Regrets||✓✓

18.11

It was too much. The mental torture. The guilt. The heartache. The regret. I was going mad, and I felt bad for Conner who thought putting me in therapy would help. It didn't. I felt caged. I felt trapped in my own mind, taunted by memories of my mistakes. I became a shadow of my former self, thinner and weaker each day. I didn't want to go to class, or have theatre practice, or talk to anyone. I didn't want to do anything, but to die, and end the unending misery.

It's been over a year. My nineteenth birthday is approaching. Conner promises to take me to England and spend some time with him and his family. I'm not enthusiastic; I am sad. Conner was too good a friend, too good a person. He shouldn't waste his money on a pathetic soul like me. Giving it to charity would be better. He tries to make me happy, but I am sad. I am undeserving of love and care. I deserve to die.

∆

Gold's parents are hosting a party for the launch of her father's new collection. We are all invited. With minimal effort I get dressed in a midnight blue dress, and have my hair styled in a tight bun. Taylor lays my edges for me. I manage to say thank you. I look at myself in the mirror and force myself not to cry. I look terrible. My cheekbones are showing and my eyes look like they're about to fall out of their sockets. I can see my neck bone, very visible even under the diamonds decorating my neck. I look like a corpse. I tear my eyes away from my reflection in the mirror and look at Gold. She is as beautiful as ever, and Taylor is stunning as well. What did they ever do to get stuck with a mess like me?, I think. Conner calls, and my friends help me to my feet, helping me walk.

The drive is quiet; Gold's parents arranged for a limousine to pick us up. Gold and Taylor are checking out a magazine, while my hand is in Conner's and my head is on his shoulder. His arm is wrapped around me, rubbing my arm and his other hand playing with my fingers. He gives me a smile. I return a weak one. Soon we arrive at the venue.

∆

I wish I could enjoy the party, but I'm so sad. I can't eat or drink. I can't socialise. I lean against the walls, twitching, paranoid. Gold's mother is watching me. She shakes her head and whispers to her associate. They probably think I'm a drug addict. I do look like one anyway. Twitching like I need my next dose. Idiot. Disgusting idiot. Disgusting, selfish idiot.

"No!" I say weakly, but the voices in my head don't stop. I shakily kick myself off the wall and go out of the hall, calling Conner on my phone. He tells me too meet him at the balcony on the roof. I nod and ask for directions.

True to his word, Conner is on the roof. He runs his hands through his hair and face and yawns. "The party is boring," he says. I only nod. He reaches for my hand and pulls me close to him, locking our hands together. "You look beautiful tonight," he tells me, and I sigh sadly. I look like a corpse. He removes the band holding my hair in place and they fall in loose curls around my face. I raise my brow in question. "It's prettier this way."

I look away, tears forming in my eyes. Why does Conner treat me like this? Like I was perfect? Like I was beautiful? Like I was... Normal? He was there; he heard everything liberty had said, he had cried with me. He's supposed to be disgusted with me. Why does he take care of me so well? The tears fall and my legs buckle, dropping me to the floor Conner is quick; he drops to the floor with me, holding me up with my waist. Our noses are mere inches away from each other, and I see Conner's eyes drop to my lips, but they're on my eyes quick again.

"Please don't cry, Naija. It hurts to see you cry." He wipes my tears with his thumbs and kisses my forehead. I break into a sob, and soon start to cry. "Don't hurt me like this, Naija, please. Please, don't cry. Is it me? Was it something I said? Naija, talk to me. Talk to me. Look at me and say something." Despite my tears, I can see the hurt in Conner's eyes, and so I stop. He doesn't deserve to be hurt like this. He deserves better. He looks like he's about to cry as well. "I love you too much to see you like this."