January 3rd, 2014
Present time.
"My name is Madelynn Sanders. I'm 17 years old. I hate my life," I say aloud, laughing at the last part I added. I take a sip from the bottle of liquor in my hand as I continue to work on my latest painting.
You see, my therapist, who I go to every Wednesday, told me that the first step out of depression was truly getting to know myself. She told me that every day, I should say aloud everything I know about myself. It seems stupid to me, but she says it'll help in the end. I'm not so sure.
"My best friend died when I was eleven. I tried to kill myself when I was fourteen. The only reason I didn't die..." I pause, touching up the edge of a curl on the boy I was drawing, "was because a boy saved me. I've been seeing him a lot lately."
I giggle, taking another sip of the Vodka. I was already beyond drunk, and I knew I would regret it later.
"He comes and sees me a lot now. In my dreams...When I'm awake... It's like I have a stalker!" I laugh aloud, taking yet another sip and glancing over at the curly headed boy leaning against the wall, sending me a disapproving glare.
"I wish you'd go away," I say to him, forgetting my therapy routine. "You always come now," I whisper at the end.
"That's because you're always doing something stupid, now. I've got to make sure you're okay, that you're not getting yourself killed," he whispers soothingly, taking slow steps toward me. I peer at him, clutching the bottle of liquor in one hand, and my paint brush in another.
He has a reassuring smile on his face as he steps toward me, a hand outstretched. My eyes flutter closed as I feel his icy touch on my cheek, delicately touching the skin. His touch disappears, but I still don't open my eyes. I feel a gentle tugging on the bottle I'm holding, and I know he's trying to pull it away from me.
"Give me the bottle, Madelynn," he whispers as my grip tightens. "You'll do something stupid."
"No," I reply, gritting my teeth. "I need it. Give me the bottle."
I finally open my eyes to see him smirking at me. He always smirks. Why?
I can't even process my own thoughts before he disappears from me, and the bottle smashes on the floor, with no trace of the liquid that was inside. I don't even remember letting go of the bottle.
I have an awful headache, from all the liquor I consumed, and from interacting with the boy. I set my brush down against my easel, done painting for the day. I step back and admire my work, the boy's chiseled jaw blurry from my intoxication.
I turn and glance around the room, at all of my other paintings. All of them are of the beautiful boy with the green eyes and curly hair. I can't help but wonder if he likes them.
I walk out of the room that has become my "studio" and shut the door. I wouldn't want my parents to see the paintings, there's no doubt that they would question it.
I near my bedroom, anxious to fall asleep and forget everything. The boy, the drinking, the depression.
I walk into my room, the light purple walls familiar enough to slightly soothe my headaches. I nod at the boy, who sits in the wooden rocking chair in my room, waiting for me. He follows me around everywhere, it seems.
"Get some rest," he tells me, walking over to my bed and pulling the black comforter back for me. I climb in, and he covers me up, his icy fingers brushing against me in the process.
"What happened today, Madelynn? Why were you drinking? And crying?" He asks me, his thumb brushing along my bottom lip. I turn my head, rejecting him. "Was it those people at school? I told you it doesn't matter what they think, baby." I shrug, ready for him to disappear so I can actually get some rest, like he suggested. I sigh.
"Yes, it was them. And it just gets old, hearing how pathetic and worthless you are, every single day of your life," I say to him sarcastically.
"But it doesn't matter what they think, Maddy." I grimace at the nickname I have grown so used to him calling me over the past few years he's been visiting me so frequently. "You're worth something. You're worth everything...to me at least." I grimace at his statement.
"Please. How could I matter to someone, as ugly and stupid as I am?" I say, tears welling up in my eyes. His large, cold hands grab my wrists, holding them close to my chest. His thumbs rub slow circles, and somehow, I am instantly calmed. I can't move. I can't speak. I am sedated. This hasn't happened before.
"Listen to me, Madelynn. You are beautiful, and you are smart, and you are worth everything to me. You'll understand, soon," he says to me. I shake my head. "How soon? You never tell me anything," I pout. He chuckles softly. "Baby, you know I can't tell you until you're eighteen. Just a few more days."
I nod, ready to go to sleep. He tells me that every time I ask him: I have to wait until I'm eighteen to know who the boy is, or why he keeps coming to visit me.
He touches his fingertips to my eyelids, closing them. "Sleep now, my Madelynn," he whispers, pressing his cold lips to my forehead. When his touch is lifted, I don't even have to open my eyes to know that he is gone.
From here out, the story will be in present time, rather than flashbacks, like the previous chapters. Vote/Comment/Share please! Thanks for reading!!
Also, I know that this story may be a little hard to understand and confusing, but be patient and everything will tie together eventually!
