The Words I Couldn't Say

The Crimson Dress

Mizuki

Everything hurts.

My eyes feel dry and sting. Days of crying have left me tearless. Each breath scrapes painfully through my throat, raw from days of sobbing. The only sounds that escape my mouth are faint, hoarse, and strained.

Dried blood stains my fingers. Paint-splattered shards of broken glass. The clothes sprawled out on the floor.

I'm a mess.

Why can't I control anything?

Why does this happen to me? I pull my legs closer, curling up deeper into the pile of clothes I lay upon. The white dress beneath me takes on a crimson hue. It is dyed in my colors. This blood that leaks onto this dress; it is my temporary alleviation - my escape.

If everything and everyone abandons me. Then at least it won't. The red lines drip from my upper thighs down onto the dress following trails of old scars and dried blood.

Why does this hurt so? I've endured so much worse. Beatings, berating, and bullying. I've endured harsher words and stronger hits. So why does this? Why does this hurt so much?

To see Ena's face, her expression, her reaction. To see that when I couldn't even tell her myself. The punch to my gut I felt was the strongest pain I ever experienced.

So I ran, And I ran. As fast as my feet could take me. Just in have been running before. I run again. For days on end.

Days?

Has it been days?

I think I ate once or twice.

How long have I laid here?

Time feels like it's frozen.

Maybe I'll stay here forever.

As my brain entertains the thought. A small noise builds up in my throat.

It's

It's laughter.

This sad existence of mine.

Even to myself, it is laughable.

A joke.

Something not to be taken seriously.

To be looked at and pitied.

It's all I am.

Pitiful.

So that's all I will ever get.

Pity.

Special treatment. Every calculated word. Every eggshell walked on.

I don't need to be special.

I'm just me.

It's not weird.

I...

I'm not weird.

Is it my fault?

If I give up being myself.

If I do that will it become easier to endure?

Between the hate I give myself.

And the hate others give me. I could eliminate one-half, at the expense of making one twice as strong.

A net 0 change.

This hurt.

This pain I feel.

The looks.