Thirteen

8

Freaks by Surf Curse

I thought the shower would perform some kind of restorative cure, but it didn't work as well as I hoped. I feel clean, which is worth something, but I still feel bad. Like physically bad. My shoulders still feel heavy with this weight that won't move. I think I need to get a better handle of my emotions, but- I don't know.
I think I've gone a little bit delirious.
Or jet lagged.
Or both.
I'm so exhausted you'd think I would've fallen asleep the second my head hit the pillow, but no such luck. I have no idea what time it is, and having no windows whatsoever has fucked up my body clock. I literally don't know if it's day or night. I must've spent hours already, just letting my mind go down a rabbit hole as I throw my balled-up socks at the wall. I let my thoughts spiral.

What could possibly be so interesting about me?
Is there an actual reason as to why I am here?
If so, what's wrong with me?
The only thing I could think of is just that I have different coloured eyes and red hair. I personally wouldn't call it a problem, but everyone else I've met throughout my life has viewed it as such. I vaguely remember no one wanting to be my friend in primary school because I 'looked different'. Even my own mother would often mutter about my looks when she had her back turned to me. I felt so ashamed to exist. I soon realised that I physically can't change who I am, so my options were to either never wake up... or get over it. And I'm too scared of death. The very thought of what happens after you die terrifies me. So I learnt to not care about other people's opinions.

My mother would often bring up the fact that I banged my head against the crib when I was little. It freaked her out. But after a while, she just assumed it was normal for 'my type'.
Maybe it's something that's going on inside my head that they're interested about. Whether it's psychological, like how my brain works, or physical like my athleticism. But even then, I have no clue. The possibilities baffle me. Out of all the people on this rotting earth, why me?

My mind starts to drift in and out, the strings of thoughts cloud over, and my brain feels like it's turned to mush. I hate overthinking. It just tires me out even more. I eventually fall into a state where I'm inbetween awake and asleep. Where my brain is peaceful for once.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـ

I don't want to get out of bed. I don't want to face the day. I wish I could just rot in this bed forever. As I turn my head, the muscles in my neck feel so stiff and sore. Last night, I slept sitting up in the corner of the bed, leaning against the wall. I felt too vulnerable falling asleep under the covers. And I don't care how cold I get.
I manage to drag my feet outisde the room, the same sinking feeling in my stomach that hasn't left me for the past two days.
And then it hits me like a ton of bricks: I could die today.
Or tomorrow.
There's no real way of knowing. All I know is that my life is in the hands of a psychopath.

A little bit dies inside of me when I see him come out of his office.
"Ah! How'd you sleep, Leibling?" His voice is so full of enthusiasm it scares me.
"Fan-fucking-tastic." I say flatly.
His eyebrows fly up his head as he locks his door.

"Well aren't you spirited?" He shakes his head as he walks into the opposite room across the hallway, where he bandaged up my ankle. I'm left in the hallway for a brief moment.

I start picking at my fingers, when someone whispers in my ear. I turn around, but to my surprise no one is there.
The fuck?
I swallow the nervous lump in my throat.
As soon as it happened, I begin to doubt myself. I'm stressed. I'm tired. It's probably my mind playing tricks...
More whispering floods my ears.
Definitely not imagining it.
Definitely, definitely not.
But no one is around.