Gracie Freaking Hall

Matilda

I exit the supply closet, fixing my skirt as I close the door on Julio. The feeling of disgust settles in the pit of my stomach like an expired food I decided to chance. I walk to the bathroom and clean myself before thoroughly washing my hands. I look in the mirror and see my sunken eyes of endless sleep deprivation and the marks on my wrist. They had faded, but they weren't there for me to kill myself, just transfer the feeling of disgust and pain into something else, just like I did with sex.

I categorized myself as a sex addict, but in my mind, there was always something more twisted going on. I didn't want to keep focusing on my internal pain so I craved a different stimulus. My therapist says it can be a symptom of my bipolar disorder, but I just thought it was my faulty nature. I was born to be imperfect and was living up to the standard.

The last time I had tried to kill myself was when I had first allowed myself to leave the safety of the confines of the hospital. I sat in my bed, reminders of the house once filled with so much loss were now as hollow as my heart felt. Brianna doesn't know it, she makes the joke that she would help me kill myself, but that day she stopped me.

My fingers trace over the drawing of the vines I had done when my depression had kept me isolated from everyone. After we settled that my ex-boyfriend, Frank the pianist, wasn't going to press charges, my mental state crumbled. I stayed in my room for days until every inch of the wall was covered in something. Now, they were a reminder and I wanted to forget. The pills were on my nightstand, so on impulse, I grabbed them and poured them onto my hand.

"You're pathetic," Brianna's voice sounds. I look up to see the mirage I had created of her. I knew she wasn't real, but I wanted her to be real.

"I can't do it anymore-" I reason as I move them closer to my lips.

"Really? What Maddy? What can't you do?"

"Don't call me Maddy," I tell the illusion.

"Why not? You never stood up to him when he called you that, why me?"

"Because-"

"Because- nothing. Stop being a wimp and tell me in person instead of hiding behind yourself."

"Leave me alone," I tell her and stuff my mouth with the pills.

"Suit yourself, but you can't run away from all your problems. Dead or alive, I'll follow you."

I sputter and start to cough before I look at her, "you will?" It was twisted, in a way, my mind made me believe she loved and cared about me. She would follow me even in death, it was a nice thought.

"Don't look at me like that, it creeps me out."

I smile, "you love me."

"Fuck off," she says and I watch her walk out the door. I follow behind her, the pills long forgotten as I chase after her down the road and back at the entrance of the mental institute. It was like a safety blanket I needed with me day and night.

"You saw the pills, didn't you," I tell her, feeling her presence. She always had a strong aura about her, one didn't need to look up but felt the intense pressure from your lungs being sucked like in the monster movies once seen. You never see the creature but you can feel it.

"You forgot to clean up your mess," she tells me, leaning against the wall and looking at her nails, unbothered.

"I'm surprised you're still here."

"Well after you dropped that bomb, I needed answers." She lowers her foot that was up on the wall and walks toward me. Giving me a serious demeanor and a hand to her heart in hurt, she asks, "What do you mean I'm adopted?"