© 2014 by Mpule Clarke/cheeky_gurl
~EDITED~
Chapter 11
Dawn
I woke up to a bad taste in my mouth and a burning, raw throat. Pressing my hand to my forehead I looked around my room and noticed that the blinds were closed and my alarm hadn't gone off. When I sat up I noticed a bucket to the side of my bed half filled with vomit and I bit my lip at the scent.
There was a post it on my night stand, I recognised my aunt's handwriting instantly. I called the hospital and told them you are not well. I had a whole day to myself. I didn't like the idea of being left to my thoughts. To myself.
When I showered I kept thinking about the last thing I remembered from yesterday. The last thing I thought and the last thing I said. Shuddering I towed myself across the hall and into the bathroom, images of yesterday after I walked away from Daniel fresh in my mind. I hadn't known Oliver but he seemed like he knew how to have a good time and that's exactly what I needed.
I knew better than to get into a car with a stranger but I wasn't thinking straight. No. I just wasn't thinking. But he reassured me that he will take my mind of of things and foolishly I took the bait. He seemed like a nice guy. Honest. He was. He didn't force me into anything, I made my choice. But I couldn't remember anything after the first few shots. I hadn't even paid notice to the fact that he knew my name when he introduced himself. As I said, I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to be lost in a certain numbness.
Numbness.
The word stuck in my head as the water suddenly went cold but I still stood under the shower, barely shivering as the cold water canceled the warmth.
I had the whole day to my thoughts but I didn't want that. Not one bit. So I did it. Call me a glutten for torture. Or a fool. Or whatever. I couldn't help it. It was like heroine and I was the addict high on the hatred in the words and the depression it brought that it brought needing to be numbed. Numbness.
I googled it.
numb (nm)
adj. numb·er, numb·est
1. Deprived of the power to feel or move normally; benumbed: toes numb with cold; too numb with fear to cry out.
2. Emotionally unresponsive; indifferent: numb to yet another appeal.
tr. & intr.v. numbed, numb·ing, numbs
To make or become numb.
Unresponsive? Indifferent?
I shook it off, fingers trembling. Facebook.com Why did I even do it? I just needed to know.
*3 New notificatioms
*1 New message
Rebecka: I know you saw that message, hmm. Wish you were dead. I wonder if I'd miss you?
I held my breath and tried to not let it get to me. To be numb. But I can't be numb when I can still feel. Still be hurt. It need it to stop. I needed to stop.
I needed to stop tormenting myself by going back to the source of pain. I needed to stop feeling pain. I need to stop feeling. I just needed to stop. But how? Numbness stops pain. Right? How about permanent numbness. No one will care. No one will notice... But I can't be numb permanently without feeling pain.
My eyes fell to my hands in hatred. Hatred of being mine. Hatred of just being. Hatred of me. I just hated myself and I wanted to just stop. But I can't... can't do it because I'm too afraid, afraid of pain but in need of numbness.
I pushed off of my bed and padded into the bathroom making sure to lock the door behind me. I knew aunt wasn't home but I couldn't risk it. I just needed it to stop. Not permanently. Not this time. I leaned over the sink reaching up into the medicine cabinet searching for something I never thought I'd ever use again, I've been afraid of it's power. Not being able to stop feeling pain to feel pain.
Deep breath in. I didn't dear look in the mirror only because of pure hatred for myself, I didn't dear. It was pretty easy to open the small packet. There it lay in my hand. The beginning of my never ending end. It lay cold and powerful in my palm. I was afraid of it. I plucked it up between my forefinger and my thumb and all came rushing back to me. All the reasons I wanted to be numb. I had no one left to feel for anyway. Why couldn't I stop permanently? I just had to wait. But why? I just couldn't...
Tears prickled in my eyes as did the blood on my tingling skin after my first swipe and my second and my third, fourth, fifth down to my thirteenth. I just wanted the skin off. I wouldn't have stopped if it wasn't for my eyes betraying me and gazing into the mirror. What are you doing to yourself Dawn? My thoughts couldn't be trusted but that's all I seemed to do. Trust them. The razor clattered in the sink softly. The sound seemed to wake me up and the sudden reality of what I've done hit me. I didn't mean to... I'm just tired of being in my own skin. I stumbled backward holding my hand to my chest leaning onto the door for support. Stupid. My head struck against the door. Disgusting. My cheeks were warm and moist. Alive.
You think that a lot would care about an heiress... Especially one who would be worth more than anything or anyone in the world in a little more than a week.
I should be glad to be turning eighteen. I get to be the owner of the worlds leading motor company. I should be happy? Right? Yeah, I should, even though my own life would be a risk and I won't be able to do things like this... Thinking of the company always brought back thoughts of my family. When we were whole and happy. Before my mom died. Back when we used to go for picnics somewhere off track. Back when the business just kicked off and we were all so thrilled to live this fairytail like life, well, fairytail like from the outside.
It was only on my eight when my I realised mum was getting sicker by the day. I was young I didn't think much of it. I thought it was the flu or something. Well, I thought that until she fainted a day when the two of us were home and dad and my brother, Vi, were out somewhere.
She was making me a sandwich. I remember because I nagged her out of bed and I felt guilty for it. I thought I killed her when I saw her on the floor in the kitchen, I was glad I knew my dad's number by heart. I wouldn't stop crying. Sobbing because I thought I killed my mother. When I was at the hospital I remembered feeling guilty.
I killed my mother. But I didn't. Dad huddled me in my brother into a corner and I could've sworn that's the only time I've ever seen him cry. He told us that mum was really sick, he didn't tell us what she was suffering from. Explained that she's dying and we only have limited time with her.
Limited as it was, meant only a week.
...
There faces were smiling and beautiful. Peacefully existing. But not existing. They were living, but not living. They were a dream, a memory waiting to be forgotten but never regretted.
...
A sad smiled rested on my face as I picked myself off of the floor. Half way there.
YOU ARE READING
Dawn
Romance" S h e w a s l i k e t h e s u n r i s e . " -- being edited rn, almost done.
