The Suicide Girl [Completed]

Chapter 1: The Beginning

|| A T T E N T I O N ||

This book does not contain 100% suicidal content. Those who have come here for such content, I apologize on behalf of the (sort of) misleading title. This book revolves around a more fantasy-like mystery plot with romance and only contains slight suicidal scenes. These scenes, however, are not accurate depictions of suicide attempts.

If you are currently depressed or have had thoughts of committing suicide, please do whatever you can to become more positive. Though you may feel negatively about yourself, I would like to oblige. Many people would find your absence to be saddening. I, the author, would like to wish you well.

Thank you.

~~~
National Suicide Prevention
Lifeline Number Below:
1 - 8 0 0 - 2 7 3 - 8 2 5 5
(Open to calls 24/7)
~~~

Cheryl Faun

It was easy to say you were okay. But in turn, it was hard to say that you weren't. The reason was because people felt the need to constantly ask you why. Did I really need to tell you? No. Maybe I didn't want to tell you either. Sometimes, I wasn't okay for no reason! It was like putting yourself against others for no reason— there was simply no reason.

Let's be honest with ourselves.

Everyone hated someone. Whether it was a classmate or a celebrity, you couldn't deny the burning hatred in the pit of your stomach every time they were mentioned or brought up. The someone that I hated, undoubtedly, was me. There was plenty of reasons I could list off as to why: I didn't have pride, I didn't have a voice, I didn't have a smile, and I didn't have a laugh. I didn't like that. All I had was the thought of death, a trail of tears behind me, and my failed attempts at committing suicide.

Nothing about me was.. intriguing, to say the least. I had stringy black hair and faded grey eyes, which displayed a cold and depressing reflection to anyone who looked my way. My skin was so pale that you could compare it to snow. I was of an average size for my age, but I wouldn't mention weight. That alone was touchy to me. (Let's not get too eager here, fellas). As a slice of life, I lived in the southern parts Alaska— yay, cold weather and shit.

I was almost normal.

Almost.

If it hadn't been for the 97 times I had tried to kill myself, that title would've remained. All of these failed attempts were stopped by one person, who acted as if he cared about me being alive. I knew all of it was fake. I believed it could only be fake. These days, everyone only cared about fame and fortune. They wanted to get in the news, in articles, on websites. And with the publicity we received, my suicide attempts were perfect for all of that.

Tristan Tanner— he should've stayed out of this mess.

Tristan and I were both seniors of this small pitiful high school we had. He was considered one of the most intelligent students in our year, as others recalled. Unlike others in our district, we didn't have a school uniform, so I walked around the school in the same white trench coat, the same black skinny jeans, the same white fingerless gloves, and the same knee-high boots. I told you already— I wasn't very intriguing. The only thing I had that stood out were the silent and unused sound-canceling headphones often spotted on my head.

At school, I didn't bother listening to lectures since I had already finished high school online. Sadly, my parents paid ahead of time for this education, so the principal said I either didn't come for the full amount paid, or just leave, wasting the money spent. Besides, it was free lunch, so I wasn't complaining (even though the food was complete dog shit). I went to a few of the classes, only to criticize the current education systems. The school district knew my attempts of suicide, but when I told a few of them why, they left me alone, not bothering to stop me.