I lay in bed, the darkness of night surrounds me. The constant ticking noise my fan makes doesn't help me sleep. I look over to my old digital clock on my dark mahogany night stand to check the time.
3:56 am
Seriously? I hate insomnia. Tiredness overwhelms me, my eyes constantly feel heavy, but I can never fall asleep due to my demented thoughts. I would go on my phone, but the other day I knocked it off the kitchen counter and it shattered into a hundred little pieces. It's currently getting fixed, so I should have it back by this weekend.
This is going to be another long and sleepless night.
-
"Renee? Renee!" The loud and obnoxious voice of my step dad tears me from my light sleep.
I grunt as he throws open my door.
"Damn it, girl! I thought Cinthia told you yesterday to take your laundry basket downstairs. You really can't do anything, can you?" He crosses his fat arms and storms out of my room. I fucking hate that man.
Cinthia, my mother, is probably one of the quietest and calmest people out there. I have her looks, ocean blue eyes, dark and curly mulch colored hair, and a few freckles dot my cheeks. I'm five inches taller though, I get my height from my dad. He went missing in action in Iraq a few years ago, and out of devastation my mom married the slob known as Marcus last year.
I slowly get out of bed, but the stinging sensation on my stomach stops me. I pull my black sweatshirt up to reveal fresh cuts along my abdomen, along with some bruises from Marcus.
After a few pointless minutes of staring, I get up and lock my door, then I walk to my little bathroom and undress. In the mirror I see a girl with bloodshot eyes, bones poking out every which way, and cuts all along her stomach, legs, and arms. Oh, and don't forget the purple and yellow bruises here and there.
I pick out my outfit to wear to my therapy session. A simple red flannel and some dark jeans will do. All of the sudden I drop my clothes and hold on to the nearest sturdy object, which happens to be my dresser.
Oh gosh, I'm so dizzy it's unbearable. I can barely stand up, I'm shaking so much and my head hurts like hell. After a few agonizing minutes it all washes away and I get dressed and start to look decent.
-
"So, have there been any recent problems lately?" My therapist, Dr. Ross, asks me.
"No sir." I lied as I stroke the gray couch I lay on.
"Renee, you can trust me. I promise I won't do anything to you." He puts down his pen and looks at me dead in the eyes.
I roll my eyes and show him my wrists, he shakes his head in disappointment.
"Renee, you are loved. Please stop, I swear everything will get better."
"Everyone fucking says that! That's all I have been hearing for the past damned year! 'Everyone loves you!' 'Everyone cares!' 'You matter!' Can't you see I clearly don't? My best friend just moved away, now I have no one to talk to in the middle of the night, I am abused by my step dad and my mom doesn't even do anything except send me here! I-"
I was cut off by Dr.Ross' hand that went flying across my face.
"I'm sorry, I don't have a good temper either. I'll just, end the session here if you'd like." I take a deep breath and walk out of his office, making sure to slam the door on the way out.
I climb into my pretty blue honda civic. It was my dad's, but after what happened my mom decided to hand the keys to me. As I turn on the radio I hear a song that isn't Adele or One Direction for once.
" Am I the only one I know
Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat
Shadows will scream that I'm alone"
The song was beautiful. Migraine by Twenty One Pilots, huh? I love it. I listened to the lyrics very carefully as I drove home.
---
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Migraine // Twenty Øne Piløts
Fanfiction-fanfic- Behind Renee's eyelids are islands of violence. Her mind was shipwrecked, no one thought they could save her. One day, she found a band that she literally lives for. But will music alone help her out of the abyss she's fallen in? ***TRIGGER...
