Trigger Warning: abuse
Naomi POV:
It was my fault. This entire mess, this entire situation is all my fault, and I have no one to blame but myself.
As always, I'd managed to screw everything up. But how was I supposed to know this would happen? How was I supposed to know the guys would completely forget I exist the moment I ask them for some alone time? How was I supposed to know their girlfriends wouldn't join our group, but rather replace me? How was I supposed to know that Parker wasn't the sweet, charming kid that everyone thinks he is? How was I supposed to know that this would happen?
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw Jordan's satellite off the roof in a fit of rage and burn everything in sight. I wanted to break and shatter and destroy everything I could reach. But in the end, I only succeed in destroying myself.
***
I didn't want to be scared anymore. I didn't want to keep being a diminished, hollowed out shell of the girl I used to be. I didn't want to keep having to look over my shoulder to see if he's behind me. I don't want to be scared to go home, because that means I'm alone with him. I don't want to keep being the girl who can't even manage a fake smile without tears pricking at my eyes.
But it's hard. It's hard to even remember who I used to be when all I ever hear is "this is who you are now" from a guy who I thought I was in love with.
It's hard to pick myself up again after he kicked me down so many times to the point where I'm not even sure if I'll ever get back up again, and it's even harder to look in the mirror and try to smile when all you see is a pale, ghostly shell of someone who used to be you. It's hard to remember you're even human when all you are now is a canvas for scars and bruises made by a boy who doesn't know that he's not supposed to touch the masterpieces.
And I used to believe it was me who was wrong. He wouldn't have hurt me like that without a reason, right? That's what I believed.
He told me he loved me. He told me I was his favorite thing, and that he'd love me forever as he planted soft kisses where he'd leave dark bruises the following night.
He loved me. He said it himself, and I believed it. I believed him when he said it was my fault that he hurt me.
I was a little too rude. I was a little too useless. I was a little too clingy. I was lucky to have him.
It was my fault entirely, and he was only telling me these things, he was only letting me know my wrongs because he loved me.
He loves me I'd think as he pulled my hair hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.
He loves me I'd think as I begged him to let me out of the closet he'd forced me into and locked me inside of.
He loves me I'd think as he left me bruised and bleeding on the ground, scarred by his fist and his acidic words that stayed seared into my mind.
He loves me.
***
I don't know when I lost myself.
I can't quit pinpoint the exact moment when I stopped going out to see my friends and when my smile started to fade. I can't remember when I stopped liking the things I used to or when I stopped laughing until my sides hurt. I don't remember when he became the center of my thoughts, when he started to convince me that I needed him.
I do remember what it felt like to realize what was happening. The weight of finally realizing that I forgot what it felt like to laugh a real, genuine laugh. The sadness when I realized my voice croaked when I spoke from being silent for so long. The denial when I realized I couldn't remember the last time I went to sleep without tear stained cheeks.
I remember looking at the musketeers, happily sitting with their girlfriends, completely oblivious to the nightmare my life had become. I remember the one time I was able to separate myself from Parker for just an hour to spend time with them. I remember them asking me to leave half an hour early because their girlfriends were coming over and they wanted to clean up the mess in the base. I remember the utter pain and heartbreak I felt as they shoved me out the door, their voices blurred in a mess of I'll call yous and see you soons as I realized that I was the mess they were cleaning out.
And I remember every time after that when they told me they didn't have time to hang out with me, giving me empty promises of soon, later, next time. And I remember feeling the worst pain of all when I realized I'd lost my best friends.
***
But somehow, it got worse. It got so much worse. It got worse when I gave up on trying to have any control over my life anymore. It got worse when I looked at Raymond's smug face when I passed him in the hallways, knowing he knew damn well what was going on. It got worse when the musketeers, all three of them, marched into my house after school, declaring that I don't even try enough anymore and that they refuse to be friends with someone who doesn't try to be friends back. It got worse when I watched them leave, and not a single one of them even hesitated at the door.
***
It got worse every day. I stopped listening to the music I liked, stopped reading the books that made me smile, stopped going to the places that made me happy. He had brainwashed me so, so well.
He had turned me into someone else, someone I didn't want to be. Every night, I'd go to bed with cheeks stained by tears and littered with bruises, and I'd fall asleep hoping I'd wake up and it would all be gone. And every morning, I woke up into the same nightmare.
***
I couldn't take it anymore. I gave up. I couldn't keep living in a nightmare. I couldn't keep spending every waking moment trying not to burst into tears from the fear and anxiety. I couldn't keep being afraid even in my own home. I couldn't keep living like a prisoner. I couldn't even keep living at all.
***
As soon as school ended, I ran to the nearest bus stop, hoping to god that the next bus would come before Parker realized I wasn't coming to his car so he can drive us home like I'm supposed to. And, despite how many things have worked against me lately, my prayers are answered, and I can feel a weight lift off my shoulders as the bus screeches to a halt in front of me.
I hand the bus driver all the money I have on me and tell him to keep it. The confused-looking man doesn't refuse it, though I can tell from his wide eyes that he was silently questioning me.
The ride seems to take forever, yet at the same time feels like it ends in a matter of seconds. I can't back out of this now. If I go home now, Parker will kill me for not doing what he said.
The bus finally arrives where I want to get off, and I give the driver one last thanks before getting off. From there, I'm able to find my own way. I am just barely able to find my way around from the few things I recognize. I'd only been in this area once when I was with Jordan when he took me with him to do graffiti. I almost manage a smile at the memory. But instead, tears prick at my eyes and my heart stings as I think about the boys.
I stop just at the edge of the bridge. The one where I saved Jordan's life-or at least I would have had he not had a harness on. I look over the edge, admiring his graffiti art, which was still there.
I don't know how long I stand there. It was long enough for the sky to start turning darker and the moon to just start rising. It was long enough for me to go over every single thing I'd done wrong in my life, and for me to tell myself over and over again that it's my fault.
I finally do it. I finally will myself to sling one leg over the edge. And then the other. I sit on the ledge, looking down at the concrete below me.
I push myself over.
I fall.
I hit the ground.
I was never supposed to have a happy ending.
Sorry if I killed all of your hearts. I promise I'll make up for it in part 2.
