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Sitting down in her car, chugging the alcohol, Chiara reminisces the past few months. She thinks about all the fights she had with her parents, doctors, friends, and even with herself. All the times she impulsively acted, risking her own life and others' as well. The times she'd get kicked out of class for shouting at the teachers. And especially the times she got sent to the mental hospital.
Remembering her childhood back in Italy where she'd sit alone in her room, reading dark stories, and doing research that was far too intricate for her young age. Learning about the anatomy of birds and other pets her parents had around until they would all mysteriously disappear. Her only friend at the time was Antonio, but she rarely spoke to him, which he thought was simply shyness. She wasn't shy, she just didn't feel the need to talk. After he moved to New York, a couple of years before her family did, Chiara was truly alone.
Going there made her feel something she'd never felt on the outside world. Alive. Being surrounded by other people who possibly had the same issues as she did made her feel good about herself. Chiara was the name on every patient's lip, either because she broke into their rooms at night, ran away from the center only to be brought back by the police, or for being the only one sent to solitary confinement. Being alone in a white room with only a soft mattress and toilet drove her even more nuts if that was even possible.
I ruined my own life.
She didn't just enjoy destroying people, she absolutely loved it. Without it, she was nothing, merely another teenage girl.
After finishing her third, and final bottle, death is the only thing on her mind. She knew what wanting die felt like. It hurt to wake up, eat, and breathe. You hurt yourself on the outside trying to kill whatever was left inside of you.
And Chiara Ricci died years ago.
Death was a shadow that lurked in the dark, crawling under her bed as a child and was always there. Following her and as he got closer, he'd take parts of her as his own. Her heart was the first to go. He made her numb to the outside world as she battled her thoughts. Going to the center, sex, drugs, and hurting herself were the only things that made her feel alive. But that's the pathetic part, she was dead all along. Nothing could, it was too late.
Starting up her car, her drunken mind takes over and gets on the highway. She drives for hours, into the middle of nowhere.
Chiara begins to doze off, causing the car to swivel, but she straightens herself when cars honk at her.
"FUCK OFF!" she screams into the air. "I'm tired of everyone always blaming this shit on me! It's always my fucking fault! If everyone wants me gone I'll fucking leave! It'll make me happy to leave you annoying fuckers. I'm a fucking sociopath! I want to hurt people!"
If she were to die tomorrow, it'd be a happy death because, in her eyes, she's done enough physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental damage as possible to anyone in her life.
As Chiara continues to rant, she doesn't notice her car is completely on the opposite side of the highway.
Two blinding lights blazed ahead and with a jump, Chiara realized those cars belonged to a car—one that she was speeding towards in the opposite direction. She slammed on her brakes and the sound of the car's screeching brakes and tires made her head pound, along with the alcohol in her system. The car began spinning out of control towards the opposite car— and images of her life flashed across her mind like a slideshow being sped up. The car rolled over as the seatbelt tugged onto her skin so tightly she screamed in pain, while the airbag wasn't enough to protect her. As the windshield broke into millions of pieces and her head hit the concrete floor, she could hear sirens.
Blood surrounded her as she felt herself float away into utter darkness, maybe I deserved it, she chokes out before taking in her last breath.
