Hello precious fanfiction-readers!

I, uhm, may have realized too late that there was more of this fanfic on my account on the internet than on my laptop, so I started writing a different chapter 3 instead of 5. When I saw my mistake, I changed a few things in this chapter so that it's a proper chapter 5, but it doesn't fit in so smoothly because of that. My bad. It won't happen again.

I hope you like it though!

Thank you for your reviews, they are the reason I am back again – reviews are always a motivation! :-)

Here it is:

Chapter 5 – Allison's War

*TRIGGER WARNING*

Their plans are destroyed by one of Bender's friends.

Bender and Allison have barely left the bridge when a car with a busted wheel pulls up right next to them.

"Hey, Bender!" the driver says. "My car doesn't feel well today. Some jackass thought it would be funny to torture it. Do you have time to help me fix it maybe or do you have…" he looked Allison up and down, "…obligations?"

Allison feels very uncomfortable. She doesn't know this guy. He wants Bender to help fix his car. She doesn't know Bender too well, too. She didn't even know he knew much about cars.

"I… I have to be home soon anyway." She turns on her heels and starts walking.

The guy in the car keeps talking to Bender, and he looks at him, then at Allison...

"See you...!" He shouts and gets into the car. John is disappointed, he likes Allison and wants to get to know her better, but Bender needs to help Carlos to fix his car and smoke and talk like always.

Surprisingly, Allison feels kind of fine when she arrives at school the next day.

John's words from another day seemingly don't want to leave her alone though. He seems to have so many friends. How does he do it?

He said, you have to care about someone first so they start caring about you. Why can't I be "them" then? I mean, I don't care about people I don't know. So I would have to get to know them first, and if, if they were interesting, I would start caring, and then they would start caring about me. But would they? How do I make sure that the random person I approach for this is not only interesting enough for me to be able to care about them eventually and also know that they are going to like me enough to do the same? What if they reject me?

Can it be worth it to try to make a friend when it's like a needle in a haystack and I get ditched again and again before I find someone who fits and who likes me too?

This sounds horribly exhausting.

Maybe I should stop thinking about this.

I'll never find a real friend anyway.

And I don't want Bender's charity. I don't know him very well yet. He's better off with his other friends.

I'm just not good enough.

I'll never make it in the real world.

How am I ever going to get a job if I can't even make one stupid friend?

The girl is staring at her desk like it's a window to Wonderland. Her teacher doesn't say anything about it, he is used to it. A bell is ringing somewhere in the distance.

Allison slowly wakes up from her thoughts, grabs her bag and shuffles out into the corridor.

Lunch break. Allison herself doesn't have any afternoon lessons today. She walks out the backdoor.

I'll never find a real friend.

Along the parking lot.

I'm not good enough.

I'll never amount to anything.

Past some guys who are smoking away underneath a tree.

I'll never find a real friend.

She lifts her head enough to recognize Bender among them with a cigarette – or is it a joint? – in his mouth.

He takes it out when he spots Allison, nods in her direction and smiles at her before turning to his companions again.

The girl smiles back for a split second. She keeps walking.

Maybe John would be my friend. He said he is. Maybe he is already. I like him.

But he already has so many friends. He doesn't need me. Noone does.

Her feet seem to be getting heavier and heavier with each step she makes up to her family's house. Anxiety rises steadily in her chest before she realizes that the door is locked and she's the only one home yet.

Allison shovels some leftover food right from the fridge into her mouth. The next stop and final destination is her room, where she throws her bag and coat onto the floor and herself face first onto the bed.

Exhale. You did it. You did one more day.

She flips over to stare at the white ceiling.

Wait. It's only two o'clock.

Fuck.

She inhales sharply. Her thoughts start spinning out of control for real now.

Allison can feel the last bit of spirit leaving her eyes. Everything feels numb, feeling itself seems to stop, thinking doesn't.

You fuck up everything. Why can't you be normal? Nobody loves you. You're stupid. You're naïve. You're not worth it. Waste of space. You could just as well not exist. Nothing makes a difference.

The empty shell that once held Allison in it gets up and rummages through a drawer the bedside table until it finds an old pocket knife. It walks into the bathroom and stops at the sink. There is no Allison in the mirror.

That can't be me. Looks like a zombie.

That's what you are now. Of course it's you. This is how everybody else sees you. Day for day. You'll never turn this around. The zombie is Allison now. Forever. This is me.

Allison is repulsed by herself. She doesn't want to be like this. Everything feels so unreal. Like a dream. And you never wake up.

She sees how one of her hands opens the cabinet above the sink and picks up a razorblade.

This is what helps in a situation like this, right? I heard people talk about this. At school. How people cut their skin to relieve psychological pain. People like me. If they do it, maybe it will help me too. Maybe I will feel again. I want feelings, not thoughts.

The look on Allison's face resembles determination. She brings the blade near her arm.

This is a really sensitive part of my body though. I don't even want anyone to touch me there. Not that anybody would want to.

Both of her arms start shaking at the thought of how it would feel to cut her skin there, how painful it would be, how ugly the cut would be.

Nobody cares about this. You can do whatever you like. You can do it all right.

"It would make a difference to you!"

Suddenly John's voice is ringing in Allison's ears.

"It makes a difference to you! You can do whatever you like. You can just leave it. They don't care about this, but it makes a difference to you."

She puts the razorblade back, closes the cabinet, walks back into her room, closes the door, sits on the edge of her bed and just breathes. In and out. In and out. She feels light-headed, as if her brain didn't get enough oxygen before and now some of the thoughts are gone and there is finally room for air.

"It makes a difference to you."

Now it is her own voice saying it.