Page 130 of Eternal
I dig through my bag, hands shaking, fingers curling around the little baggie. The powder glows white against my bruised skin, just enough to take the edge off.
I really need that right now.
The first hit burns pretty well, the second sinks in deeply in a few seconds, by the third, the world softens, and everything is blurry for a second.Light.
It’s light.
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the cold metal of the stall waiting to calm down, my heartbeat slows, my breathing evens out, the weight on my chest eases off. It’s not gone, but it’s distant, like it belongs to someone else for now.
Like I could step out of my body and leave it all behind.
Being high… Never knew I’d end up like this.
But then the anger creeps in.
I fucking hate myself for this. I hate how fucking weak I am, how I let him do this to me, how I let him take everything from me without even putting up a fight. Every goddamn day, I try tobury it all deep, but it’s still there, scratching at my insides like a wild animal.
I should be stronger than this.
I should’ve fucking fought back.
But what am I now? A fucking shell, a fucking mess.
And the worst part? I can’t even remember her smile. My mother’s smile, the way she used to light up the room like it was the sun. I can’t even picture the warmth anymore.
It’s gone, and I hate myself for not holding onto it.
Thesun. I can’t even imagine it in my head anymore, it's like I’ve erased everything that ever mattered.
I can’t rememberherclearly. I hate it.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and try to think of her. I try to remember how her hands used to feel on my face, soft and warm. I try to bring back that fucking warmth, but it’s all cold now.
Everything’s fucking cold. She’s gone. I’m gone. Everything’s gone.
Now all I’m left with is numbness. The haze. The fog. It doesn’t make it better, but it helps, doesn’t it?
At least when I’m high, I can pretend, pretend I don’t care, pretend I’m not the fucking wreck I am. It’s just an escape.
Maybe that’s why she did it too… to stop remembering the mess, the struggles you don’t have a hand on.
I used to hate being weak. Now, I don’t even have the energy to fight anymore, I don’t care enough to, it’s all a blur. A fucking blur.
The worst part of this is that I don’t even care that I can’t remember.
The bell rings but I don’t move. I stay until my legs feel steady again, until the feeling settles deep. Then I pull my hoodie back up, splash cold water on my face, and walk out like I haven’t poisoned myself a few minutes ago.
I’ve always been like this, they know my name but don’t know anything about me.
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to school, I’ll hear the whispers, the slurs. Some asshole will make a joke about my hoodie, about my body, about why I never wear skirts, about my scar on my face or my different eyes, or maybe my hair again, or how skinny I look.
And maybe, if I’m not high enough, I’ll snap, maybe I’ll bury a pencil into someone’s throat, maybe I’ll finally let them see the monster they already think I am.
Repeat the mantra, Azra.
