• j a d e •
do you ever sit and wonder what life would be like if you were born as a different person? what if you didn't have something that you have now? what if singers were born as a different person and they couldn't sing? they'd be ordinary people, just like you and me. they'd walk the streets without someone asking for a picture, and they wouldn't be under the constant stress of the public eye.
everyone dies eventually, nobody gets anything better once we're dead. it doesn't matter how much money you had, or who you were born as. everyone dies and everyone suffers.
you deserve to suffer.
"i know," i whisper.
i roll off the couch and clutch my head with my right hand, as my left hand pushes me up to my feet. my vision was blurry, i'd blink and it would go. and then it would come creeping back a few minutes later.
i close my eyes and breathe heavily, in and out, in and out. when i open my eyes i wish i hadn't, as i see a dark pair of eyes staring back at me. a scream escapes my lips and i run, away from the monsters that lurked in this house.
they're not in this house sweetie, you should know that by now. and you can't run from what's in your head.
"shut up!" i scream, grabbing ahold of the kitchen table to steady myself. i lower myself on to a chair and take another deep breath, until i seem to calm down a little bit.
i wipe the tears from my cheeks, horrified by the dried up liquid that mixed in with the wetness. i don't know how long i had been crying, but i felt disgusting.
the shower seemed to be calling for me, but maybe it was just in my messed up head.
you're understand for once.
after i had turned the shower on, i grabbed a towel from harry's wardrobe. i strip myself free of clothes and wrap the towel around my body to go to the bathroom in. the water was at the perfect temperature to just step in.
suds of soap fall into my eyes but i don't bring myself to wash them away. i cut myself with my razor more times than i can count, but i don't bother patching them up. once i'm done in the shower, it looks like i've committed three murders in there, and i come out feeling more drained than i did when i got in.
i don't dry my hair like usual, i leave it to dry naturally. it means that it's going to be even more wild but i honestly couldn't care less. the cuts on my legs had stopped bleeding, but they would definitely scar. again, i didn't care.
once i had dressed myself in one of harry's white 'women are smarter' t-shirts, black leggings and grey fluffy socks, i manage to drag myself down the stairs to watch tv in the living room.
my eyes glance towards the door at the bottom of the stairs, however they linger longer than i had wanted them to.
he's not here.
what can be so bad that he wants to hide it from you? relationships are supposed to have no s e c r e t s.
i shake my head repeatedly, attempting to get the horrible words to stop but they're persistent. with a whimper leaving my lips, i give up.
the key was easy to find, it was the door that was harder to open. i finally managed after several attempts, and when it opens i'm met with a face full of dust. lovely. aware of my hay fever, i plug my nose with my shirt and breathe in harry's scent. much better.
it was dark going down the stairs, however you could see rays of lights coming below, probably from a window down there. it was damp, disgusting and dirty; but something was just pushing me to investigate what was so important down here that harry didn't want me to see.
when we get to the bottom, i'm only led by the light rays coming from a window, which was barred up. i notice an unlit candle on a small table with a box full of matches. when lightened, i realise why i couldn't be down here. a gasp escapes my lips as i hold on tighter to the candle in fear of dropping it.
"what the fuck are you doing down here?"
