I'm Not Okay But it's Alright - Fransykes

15. Astrix

Nothing happened. Nothing erupted the bout of happiness I'd been experiencing the past few days to make me the way I was, but had something ever truly caused me to be the way I was? Aside from the break up with Kellin over a year ago, I was the way I was through overthinking and the compelling need to feel pain aside from war going on in my head and the need for it to stop.

But today I felt it. That hunger and need to be more than just self destructive. More than making my self bleed but to die. It taunted me, begged me, enticed me. And I was fully ready to give in.

That is if I woke up in my own room, rather than a stranger's.

The events of last night came to me in a rush. I turned my head to see a groaning boy beside me. He was shirtless, no doubt without pants as well, just as I was. It was Jordan, from the night previously. And oh my god, we fucked.

"My ass is killing me," he mumbled and opened his eyes to meet mine. "Oh, good morning."

He was so chill about it, as if the events of last night hadn't happened or were trivial, normal.

"Come on, I'll make us some breakfast." He sat up, letting the blanket fall down to reveal more of his chest. He glanced over at me. "Oh, and I uh, might have some things for your arms."

He stood, not bothering to hide his naked body from me while he got some clothes. "Your clothes are over here," he lifted my jeans, boxers and sweater from the floor, "But you can also borrow mine if you want."

"I'll take mine, thank you." Jordan handed me my clothes and, after getting dressed, left. I got up and stared in the mirror.

I'd never put much thought on it before, but in a way I did hate what I saw.

I hated the marks. The fact I let life get to me and it was on display to the whole world if I dared wear anything revealing more than my face and neck.

I hated my hair, the way it fell over my face. Its bland, common brown color.

I hated my thighs and the lack of a gap between the two. I hated how cliche that sounded. I didn't have a thigh gap, therefore I brooded over the loss like a girl staring in the mirror with a frown.

I hated my rare smile, my teeth, my hips and my shoulders.

I hated myself. More than anything, I hated myself.

And that was enough to make the idea of death, which already sparked my interest more than usual that morning, even more pleasing.

I dressed in my previous clothes and headed downstairs. Jordan was cooking breakfast, but I told him I wasn't hungry. I didn't need a last meal.

"Would you like something for your arms? I have something to help quicken the healing process," Jordan offered once more.

"No," I shook my head.

"Well, take it anyways, if you'd ever like to use it." He handed me a bottle of god knew what and lightly patted my shoulder. "You okay?" He caught my gaze and searched in my eyes, as if he'd find if I was hiding something and what it was.

"I'm great," I replied, a smile forming. God, my smile. "I'll get going."

"Wait." Jordan grabbed a pen and paper, writing something down quickly and folding it up. "If you ever need me, just call." He handed me the folded paper that contained his number. I took it with a nod and left without another word.

The streets were wet from last nights rain. I walked in puddles, damping my worn out shoes. The sky was grey, and rain threatened its prescence once again. I thought that was nice, a goodbye rain.