Hollow

six.

EDITED - If you find any mistakes, that's what comments are for.

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"Willow?" The soft voice was delicate on Willow's ears but she couldn't muster up the energy to respond.

Her insistent sister carefully traced the features of Willow's face with a feather-like touch until noticing the first sign of consciousness.

"I need you to get up and prepare for school. Please, Willow. Before mom finds you still asleep." Her tone of worry made the sleepy girl confused but she said nothing.

Begrudgingly, Willow tested the brightness of the sunny morning with a single slit of her right eye. It took a full minute until she slowly sat up, taking in her sister after such a long amount of time had gone by since her last visit.

"I'll leave you to it," Devin muttered before rushing to the door.

Pausing as her sister spoke, Devin turned back to face Willow.

"Thank you, Dovie." Her voice was hoarse from lack of use.

"Don't mention it, Willa." Devin's smile was infectious to Willow as the corners of her lips slightly upturned.

The door was quietly pulled shut before she removed herself from the bed, every movement hurting worse than the previous. Abruptly slipping out of her dress, she examined the damage of yesterday's event in her vanity mirror with a heavy heart. 

 The harsh contrasts of colors disrupt her fair skin in an unpleasant array of injuries, swollen imprints of his hand covered her lower back, thighs, and chest in an ugly reddish-purple hue. Nothing appeared to be serious but the ache from every bruise radiated off her body like a heatwave.

  Her bruised thighs could easily be hidden by a longer dress but the marks covering her chest would be harder to conceal. She slipped into her favorite yellow dress, the bruises peeking out the low neckline. Stepping closer to the mirror, she grabbed her concealer and began rubbing it over the marks. Each application faded the darker areas of her neck until it all blended together but that didn't change anything. They were still there, aching every time she moved the wrong way. 

Picking up her mascara, she paused, her eyes fixated on the image reflected.

Her dull, tired eyes pleaded with her, the downturn of her chapped lips prominent, the puffiness of her face from tears being another ugly reminder.

 In a sudden fit of anguish, the vibrant tube of mascara was thrown across the room, hitting the harder surface with a loud crack of plastic. All of her emotions hit at once and without an idea to cope, Willow, crumbled where she stood with her arm holding onto the vanity above her, as she sunk further to the floor. Hysteria takes her lower, lost in an abyss of despair, frustration, disillusion, shame, sorrow.

Cluttered with what-ifs and whys, blaming Luca wasn't enough anymore for her deluded mind. If I didn't agree to get in his truck. If I just said no? Why am I so stupid? Why do I let him touch me? Why can't I leave him?

Her heaving chest felt as if it could barely expand to collect enough oxygen. The unstable girl came to the conclusion she didn't mind one way or the other. Dying of suffocation wouldn't be so bad.

There was no calm for her, but once she found a small portion of sanity, she decided to poison it. With unsteady hands, she sorted through the pockets of her dress from yesterday before finding the miniscule pill that she saw as the fix to all of her problems.

Taking the pill between her front teeth, Willow searched for any liquid that she could use to swallow. Finding an old bottle of lemon tea under her bed in reaching distance, she uncapped it before taking a gulp to ease the pill down her throat. The taste was less to be desired but she didn't have the sense to care anymore.