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Purple. A color that held a labyrinth of meanings for Julie. For her, purple wasn't just a hue - it was a mirror of her inner world. When she felt optimistic, she might don a shade of lilac or lavender, hinting at fleeting moments of hope. But when darkness crept in, the deeper shades of purple -like plum- marked her descent into more profound sorrow.
Purple was a paradox for Julie. It embodied both the mask she wore and the hidden pain she concealed. This complex relationship with the color was her secret code, her way of navigating through life's chaos. It wasn't just a favorite color; it was an emotional compass that guided her through tumultuous feelings.
And perhaps that's the essence of people - they have both a visible and a hidden side. Crucial to recognize and understand both facets, to avoid the illusion that one was incapable of darkness. Julie had once believed the darkest path was her only route, and she lived with that regret until her last breath.
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"Dr. Turner, Dr. Turner? Answer godammit."
The phone slipped from her trembling hands and crashed onto the floor, the sound swallowed by the silence that gripped her. It felt as if the walls were closing in, pulling her into the crypt of her own mind, where sanity was a distant memory. Her hands tangled in her hair, tugging at the roots as she desperately tried to ground herself. She's counting out loud, numbers in an order of chaos but she's stuck in number two. When two reaches, she's messes up and goes from the start.
Hand clutched her chest, an unbearable pain she hadn't felt in a while. The other slips in her pocket, fingers curling around the familiar bottle with her favourite drug desiring the moment she'll fall in its need.
"What's wrong with me?" She broke down, knees weaker than her body, collapsing to the floor. Breathing was a forceful task, the glass bottle crashed against the floor. In panic, she tried to count her pills, but the plural seemed out of her mind. She scooped them inside her palm, the hope she didn't lose none of them blooming inside her.
He was there. Today, she had seen him. Breaths away, steps away, too close to her. He intoxicated her, a wave of fear stealing her voice, her will to breath. When he saw her, he run away vanishing for the rest of the school day.
That coward. Of course, he couldn't face her. That's what he was, a fucking coward. A man without honours.
"Fuck." Her palm scratched by a piece of glass. A unfortunate habit of wounding herself, slowly leading her to insanity. Anger building up inside her. The sudden ring of the doorbell startled her, the glass deeper inside her skin. A painful groan. Tears threatening her mental strength.
Anger, so much anger. At her, at him, at everyone and everything. At the therapists who tried to mend the void inside her, only for him to reappear and unravel all their efforts, sending her spiraling back to the start.
