Miles and Alya: I've Dug Deep Enough

Chapter Three

  Pain. Pain can be classified as a lot of things. Number one: mental pain. You're sad, disappointed, angry, depressed, etc. Number two: physical pain: falling on the sidewalk, getting a concussion in football, even cutting yourself on purpose. Number three: self-pain. Hating yourself, wishing you could suffer through misery, thinking of suicide.

  Right now, Alya's feeling all three of these different types of pains. It has been three days, and her pain feels like an irritating scab that she tries to ignore. Until she feels like picking it again.

  Sitting underneath her bedroom table, Alya was crying softly to herself, letting the hot tears from her eyes run freely down her cheeks. Her hands were shaking, and clasped between them was her phone.

  She felt another soft buzz come from it. Alya glanced down quickly to realize that it was the mysterious number again that has been texting her ever since she had gotten the person's first message. It read:

  Alya. I'm surprised that you have decided to keep yourself alive for this long. If I were a waste of time like you, I would have killed myself by now.

  Now unto the point of sobbing, Alya miserably threw her phone at her flat screen, smashing the television and making a huge crack in her phone. At any time before she went to Keaton, Alya would have rushed to her phone and went to the phone repair store as soon as possible. But now, Alya didn't care; she didn't care about anything anymore.

  She ran to her bathroom next to her room and found a razor blade in her drawer. Breathing a deep breath of air, she grabbed it and flung herself back into her room.

  Alya sat on her bed and looked at a picture on her bedside table. It was a picture of her and her best friend in kindergarten, playing on the playground. His name was Austin, and he had chocolate brown hair and brown eyes. Just like Miles.

  Choking back a few cries of pain, Alya began to cut herself with the razor blade. The first slash was the hardest one: she had never cut herself before. After that, she worked her way up her left arm, and then down her right arm.

  Alya was going to do the same with her legs, but then she heard a quick knock on her door. Pulling down her bedspread covers, Alya jumped quickly in the bed and pulled the sheets over her arms. "Come in," she said.

  It was her mom, flashing Alya a bright smile. A few things that you should know about Alya's mom: she is very perky, loves all things Picasso, and is an artist for a living. That was one of the reasons why it was so easy for Alya to tell her mom she was auditioning for Keaton.

  "Hey," Alya's mom said to her, almost talking in a sing-song voice. "I was just letting you know that you have to babysit Aaron tonight."

  Alya's smile that had begun to broaden on her face quickly vanished. "Mom!" she exclaimed, burrowing her head underneath her covers. "I have other things to do than babysit Aaron."

Alya's mom crossed her hands over her shoulders. She exclaimed, "Name one!"

Alya immediately stuttered over the possible things she could excuse herself for in her mind. "Studying.."

  Her mother laughed at her daughter. "No excuses! I'll be back at eight!" she exclaimed, slamming the door behind her.

  As soon as she had left the room, Alya dropped the act. She had acted happy, like everything was alright. But honestly, she hasn't been happy since the day he rejected her.

  Rolling up her pant legs, she whipped her razor blade underneath her covers and picked up where she left off, slashing furiously at her skin. It felt good, surprisingly. To have the pain that Alya was experiencing mentally and put it in full focus.

  When she was done, Alya looked up and down her arms. Blood was everywhere with bruises and scratches, showing what she had done. Alya knew that nobody could ever see what she did to herself. Thus was the day when she started wearing long-sleeved shirts.

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   Alya sat in the corner of her bedroom, right in front of a piano her grandmother had given her when she was eight. It had been Alya's favorite thing to do ever since she passed two years ago.

  She began to play a song, one that was quite popular at Keaton. One that related to her entirely:

  🎶 I hate you, I love you, I hate that I love you, don't want to, but I can't put, nobody else, above you. I hate you, I love you, I hate that, I love you, You want her, You need her, And I will never be her. 🎶

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October 22nd, 2016
Written by: Alya Kenndrick

Dear Diary,

I started to cut myself today. It felt good, releasing all the pain that has haunted me since Miles rejected me. He doesn't know I know, but I do. And it hurts.

I still miss the days when I was carefree and young. I had no idea how cruel the world was to you.

The texts have been worse lately. I haven't figured out who has been sending up, but I have a feeling that I will soon.

I wish it was my time.

Sincerely,
Alya Kenndrick