Mentally Broken

7

Chapter song: November by Sleeping With Sirens
-Saturday, 8pm-
(Mia's pov)
I angrily walk into the cafeteria to see my mom and sister sitting at a table. In annoyance, I roll my eyes, then sit in front of them. I can already feel the enmity growing in my chest and the hard knot in my stomach.
"Mia." Is all my mom says. What's there to say to your fucked up daughter?
"What do you want?" I grumble carelessly yet irritably.
"Sweetheart, I know you're upset—" How can I not be? You put me into this hell-hole. You had so many other options, mom, but you chose this place," I speak harshly.
"Can't you see it's for your own good?" Mom gives me a sympathetic glare, like I mean so much to her. Bullshit.
"My own good? This place isn't helping me at all," I cross my arms in anger. Honestly, I don't believe she did this for me. She did this for her own personal desire. She couldn't stand me, so she used my illness as a way to cut me out of her life.
"You'll get used to it, Mia," Ellie glares at me, her cold eyes freezing off any love I had left. She probably thinks I'm doing this for attention. But she has no clue what I go through and how much I'd die to escape the monster in my head.
"Ok, how about you get in here? I'll be happy to switch. Ellie, you're the reason I'm fucking in this place!" I raise my voice to the anger reaching its peak inside me. My hands clench into hard fists, sending signals of pain from the palm of my hands. The sharpness of my nails dig into my palms. And I find pleasure from it.
"How is this my fault?!" Ellie snaps back bitterly.
"You believed everything the school said about me! You shoved all those ugly words at me without seeing if they were right or wrong!" I shout furiously, letting all the anger burst past my lips. Mom is trying to get us to calm down, but she's only making it worse.
"Well, you ARE a slut," Ellie fires at me, and it hits me hard, right in my heart. I tear up, then grow angrier. I don't know how to react. It's like I can't get any angrier, but I'm too sad to even deal with it anymore.
"I don't want to see you again. I'm done with this shit," I stand up, avoiding eye contact, and barge out of the room. Once I flip open the cafeteria doors, I see Justin and Katie waiting for me.
"Well, how'd it go?" Katie curiously walks up to me. I shake my head and start to cry in anger and frustration.
"What happened?" Katie sounds worried now, and she almost places her hand on my back. But the rules prevent her.
"I don't want be here," I cry in the sleeves of my jacket.
"Don't worry. It'll get better, Mia," Katie nor Justin could touch me, because there are nurses nearby.
"I want to die," I say out loud in a sniffle.
"Don't say that, Mia," Katie warns me in kindness. I don't care. I go to the corner and lie on the floor. Not too long after, I sense a cold body beside me. The marshmallow scent and minty freshness tells me it's Justin. I don't care if he likes the closeness or not. I move in closer to him and rest my head on his lap. It's a risky, dangerous act. It's reckless enough to get me executed by the unfair government here in this hell hole.
As for Justin, he tenses up...a lot, but he doesn't try to stop me. A part of me wants to give him space, but I know he must've seen this coming. And he allowed it to happen.
-6pm-
"Dinner!" A sudden shout wakes me up in a jerk.
"I'm so fucked up. The dark is too much," Justin mutters under his breath, and it takes me back to reality.
"Justin," I sit up tiredly to see him stop his muttering. His eyes are exhausted yet wide open. Then he stands up with me following him. We go into the cafeteria again, where I find no sign of mom nor Ellie. It sends relief flowing through my veins. I have another apple for dinner, or should I say a quarter of an apple. Justin eats the rest for me.
"What happened today?" Justin asks after minutes of silence while stabbing the sliced apple with a fork.
"My sister pissed me off...she called me a slut." It hurts to say that out loud. It even hurts to think of it. Nothing is worse than triggering than this, and not being able to take it out on myself.
Justin shakes his head disappointedly.
"....Maybe I am a slut. How fucked up am I?" I sigh in hate of myself. Nobody knows how bad I'd kill myself in return for something better. It's not here. It's in another world.
"No, you're not. She's stupid for saying that crap," Justin digs his fork into a whole orange, seeming greatly upset.
"Hey, it's ok. I'm used to it," I gently place my hand on his, feeling his scarred and cold hand. He harmlessly flinches and moves his hand away.
"Let's get to bed," he stands up and heads to the men's bathroom, line nothing just happened. It's not his fault though. He's sick just like everyone else in this place.
I get up as well and go to the girls' bathroom. There's ruckus when I enter. A nurse and a girl are arguing. The girl had attempted to throw herself up. Her eyes are red and she's shaking a little.
"You don't understand!" the girl sobs in tears with her fingers swollen.
"Quiet room, now!" Is all I hear; then I see the nurse harshly drag the girl out by her arm. I swallow hard, knowing that that'll be me in a few days if I keep up with this. Honestly, the quiet room seems better than here. I mean, listen to the word "quiet room." It has to be quiet in there.
I don't know how I can manage another day without cutting, starving, puking myself.
Once I walk into our room, I see Justin chuckling to himself on his bed.
"What is it?" In curiosity, I sit on my poorly made bed and look at him. Justin keeps chuckling. I guess he's in his mind right now, not available, so I take the hidden razor out of my pocket and hold it. I think of every detailed reason why I'm in this stupid place. I think of every mistake, every flaw related to me. I think about how much I'd kill to scream my lungs dry of air. I think of how I am 50 miles away from school, and yet I still get bullied, by the rules, by myself. I constantly beat myself up everyday, making myself believe that I'm hopeless. I'll never be ok, ever.
Tears are slipping down my cheeks and onto my thin jacket. This place thinks it can control me, think again. I swipe the razor over my already-torn skin, over the past cuts. I haven't had this feeling in 2-3 days. It feels wonderful, relieving. It's a precious sensation that's hard keep, but those 10 seconds are all I get. It's what relieves the pain. I hate my life more than anything. I just want to get out of here.
"Mia..." Justin's voice is low from across the room. I look at him and see that he's already looking at me, his eyes at my bloody wrist.
"Don't worry about me, Justin," I reach for a tissue and press it on my cut to stop the bleeding.
"Don't do that," Justin shifts to the edge of his bed with his expression full of seriousness. His eyes are wider, and his lips are slightly parted. His full attention is on me, so I know he's completely aware of what I'm doing.
"I kind of have to," I delicately sniffle and press the tissue harder from the tension of our conversation.
"You can't clean it or patch it up. It's not worth it, Mia." Oh, but it's wayyy worth it. He mumbles like he knows what it's like. He's wrong.
"How do you do it?" I motion to his scratched neck. Justin merely shrugs, like he doesn't want to talk about it. It's a sad kind of shrug, and I don't seem to understand it.
"...You don't get it. I HAVE to do this. I'm tired of being bossed around and treated like shit all the time. I have to do something to let the pain out. I fucking hate myself. I can't stand living in my skin, because I really can't stand myself. Have you ever felt that way?" I sob in my hands because I can no longer handle the weight of these feelings.
"Yeah...I know how you feel. But I also know that if you do this, you're going to get caught. They're going to notice the blood. They check our rooms everyday," Justin states, not making any eye contact. He's got a point. The bloodstained tissues or sheets will be too obvious to the nurses. I'd be busted in a heartbeat.
"...I guess you're right..." I blankly stare at my wounded wrist. It's not bleeding anymore.
I don't want to sacrifice this feeling. It's what keeps me sane. From the looks of it, I don't think I have a choice. All is quiet again. I sniffle, then clear my throat in attempt to recover my breathing.
"Justin...can I just hug you? Just once? I really need it," I look at him with my eyes filled with tears, because I honestly hate crying alone. You'd think I'd be used to it. But I'm not.
"Uhm, sure," he answers but doesn't look at me. I get up, sit on his bed, and hug him cautiously yet needy. Flinching to my touch, his breathing is uneven and his chest heaves anxiously. I can tell he hasn't felt affection by many people, though I'm not sure why. He's such an amazing person. His whole body is cold, like mine. I let go to ease him before I give the poor guy a heart attack.

