This Can't Be The End

Chapter 58

Life's one cluster fuck of a mess.

I'm only at school because I have to, there is less than a year. It isn't worth it to just give it all up now.

​​As the days drag on, the more things become tempting.

Heroine?

A temptation I'm close to diving into.

Having sex with Jay?

Even more, I know what will come out of it, and it would be a lot easier than blowing all my cash.

I really am a whore.

*~*~*~*

I think I have hit rock bottom.

Things have gotten to the point where I can't even look at myself in the mirror.

By now it is obvious that I would be better off dead than alive.

Though an old promise to myself keeps me from it.

Sooner or later it will eat away at my soul leaving me with no choice but to take the plunge for now I will live on the edge, it might be the only way.

*~*~*~*

I arrived at school on Tuesday and something had felt off from the start. I can't pinpoint why, though the stares of some students that lingered in the hallways were heavy.

It's not like in the movies where each and every person who stands in the hallway stares, though it is blatantly obvious that something is wrong.

The closer I get to my locker the more worry eases its way up my spine.

When I got there, there were at least fifteen students there.

What the hell is going on?

No one moves away from my locker no matter how much I shove people away, it's a surprise I made it to it at all.

However, when I finally made it past the crowd of high schoolers, I wished it were possible to rewind time and make the decision not to come to school today.

Printed photographers are placed on my locker in between them. Someone used the blue metal of the locker as their own personal canvas and inked the words "slut", "whore", and "tramp" in bold red ink, reminding me of blood.

The photographer doesn't do much to make the harsh words untrue.

One picture I'm in of a bra and a skirt with some guy's hand in it, I don't remember it, though, from the short auburn hair, I know it's from last year, when I chopped off more than half of it since Parker had always shown liking to my long hair.

In another, I am on my knees sniffing coke off a coffee table.

One where I am kissing someone on the lips with a hand under my shirt.

At least a dozen pictures of me, some with men I don't remember, others with photos of me half naked, somewhere I am smoking or doing some other illegal substance. All of it a blur in my mind.

My head is spinning thinking who could be the culprit of all this, I don't even realize I'm crying at first. But it becomes obvious when my vision becomes foggy.

I turn to see so many faces, some look at me with pity, others with disgust, none of it helping the thoughts that circle my mind.

How many times have I been called a slut? A whore? A tramp? Really any name?

So many.

Yet this time is different.

Here I'm only Ensleey.

No front to hide the broken girl who just wants to find a hole and make a home for herself.

There's no slutty dress that keeps nothing to the imagination, there's only the clothes I enjoy wearing, jeans and a sweatshirt.

There's no lie that I am nineteen and a biology major looking for a good time, everyone knows me as Ensleey Hendrix.

How can this not be worse?

The people who know me as the real girl behind the facade see the facade itself.

Though was it ever a facade? Or was it a lie to keep me from the shame that I feel every time I take off the heavy makeup or wake up next to a stranger?

It's not something I would want to dig deeper into.

Instead of screaming like I wish I could, I make my escape the same way I came to my locker. Except this time more people are staring.

I ran into a few people along the way though I could hear the patterning of someone's feet behind me, there wasn't time to stop stopping, there was no way I could until I'm out the doors of this place.

"Ensleey?"

For some fucked up reason the sound of his voice makes my hurried steps slow, I was running mainly since I don't need more stares, though I definitely wasn't walking at my normal pace.

No one wants me, everyone hates me, and he despises me the most.

"What's wrong?" His voice actually sounded concerned.

He's now next to me, I turn to face him.

Afraid that this might be the last time I see his face.

He reaches out to touch but I back away.

"What do you want?" I ask, not caring that my face is stained with tears.

"What's wrong?" he asks again.

"Nothing," I say. "Everything is perfect as it should be."

Ryver's face is an example of confusion, he'll find out soon enough.

"I really need to go Ryver, why are you even asking me? I don't think you'd want to have a conversation with me of all people,"

I study his features, his sculpted jaw, his green eyes that capture my attention with one stare.

He doesn't love me, never has, never will.

No one will.

No one can.

I'm an unlovable person. Not made for anything but loneliness.