Blood cookies (One-shot)

Blood cookies

I was 15 years old. I was kneeled before the bidet, the hot tears were running on my cheeks, ruining the make-up that so much took me convincing mama to let me wear; my naked legs were cold over the toilet ceramic flooring and I shaked. That was the first time I ever purged.
After crying, muffling my mouth in order to not be heard; and smoking two cigarettes I had stolen from mama's purse, I looked myself in the mirror and decided that my smeared eyeliner was kinda cool, so I got out of the bathroom feeling pretty punk as my foul stench of cigarettes and cheap cologne made me feel like I owned the world.
I didn't dance, of course. I didn't feel I had the privilege.
Instead, I sat with my scarce friends and chatted about whatever as I tried to obliviate my recent occurrence. Yet, something tingled in the back of my head, just as papa used to do, and mumbled very softly that I had reached a point of no return. Even if I wanted to ignore it, I had opened a door that could never again be closed.
I told mom i didn't smoke, that my friends did.
Then, feeling worthlessly dejected, I cried while muzzling my screams in my pillow.
I didn't smoke again for some time.

How old was I? Like, eight, nine? I don't know, I was honestly just a brat. Brats do shit. I was in the supermarket, and I really just felt like being a burden. Nay, I wanted to be heard. Usually kids are completely ignored since they are, well, kids; but I always felt specially small. Not phisically small. I just never felt that mom ever really cared about me. Instead, my big brother would get all the attention from getting in troubles. Kids teased me for being weird. My only friend atm had been sent to another school.
I wanted something, something small was fine. Just something that would remind me that I existed, that someone cared about me.
I was not really hungry. I never was. But there were this cookies in the candy aisles. I had seen them in a commercial perhaps, or maybe they came with a gift, I don't really remember; but I knew I wanted them. Not because I wanted the cookies, but because I wanted mama to spoil me.
I'm not sure why, but she denied my enquiry.
My eyes welled up with tears, but she didn't seem to realize. She never did.
And as we walked through the corridors, I thought about the cookies and how much I desired to have them.
I wasn't as much an asshole as my brother, I didn't have the nerve to make a scene as he could have. I just swallowed my pain, and I felt as if a small sphere had nested on my throat, growing and growing at every step I took.
It was Sunday. Sundays were weird, I think they still are. Soon, my time with mama would be over and I would need to go to school again. There's no kid that likes school, but I loathed it. It made me scared, I did not want to suffer at seeing how the other kids played together as I stayed alone, or as a stupid boy was mocking me. I didn't want Sunday to end. I wanted a memory, something that would perhaps assert that today did, in fact, happen. I wasn't living a particularly beautiful moment, I was just walking with mama in a store, but still, thinking about going to school felt as a pungent stomach ache.
Mom turned to me and asked me why was I so quiet, and I cried.
She ended up buying the fucking cookies, which I took the next day as a school snack.
A boy stole them.

I was sixteen the first time I ever had a boyfriend.
I was the last one of my class on doing so, and I would lie if I say I never felt pushed at getting one by seeing everyone so happy in a relationship.
For a while, it seemed as if everything was okay from now on. I stopped purging. I didn't eat much, I had stopped eating much the moment I met him, but now that he was sort of mine, I felt I could indulge a little bit more in gluttony.
Soon, he started being mean.
And I knew I diserved better, but yet I did not want to feel alone in my house only with mama and my brother.
Soon, a thought would enter my mind unrelentingly. I started to think that my boyfriend was the best I could have. Not only was he the best partner a girl could get, but I did not diserve much more.
So I went back to smoking as I was having a panick attack one day after leaving his house and letting him cum on my face. Of course, I did not finish.
And I did not feel good enough with my body to masturbate.
So I drew a fine line, or rather lines, in my wrists.

I was seventeen the first time I went to a big, actual party. I had given up on smoking and life was not particularly good, but it was bearable. At the moment my boyfriend wasn't there, and I was having an Ice cream.
The host asked me if I was I child, and I grew to hate that word.
So I lit a cigarette for looking mature. And ended up vomiting.

I was eighteen when I broke up with him, and I vomited the moment he left, but I didn't mean to, it just came out. I had given up on vomiting for my throat hurt enough with all the smoking.
He looked sullen, as much as I, perhaps. But I was an expert at hiding my feelings, so bet I felt way worse.
And so it was for the time to come.
My arms started looking like bar codes, I couldn't run for much for I would get asthma attacks, and I started drinking way harder than whatever was sane.
I tried getting another boyfriend, and I surely did kiss a lot of boys, but soon enough I would feel pathetic and gross.
He, instead, didn't take much time in getting another girlfriend.
And even though I had stopped, I purged again.

Four day laters after I purged, feeling dead enough not to care for how pathetic I felt, i got out of bed using all of my strength. I was not hungry at all, but in the kitchen was a tray with homemade cookies made by my brother.
I loved cookies, and even though it was kind of weird because of the indirect damage he had done to me, I loved my brother.
My vision started to blurr as I reached for one, I didn't think much about it, because I knew if I thought I would go away.
Pictures of my ex boyfriend and his new girlfriend started flashing in my mind as I grasped the smallest one I could find.
The boy I was sort of interested in was laughing and drinking with another girls as I drove the small cookie towards my mouth.
An ominous image of me purging again burnt my brain as I opened my mouth.
Soon enough, a whole scenery unfolded before me.
I was alone, sad, pathetic. I had lost all the happiness I once had for not being able to stand the price it came with.
I was a methhead, alone, not being able to achieve any of my dreams.
No one took me seriously.
No one ever would.
I had no friends, I never really did.
Everyone loathed me.
Dad killed himself because of me.
Mama didn't give me attention because I didn't diserve it.
Everyone who was close to me would eventually realize how boring I was.
I was better of dead.
I couldn't stand the neverending pain.
And as I bit the cookie, making it crumble into my mouth, I lost the entirety of my vision.
I fell to the floor, still in my pajamas.
And I feel how the hot vomit reeking cigarettes smell surrounds my head as I cannot breath anymore.
You know, if I knew I was going to die, I would have hastened to eat the cookie.