Trigger Warning: includes elements of abuse, blood, depression, domestic abuse, self-harm, rape
Her episodes ended, she broke up with her toxic best friend, and felt like she can finally relax. She could take a breath, feel blood pulsing through her veins. Her life is starting once again, starting over anew. She met her first boyfriend when she was 16. She loved him deeply, called it love at first sight, like the way the Disney princesses met their princes at balls and dances. She thought she could finally start to calm down, start to feel, and perhaps start to love once again. Being love struck as she was, she enjoyed the little moments he spent with her. She loved being called beautiful even without all those layers of make up. She loved the way his fingers went through her hair, she loved the way he cradled her, his eyes gazing directly into hers.
For starters she did not really love him, he loved her. Or so he claimed. She liked the visuals, his sweet words that swept her off her feet and into his embrace, and she melted right into it. She loved it. She loved his looks, she loved his sweet nothings, she loved being loved. And she missed that.
She thought they had the perfect relationship, she thought he was meant for her, she thought he loved her as much as she loved him. It was winter when they met, and just before she had just lost around 30 lbs, and had been trying to boost her own self image. Meeting him was like the little princess dream she ever had. He was her type, high nose bridge, a pair of deep-set dreamy hazel eyes, such pink and kissable lips, and wavy blonde hair. In a game of truth or dare, he picked her when he was asked who is his favourite girl present in the room, and gave her a small meeting gift — a peck on her cheeks. It made her heart skip a beat, she definitely had not thought that she would be picked, there were so many girls there, in fact he was the only male there. Why her?
It’s just because you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, inside and out.
Her heart fluttered once again. His little movements always made her swoon, made her crazy about him. She herself had no idea whether had he made her drink love potion or not. He made sure he cuddled her to sleep before leaving the room, knowing that she has trouble sleeping at night, kissed and tucked her to bed every single night. He stayed over one night and she didn’t mind it. She loved how he was there to share his warmth to a cold, solid ice that has not met heat for a really long time.
That was what she thought. He looked so deeply into her eyes that she felt that he was devouring her whole, her sadness, grief, and sorrow, all at once. He cuddled her so tightly that it felt as if all the broken pieces had stuck back together. He expressed his disbelief that he was her first love, as, to him, she looked absolutely gorgeous. Then, he sheepishly confessed, asking her out. She was stunned, but in a good way.
Her gaze immediately pulled away from his and stared down at her trembling hands, and softly agreed. She felt her face burning, and glowing red even in the dark. He smiled so shyly, and pulled her into his arms. It was her greatest moments, far better than any of the academic results that she have attained throughout the years. Because, for the first time in a long time, she felt something that she hasn’t felt for so long. She felt loved.
The warm lips of his grazed hers, making her crave him so much more. Her eyes fluttered close waiting for his next move. Forehead to forehead, his arms around her, he pressed his lips firmly against hers, so strongly that she could taste his love and passion. Did you like it? She nodded meekly. With every kiss he gave her, it felt as if he warmed her stone cold heart and brought hope into her. She curled her fingers, interlacing with his, embracing the darkness that engulfed her for the first time and slid into unconsciousness peacefully in his arms.
Little did she know, he was there to take the last few sparks left of her.
She texted her close friend enthusiastically the next day, but her excitement plummeted with a loud thud. Her phone was out of her hands and on the floor. In front of her was the pair of adorable and irresistible eyes looking up at her, pleading for attention, followed by a stern warning to “never text that guy ever again”. She pulled him into her arms ensuring that she would never do anything to ever hurt him.
That night he wanted to do it with her. She wasn’t sure, and thus he faced rejection. She really wasn’t certain. He then ended with “don’t you love me?” Emotionally, she wanted to, but logically, she didn't. She told him no, but he would not take no as an answer. Everything happened so fast, so painfully in a blur. She loved his touch on her, especially him tracing the surface of her soft skin. She loved him physically, his care for her, but at the same time, she hated it. She hated him for not waiting for her, ripping her clothes off her as if she was enslaved. She hated him emotionally, she hated him for robbing her first without her fully able to commit to it, most importantly, she absolutely detested herself. She loathed herself for having a mixed feeling, she loathed herself for even loving the whole experience, she loathed herself for believing and giving love a chance.
He left her alone in bed after his job was done. All she could do was to try to cover herself with her bare hands, rolling in bed unable to sleep. He came back after awhile with a new set of clothes for her, and she was elated. He didn’t forget about her. He cared. He stayed the night with his back facing her and she felt used. She felt the wall between them, she couldn’t sleep once again. Her heart begged him to let her in again. She felt absolutely weak and powerless, and leaned her head against his back for the mere warmth to keep her head above the water. She woke up with bruising on her neck, breasts and her inner thighs, with swollen arms, and cramps in her legs. It will be a new day once the Sun comes up.
