his and hers | 18+

3 | like the singer

•°•* ⁀➷
clementine

i heave into the toilet, hoping that no one else is in here with me. my throat burns at the force of my earlier pancakes entering the toilet.

i silently sob, my claw clip holding my messed-up hair out of my face.

i wipe my tears away with my already wet hand, though it's useless due to the new tears that stream down anyways, replacing the ones i just cleansed myself of.

i hate this. i hate my school, i hate the students inside of it, i hate that i can't stick up for myself which only makes them bully me more.

why can't i yell back? why can't i tell them to get lost, and leave me alone? why didn't my parents teach me how to fight back, rather than letting me be a pussy?

i heave again, but nothing comes out this time. other people yell back when they're bullied, they stand up for themselves and cuss them out. i, on the other hand, cry and vomit.

you're an idiot.

i slap the side of my face, silencing that voice in my head that sounds a lot like my mother.

once i know i'm done spewing out everything i've consumed today, i rip some toilet paper off and wipe my mouth, letting it drop into the toilet.

i stand up weakly, my knees shaking due to how long i was on them, reaching my hand up and pressing down the button to flush.

i crouch down, looking under my stall and checking to see if anyone is in here with me. when i don't see any other pairs of feet, i stand up-right and open the stall door.

i silently walk out, wiping my nose with the back of my hand as i walk over to the sinks. i drop my purse onto the counter, along with my elbows.

tears continue streaming down my face silently, and i try my hardest to reign in my stupid emotions before i leave the bathroom.

stop crying,
stop crying,
stop crying.

i turn the tap on, cold water pouring out of it. i cup my palms together, allowing water to fill up before splashing it onto my face, knowing this is what'll calm me down. i saw someone on the internet say this helps them with panic attacks, apparently it also helps with crying.

i repeat the same step again and again, wetting my face until the aching in my heart slowly subsides, along with my tears.

i take five deep breaths, calming down the rapid pace of my heart before i look up into the mirror, taking in the state of me.

smudged mascara, dark circles, crazy hair, cracked lip—the water probably washed away the bleeding.

those people watched me hurt myself, and the only thing they could do is sit and stare. it's funny how we continuously blame ourselves for getting bullied, but not the evil person doing the bullying.

we blame ourselves for not being strong enough, for not having enough power to stop them. but we never stop and blame the person who takes the time out of their day to make another persons life hell.

i open my purse, taking out one of the many cotton swabs i've got in here, wetting the end of it and quickly clean the smudged mascara before anyone walks in.

i pick up my mascara, pulling it open and repainting my lashes. i may not wear as much makeup as daria does, but i'll never leave the house without mascara.

once that's done, i throw it back into my purse, zipping it closed. i pull out my claw clip and use my fingers to brush through my hair, calming the frizz down.