Jet Black Hearts / l.h.

𝟑𝟐

Monday, November 10, 2018
7:25 a.m.
The Raye Residence

I stare at the wall blankly as my mom talks to me. Every word that comes out of her mouth goes in one ear and out the other. She doesn't seem to notice my state since she continues to talk to me as she butters her toast. I swirl my spoon in my soggy cereal and wonder what it would feel like to die. It's an innocent thought until my mind dives deeper into it and I start imagining slipping out of consciousness forever. Will it hurt? Will I be numb? Will my life flash before my eyes? Will I be filled with regret? Will I be filled with relief?

"Brinley," Mom's stern voice breaks me from my mind fog.

I drop my spoon into my cereal. A splash of milk lands onto the surface of the table. My eyes flicker up to meet my mother's.

I clear my throat. "Hm?"

She scowls and sets down her toast. "Where you even listening to me?"

I stare at her blankly. "No."

She scoffs and shakes her head, like she cannot believe that her daughter is being disrespectful. At least I'm honest.

I stand and pick up my bowl of cereal. Mom crosses her arms and watches me place the bowl next to the sink and take out the spoon covered in milk.

"And what do you think you're doing?"

I lean against the counter and turn to her sharply. "Putting my spoon in the sink."

"Don't give me that attitude."

I bite my tongue. It goes like this every time we talk. She says something, I say something, she tells me to watch my attitude, and then we start yelling. I'm used to this cycle, but I'm getting tired of it.

I turn away from my mother and walk straight towards my room. I hear her call after me, telling me that I better be getting for school, and I don't bother arguing. I lazily get dressed out of my usual sweatshirt and shorts and instead put on jeans and a t-shirt with a jacket. I am about to leave for school when I start to sweat.

I glance out of my bedroom window. The sun, which is still rising, is already shining bright. I look down at my clothes and dread sweating at school all day, but no one knows about my cuts and scars at my school. I have to wear the jacket.

I step towards my bedroom door and twist the doorknob. As soon as I push it open, I make a split-second decision and slip the jacket off, leaving me in jeans and a black t-shirt with a band logo on it. School is already hell and everyone already hates me. I don't have any friends, so why should I hide my arms? It doesn't matter.

Nothing does.