He held her hand, he showered her with presents, kisses and came up weird and corny jokes just to see her smiles when they were in public. Once they are behind closed doors, he changes, as if he was Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde himself. He rammed her head straight into the wall, with his one hand on her neck and the other pulling clothes off her body and he did it again. No, this time he didn’t take it, she gave it to him. She gave him her everything. Literally everything. He will not do it once or twice, he would do it till he was satisfied, till her legs gave out and till they gave up on supporting her, just like how everyone in her life did.
She thought maybe he’ll love her more after that, but he started turning more violent. And painfully, she enabled him. She was pushed against the wall, punched and choked to near blackouts. They were on a trip, and she is the oldest. The oldest should protect the younger ones right? She did not dare to voice it out, how in a million years did she dream that something like this would happen to her, and why her? Deep down, she sort of still loved him, she partly did not want to let him go, she did not want the bit of downs blind her on all the good times they had together. Truthfully, she was holding onto the one thin strand of spider web that he can turn back to the old times.
She slept with an empty bottle the next day, drowning herself in her own sorrow. What happened in the next few days she could not remember, she never want to, and the happenings would always be an empty space in her memories.
After a short one and half months, he finally got bored of her, cheated on her then dumped her, left her alone back in the dark abyss once again. She is afraid of the cold four walls engulfing her, the deafening silence devouring her heart, as she hears her mind. She needs to be distracted, she needs to take her mind off her self pity, she needs to pick herself up. She felt that this was all her fault. No, it is. She is not what he wanted, and she will never be, and as he is happily onto his next relationship, all she has is another bottle to pull her through the night.
16
She faintly smiled at the grotesque beer belly in front of her, grabbing onto the cash in her hands, carefully yet forcefully shoving it into her the side compartment of her handbag as she walked out, gently closing the hotel room door behind her. She picked out her mobile phone, and checked her schedule. Empty. She heaved a sigh of relief, then cautiously picked out the small changes from the cash she just received, smoothed it out, and slotted them into her wallet and headed to a nearby cafe to study before leaving in the direction of what others called home.
"Where were you!"
She subconsciously rolled her eyes as she heard that familiar piercing screech that came out of that old hag. She just gave birth to her, why was she still making a big fuss out of it after 18 years? That unpleasant and disruptive noise screeched and scratched against the girl’s ear drums as she walked through the door intuitively made her cringe and die a little more inside. She did not respond, lightly placed her bag against her table and slipped into the bathroom clinging onto a fresh out of the laundry set of clothes.
She closed the toilet door behind her and dropped to the floor, pulling her knees close to her chest. She sat there alone in the corner, enjoying the silence that is screaming, bellowing and engulfing her. Fairy tales are so overrated, not everyone would get their happily ever after, would they? But everyone seeks it, they want it for themselves, they crave for it so desperately. To her, happily ever after is not hope, not anymore. It is just a wish upon a star, a dream and a miracle that she knows that she would never achieve. She was just a typical 17 year old yesterday, not normal, just, you know, the usual. Normalities are not in her life. Her best friend had always been there for her nevertheless through the 3 long years, no matter a bad day or not, rain or not, night or not. It was her only support that she had, and she loved and cherished its presence, physically and emotionally.
She looked down at it, the blade that was there for her all these years and delved into the familiar corner on her right thigh. Circular blood spots slowly appeared before blood gushed out of her open wound. Her face was still, emotionless, as she silently watched the flowing blood, as if time has stopped. Nothing seemed to matter to her anymore, the pain of the freshly reopened wounds, her dishevelled and rugged appearance, and everything else around her. She sat there, numb, and felt something moist dripping from her face and onto her wound. She intuitively looked down onto her legs; unhealed caning scars, gaping cuts, bruises..
She was too tired, too numb from everything, she had too many problems that she simply didn’t want to find solutions for. She wanted to hide, somewhere preferably far, away and quiet. All she wanted was, to rest. She was tired of waiting for someone who cared, not much, just enough to break down the walls she had been building around herself, or at least try, or perhaps, pretend to try.
“Stop wasting time in there, I haven’t heard any water running from the time you got in!”
The banging on the door snapped her back into reality as she slowly removed the articles from her scarred body after intuitively wiping her drenched face with her two bare hands. She helped herself up shakily with one hand grasping the cold, smooth, rounded side of the basin, the other hand with nails digging onto her trembling legs. Her eyes met the familiar yet foreign pair of eyes in the mirror, swollen, red. The gaze looked so distant and disconnected, yet tears subconsciously started welling up when all four eyes met each other. It was not just the redness or swelling, it was not just the dishevelled and unkempt hair, it was not just the chapped and bruised body, it was the pain, it was the helplessness, it was the desperate cry for help.
Tears brought some of the eyeliner off her eyelids, with clots of mascara still clinging onto the tip of her eyelashes, corners marred with bright red lipstick, much unlike the impeccable beauty she was a moment ago. She slowly wiped the colours off her face, exposing the drained, tired, plain features. She fumbled her skirt pockets for her lighter and cigarettes, and lit one up. Tears started flowing again as she mumbled to herself,
Happy Birthday.
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