Alone

She sat with her back to the door of her tiny bedroom. The lightning was dim, she loved the way she could manipulate the dark in her room. It came and left as she pleased; she liked to be in control.

Glancing down at the top of her bare leg, she felt anger, frustration and resentment surge through her. As tiny beads of burgundy slick blood formed on the pathetic slits on her thigh, she again asked herself, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” To herself, to her life, to her body, to her future. Why could she find no other outlet?
She knew They’d be sorry when They saw. She knew she would know who They were when she came up against Them, she just didn’t know when. They needed to know. She’d never show Them of course, she knew what They would say.
She felt the need to make it look bad.
“Stop it! What are you doing? Why can’t you just be normal, bitch!” She pleaded with herself over and over. But she didn’t stop. This was revenge. Revenge for every little thing she had ever done wrong. Again and again, she slid the tiny razor blade into her expectant skin. Relaxing, she allowed the tiny sensations of pain to stab at her conscience. She used to regret it; she couldn’t stand the scars. Scarring was beyond her control, or so she thought. They looked ugly. Stupid, ugly, out of place. She loved perfection. But that was before, now she felt screwed up and her feelings were dark. Darker than that ‘teen-angst’ shit she had gotten herself into before.
Now it was different. She didn’t want all that sickly sweet fucking happiness that some people loved with all their shallow little hearts. She didn’t want that look of indifference some people carried around with them like a child with a security blanket. That ‘come fuck me over and I’ll get around it eventually’ state of not thinking any deeper than the thoughts that sit as offerings, right in front of their faces. She had friends like that. Some saw her idea of normal as weird. Others were just too stupid to understand, like that harmless dyslexic one. She’d like to teach her a fucking lesson.
But none of them would ever know how she truly Saw. She Saw; she understood, even when she had no idea what she was feeling, she knew it was different, special.
There was one though, one boy. She could see herself being with him and never needing anyone else, ever. But he was out of reach, for the time being at least.
Snapping back to her surroundings, she jumped as the sound of her parents’ car door slam rang clear through the night. Hastily wiping away the newly formed tear she had forced out of her exhausted tear duct, she arranged her despairing face and tired body into an innocent looking position in front of her television. She rose momentarily to sweep away her tools, roll down her trouser leg, and turn off the heavy, emotional music that had proved to be her lifeline. She turned back to the senseless TV program with a bitter scowl on her face. Her parents had spoiled her ‘fun’ again. Stupid fuckers. The program bored her; she knew she had nothing to learn from the blindingly stupid, empty faces of the TV presenters.
“Fuck!” She spat the word out with fire, as she noticed the blood seeping through her trousers.
This was a side to her that her friends knew little of. He perhaps, knew the most. Her best friend had always passed off what little she knew as ‘attention seeking’. But she knew this was only because her friend didn’t understand her. She doubted seriously that her friend ever would. He, on the other hand, had a better chance, She knew he cared, but never knew with the other girl.
Once she had washed off most of the congealed blood from her leg in the small bathroom across the landing, she returned to her room. Eventually she went to bed, and dreamed of him. Her encounter with him in the dream was brief, as always. She did not know why, but every dream he was in followed this pattern. He came, they embraced, and then he was gone. She was alone again. All by herself.

This was my first post :S hope it’s not too rubbish!