The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (GirlXGirl)

Chapter 1: Failure

I opened my eyes to the sound of water rushing around me, coughing and gasping like a half-drowned idiot. The river had dumped me on the muddy bank like it was just as sick of me as I was. Typical. My big, dramatic exit? Turned into a faceplant in the mud.

I lay there for a second, blinking, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was still here. The bridge. The leap. The freezing water that should've taken me under. But nope, the universe had other plans—apparently even death didn't want to deal with my bullshit.

The stars overhead sparkled like they were in on the joke. I glared at them, but all they did was twinkle back, cold and indifferent. Like everything else in this miserable world. My body ached from the impact, and my soaked clothes stuck to me like a second skin, making it feel like every movement was in slow motion.

With a groan, I forced myself onto my elbows, mud squelching beneath me. The air stunk of wet dirt and failure. I dragged my hand across my face, smearing mud everywhere like it mattered. Why the hell was I still here? I'd jumped into the abyss, and instead of oblivion, I got spat back out like a bad joke.

Of course, I'd screw this up too. Classic Dylan.

I sat up, staring at the river, waiting for some deep, life-altering revelation. Maybe something cosmic to explain why the water rejected me. But nope. Just the same relentless flow, gurgling away like it had better things to do than take me down with it.

I couldn't help but laugh, though it came out more like a bark. "Screw you too, then." I muttered to the river, because what else was there to say? I tried to escape, and the world basically shrugged and tossed me back.

I staggered to my feet, the weight of my drenched clothes dragging me down. Every step felt like trying to walk through quicksand. My shoes made this disgusting squelching sound with every move, like they were mocking me with every step. Whatever. The worst had already happened, right?

I walked through the empty streets, soaked and freezing, looking like a zombie that crawled out of some bad horror flick. Except this wasn't some movie where I was going to magically find meaning in life after a failed attempt. Nah. This was just my pathetic reality. Failed at life, failed at death. Gold star for me.

By the time I reached my house, I was shaking uncontrollably. Not just from the cold, but from the sheer exhaustion of it all. My dad's car was in the driveway, which meant he was inside, probably passed out in his chair with a half-empty whiskey bottle in hand. I stared at the dark windows for a second, wondering why I even bothered coming back. This place wasn't home—it was a tomb I just happened to sleep in.

I stepped inside quietly, the familiar stench of stale air and booze punching me in the face. The house was dead silent, except for Dad's snores rumbling from his room. I didn't care. He didn't care. That's how it always went.

My jacket hit the floor with a wet slap, and I kicked off my shoes, leaving a trail of muddy footprints across the tile. Not like anyone would notice. I climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last. My legs were shaking, half from the cold, half from the weight of everything I was carrying—physically and mentally. The banister creaked under my grip, and for a second, I thought about just letting go. But I kept moving, because what else was I going to do?

When I got to my room, I didn't bother turning on the light. I could navigate the mess blind. The streetlight outside threw just enough of a glow through the blinds to give everything a dim outline. I peeled off my soaked clothes, each piece hitting the floor with a disgusting wet thud. If I wasn't so numb, maybe I'd have cared about the smell of river water, mud, and sweat mixing in my room. But I didn't.

I threw on an old t-shirt and sweatpants, the fabric sticking to my clammy skin. It wasn't comfortable, but at least I wasn't freezing my ass off anymore. That was progress, I guess. I crawled into bed, pulling the blankets around me, but the warmth didn't reach deep enough to stop the shivering. Probably never would.

I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for my brain to shut off, but it didn't. It just kept spinning, replaying the same thoughts, the same failures. I'd tried to end it, and I couldn't even get that right. What kind of loser can't even die when they decide to? Apparently, this one.

The thought should've been funny, but all it did was sit in my chest like a heavy, cold stone. My mind flicked to the river, to how it had felt—the cold, the darkness, the way everything had just... stopped. For a brief moment, it was peaceful. No thoughts, no noise, no expectations. Just nothingness.

But here I was, alive. Again. Still trapped in the same miserable existence with the same shitty options. Life wasn't gonna magically get better because I failed at dying. Nah. Tomorrow would be the same as today—just another chance for the world to remind me what a joke it all was.

The tears came before I could stop them. Not the loud, sobbing kind. These were the quiet, broken ones that just leaked out when there was nothing left to hold them back. I wasn't crying because I wanted answers—I didn't expect any. I wasn't crying because I was sad, either. I was just... tired. Tired of carrying everything. Tired of being stuck.

I let the tears fall, staring blankly at the ceiling. Tomorrow would come, and I'd be right back in the same loop. But for tonight, I just lay there, sinking deeper into the bed, my body heavy with failure and exhaustion.

The darkness finally took me under, but not in the way I'd planned.