Sweet Like Cinnamon

Pt 2

There is a difference between being alone and feeling alone. Being alone is like a little kid, filled with worry after his parents went on a trip. Feeling alone is an agonizing feeling that grows constantly within your chest. The pit of emptiness swallows you day by day. I have no one to impress or anyone who cares. My mind constantly wonders if I can drown myself to see if anyone would dive down to save me.
Maybe Mikaela is lonely too. I sigh and listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall. I'm just stupid, Mikaela is like everyone else. I can't help to wonder what her lip ring feels like, or how soft her hands are, or how tas-, I shook the profane thoughts out of my mind and made my way downstairs.
The marble steps felt icy cold against my bare feet. I placed my hand on the railing in order to avoid slipping down and breaking my head open. I got down the steps and my nose instantly filled with the sweet smell of something sweet escaping from the kitchen.
"Mom?" I called out with a sense of false hope in my chest, almost like a joke.
"Your mom isn't coming back dumbass," Jackson sneered, "She left you."
I rolled my eyes at his irrelevant comment. Jackson was always like this since I came to this house. He stood there thinking he's virtuous. He is one of the buyers that gives money for people like me are always like that.
"She didn't leave me, your dad just favored me more," I murmured without a thought.
In an instant, I was shoved against the wall. Hands grasped my shoulders and squeezed them tight. My breath hitched in my throat and my face ran hot as I felt Jackson's breath caress my face. I look away, intimidated and angry as I try to avoid eye contact.
"Look at me!" Jackson shook me, "You were always very beautiful when you were angry." His lips attached to my neck, licking and sucking sweetly. My body felt hot with unwanted lust.
I gritted my teeth, trying to suppress unwanted noise,"He didn't pay you tonight."
He stopped and glared at me, the lustful fire still growing in his eyes. "We'll see about that," he smirked.
How tedious, I thought. I adjusted the collar on my shirt and made my way up the marble steps that always left my spirit cold. My sanctuary awaited my empty presence. I came up the tall, wall window that leads to a balcony. I stared deeply at my reflection. My pale, sickly skin made me ghostly. I ran my hand over the scars over my face, they felt coarse and dry, like desert hills. I pulled down my eyelid to my right eye.
"Tsk," I spoke to myself. "That dumb bitch feigned everything," referring to my mother.
I made my way over to the bathroom to wash away the loneliness and the shit Jackson pulled on me. I stripped of my school uniform and stared at my form in the mirror. I was skinny. My rib caged flashed every so slightly through my sides and my stomach was flat like a slab of wood. Little sign of muscles protrudes throughout my body. I glanced at my hands that were veiny and bony.
How am I the "top object"? I don't impute to anything and I always bring adversity to others.
I sighed and stepped into the warm water pouring from the showerhead. The terracotta shower floor felt comfy against my chilly feet. The nauseous feeling in my chest rose in my throat, forcing it to come out. My stiff hands started unintentionally clawing away the burning feeling, leaving scratch marks.
It won't go away.
This desolate feeling won't leave.
I scratched and clawed away at my skin, scaring it for what will seem like eternity. It feels disgusting. I am disgusting.
It won't go away.
IT WON'T GO AWAY.
My breathing became erratic and my chest ablaze with extreme slash like gashes. My hand cupped my mouth to prevent any horror trying to escape from it. The hot water unconsciously attempted to comfort me. My back slunk against the tiled wall.
All of a sudden it stopped and went away like a ghost. I sighed, everything goes away.