While pulling away, I look at his side of the room. The wall is scratched up along with some of his bedding. Nail marks are imprinted in the wall to the point of removing the paint. Suddenly my heart feels heavy with worry and grief. What the hell could possibly make Justin do this?
"Thank you for helping me." Reluctantly pushing the thought aside, I look back in his dark, sorrowful eyes. It makes me want to help him.
"Anytime." His lips are chapped as he mumbles softly. Without warning, I cautiously grab his hand, which is hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, and I hold it to my view. Justin's hand is cut, bruised, swollen, and his nails are used up and shred. He has bruised and busted knuckles. Justin doesn't pull back, yet his reaction is guilty.
"I'm bad," he mutters out, more to himself. I break my gaze away from his hands to look in his shameful eyes.
"No...you're not bad, Justin. You just can't help it—" "I'm crazy," he mutters again but I can't believe him. I can't believe that any of this is truly his fault.
"So am I," I place his hand back in his pocket. Justin remains quiet, so I lay back down on my bed. Justin lies down too, but he lies with his back facing me. He wants time to himself.
Maybe I shouldn't have invaded his privacy. I stare at the empty ceiling and think about everything, about all the things I could've done differently. Because if I did, maybe I wouldn't be in here. Maybe I'd be in hell.

(A/N: Today's 1 year of Sorry. Ugh I'm so emotional!😭 Next post is on Tuesday/Wednesday)

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