[so let the fireworks burst]

part 5//

He stops and stares. In the hustle and bustle of New York City, to stop is suicide. To stare? Well, no one cares enough to notice your inability to look away. Tch, New Yorkers.

A girl, eighteen and hungover, stumbled behind a family.

'Such a perfect family.' A younger brother was chatting animatedly with a young, beautiful, smiling mother, while the father busily consulted a map, a small smile on his lips. Yet she? She tainted this vision of perfection. She was the black sheep, she with auburn hair in a family of blondes, she with black eyes. The scars on her wrists were easily distinguishable, the delicate flashes of ivory making its way up her arm. She dressed in dark clothing, despite the sunny, July weather.

'Why have I seen her before?'

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Well, karma is a b****, is it not?

To stop and stare, at such an inoppurtune moment? In the middle of crossing the road, she felt the need to glance to her left.

Her breath quickened.

'It's...

'It's...

'It's him...' She stared at her arms.

"HOLY--" She bit her lip before her mother could inquire about her sanity. Scars criss-crossed her arm. A little railway track here, a road there. Oh, that one? It just appears to be jagged. A mountain range, perhaps? Ouch, that one seems painful.

Where did these scars come from?

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"Let. This. End" a sixteen year old whispered to herself. In the solitude of the orphanage(did she live in an orphanage before?) bathroom, she pondered the meaninglessness of her existence.

Hopeless.

Filthy.

Worthless. These thoughts did not merely circle her head, oh-no they didn't. No, they corrupted her mind, poisoning with its acerbity.

One slash,

Two slash,

Three slash,

All the way up to thirteen. With her luck, her life would end there. A life without her parents, in a living hell, with no one who loved her? Why live when hell seems so much more inviting.

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The man was lost. He never drank. Nope. It was extremely fun watching drunk people, that cannot be denied, but he never was drunk. But why does he suddenly feel like throwing up? Where did all of this guilt come from? He had nothing to feel guilty about!

He glanced at his hand. And at her throat.

There were bruises along her neck. And he could feel the blood on his hands.

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Her neck was sore. Taking another glance at the strange, familiar, man, she took out her Iphone to inspect her neck.

Crack goes the new Iphone.

Bruises, like someone strangled her. All along her neck.

'But it was a dream.'

But, somehow, her dream was encroaching upon her reality. Or was it even real?

She didn't know anymore.

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