Till The Count Of Five ✓

Chapter 12

The note

Some things come by only to shake your body. You try to grab onto something, anything, but by the time your rescue comes, it is not the physical pain that twists your insides, it is your mind exploding into countless particles. I think you're lucky. My head hurts, my eyes are numb, if that's possible but my senses are alive. I can very well feel their words crawl on my skin, travelling down my spine. My mind refuses to burst out. Instead, it gets filled to an infinite amount and I have a strong urge to prick my scalp with a needle.

I try to picture this. It would form a good painting but I don't even try. I stare at the paper and tear it before I could even pick up a pen. Pens hurt too. They fascinate me in a way they never had. I refuse to draw but I cannot shake the image I formed - thousands of hair strands, shaped in those words and faces I hate, lay all over me. She is beautiful. I am beautiful. I want to pat myself. Finally, I learnt to love me for myself. My hands touch my hair and I think of shaving my head. But their faces come back to life.

Eighteen is a big number. I would be eighteen soon, a responsible adult trying to finish her school. Or maybe I can be a girl who would be eighteen but would not age anymore. I think they already finalized eighteen. Brilliant eighteen.

Dear Shay

You're a good friend. Be good to those who'll come and go. You're also a good storyteller. You can start your own story as long as it does not hurt anyone, but that'll happen only if you'll listen. Promise me you'll listen.

Dear R

Truth be told, I am glad you're doing okay. We both are doing okay. Please don't call me mean. I'm just trying to look after myself. You should too.

To the world

Is there a lack of good puzzles? Go figure that out. Stop figuring out what happened. Some things are meant to happen long before but skipping a step changes the result. Be careful from next time. Be careful when you scrutinize my thoughts which you think are a mess. You think I'm on my way to doom? You are too. I never understood why my life intrigued you. Was it my life or me? God, I'm such a loser, thinking people find me good, people find me interesting. We open some books only to criticize them. I wonder where are my pages that you opened.

To those who love me (including myself)

I'm sorry we fell apart. I love you. You're my best friend and I know I'm disappointing you but this needs to be done. Do not look behind when we are done. Start again if you think I've hindered your path and splashed the colour of disorientation on the walls of our relationship. Forget me, if required but most important of all, forgive me.

I don't know what went wrong but I think I fell in love with the idea of roaming around freely, of shouting all that I want to. I fell in love with everything I can do once I leave. But can I leave? Can I really, truly leave? It is not about being a coward. It is about lying to my family, Vicky, Kiara and all those who have become a part of me. That guilt hurts more than the sensation on my skin. I need my parents to know that they play absolutely no role in my actions. Your love has always protected me and it shall continue to do so. This world is huge and I am sure absence of a person such as me would have little to no impact on it. I guess I should've realized that before when I was blinded by my obsession. I think I have attained all that I wanted. I don't know what to do next after school. So I'll do this.

There are people who I love, people I have hurt, people I need to apologize from or so I thought. I found exactly who was doing wrong and the list is not as long as the original one. It has only a few names. The rest have done things which balance out my actions. I hope they're happy. I hope they're finally happy because of me. This is not about why I am doing this, this is about I will do it or may already have. I will get peace. This is not a failure on my part, this is success on their part.

I don't see eighteen now, I see five. And that's more than what I can ask for, more than what I deserve to ask.