Sick, Twisted, Broken

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This was written in a bad time for me. It's all made up, nothing real don't worry. Just read to see what it's about!

Submitted: February 04, 2012

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Submitted: February 04, 2012



She collapsed against the wall, breathing heavy. She just forced everything that she ate up, and it was painful and violent. She fell to the side and cried. Why did she starve herself? Why did she make herself throw up? Most of it was to be thinner, but then she knew that a tiny part of it was that she was hoping it would kill her.

She clutched her hip with her hand, which was bleeding terribly. She stood up and went into the bathtub which she had filled with water only a few moments ago. She sank in, letting out a short gasp when the hot water reached her cuts. The water was red not longer after, but she didn’t care.

She’s screwed up so many times. She’s so messed up. She was sick. Not the sick as in having a cold or a cough, but sick mentally. Her friends called her amazing even after knowing all that she’s been through and done, her family loved her for the things that she showed and not the things she hid from them, but it all didn’t get through to her. Perfect? No, far from it. She was a mess. No one could fix this mess. God probably could if she ever let Him in to heal her, but she couldn’t. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve anything. Not her wonderful friends who have held her while she cried, not her wonderful family that loved her no matter what she’s done, not this life that has been blessed on the wrong girl.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she grabbed her razor again. She dug in more cuts on her side and a few small ones on her wrist. She couldn’t let them see. Then realization hit her.

“You cut, I cut.”

She broke down crying. She was so wrapped up and hurt and angry with herself that she forgot the deal she made with her best friend. She stood up and let the water run out before she took a shower. She ran and got some bandages before she went into her room and shut the door. Her siblings were at friends’ house for the night, and her parents were out on a date. She was home. Alone.

She went in her room and put on a long sleeved shirt that was loose on her then some loose shorts. She picked up her cell phone off her bed and took a deep breath as tears rolled down. She brought up her friend on text and typed in the message. “I broke first.” She threw her phone aside and laid down on her side, crying more. She didn’t pick up her phone when her friend texted back, not even when she called her about five times. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to live.

“Just don’t let me wake up, God, please,” she prayed.

She curled in a ball the best she could without making her side hurt more. She looked at her clock. It was only 9 o’clock. She let out a sigh and let the tears fall down. All her past pains, all the horrible hurt she’s felt, she was reliving in her mind. She remember every moment, all the hurt and anger and tears. She cried more.


She didn’t move.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong!!

She sat up. Her parents shouldn’t be home by now. Her mom said they would be home by 11. She got up and walked downstairs. She peeked out the window and her heart dropped with horrible guilt. It was her best friend. She wiped her eyes quick then opened the door, not looking her friend in the eyes.

“Hey,” she said quietly, giving the best of a smile she could. She looked down and saw that she had a bag with her. She looked up at her friend now and her face made tears roll down her eyes. She had been crying.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” she demanded, her voice shaking.

“I just didn’t want to talk,” she said quietly.

“I was scared something bad happened,” she told her. All she could do was look down. “May I come in?” She moved aside and her friend walked in. She turned and went up the stairs to her room and sat on her bed. Her friend came in and set her bag on the ground. She then stuck out her hand to her.

She looked at her friend with a puzzled look.

“Give me your wrist,” she commanded. She only looked down and let out a sigh. “C’mon, give it,” she demanded. She lifted up her arm and her friend took it gently. She pulled the sleeve back and saw the bandages that were bloody. She let out a sigh.

“Well they aren’t that bad as I thought they were,” her friend said quietly. She let out a whimper then looked down, biting her lip as more tears rolled down.

“What?” her friend asked.

“Sit down,” she told her, standing up. Her friend sat down on the bed, looking worried. She let out a shaky breath then lifted her shirt up and pulled her shorts down a little, revealing the bandages that were already bled through. Her friend covered her mouth then looked away. She sat down on the floor and put her head into her hands and cried quietly.

She felt her friend sit down next to her then wrap her arms around her. She leaned into her and cried. She was more than grateful that she came over. She was so thankful. She was so blessed to have her angel.

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