made her feel *alive. * After two weeks of watching her life like a movie, she was jolted back into it, *experiencing* something instead of just letting it happen. She saw stars and birds and when she closed her eyes the back of her eyelids were white, but it didn't matter, because it was a stark but needed reminder that she was not dead yet.
She flicked the cigarette over the edge of the roof – tomorrow her mother would complain about the unknown hooligans smoking outside the house – and climbed back through her window. She found burn ointment and a bandage and cleaned the burn, covering it up when she was finished. She looked up into the mirror and blinked. She chanted to herself, ::I am Lily Randall, I am Lily Randall, I am Lily Randall::, but she still couldn't make herself recognize the gaunt face in the mirror. She caught herself wondering if this was what Shady Lane looked like. Long and thin, with dark circles and hollow cheekbones and haunted eyes. She looked away. She hadn't really seen herself in awhile; she avoided the mirror in the morning and it wasn't hard to do the same elsewhere. She looked down at herself and noticed she had lost weight. When was the last time she really ate much at a meal? Lily couldn't remember. She finished cleaning the wound and went downstairs. She pulled out a bag of chips and tried to make herself eat, but it was like chewing on paper. She put the bag away after only a few chips and got out a glass of soda, thinking that if she couldn't eat, she'd get calories through what she drank. But it, too, tasted like liquefied paper, had such a concept been possible, and the bubbles annoyed her, and she ended up putting it back for someone else to drink. She looked down to her wrist where the burn still stung slightly and realized that something needed to change soon.
