WARNING: this chapter has explicit self harm content. If you feel uneasy with it, maybe you can skip it. It will be explained in further chapters. Sorry.
-
There's more than meets the eye.
There's plenty more to see if you are one of the lucky ones who has the right pair of eyes. Needless to say, luck is a matter of perspective.
She didn't saw herself as one of the lucky ones. Quite the opposite actually. She had very low days.
She was lying on her bathroom floor staring at the ceiling, white pristine tiles cold beneath her almost naked body.
It was a mess.
But it was no more.
She wanted to be surprised. It would have been the normal thing to be. But what was normal in her life?
She could doubt her memory if she hadn't felt the hot blood spilling from her cut wrists and the immense amount of pain that came with it. She was still hurting and her arms felt weak.
It didn't make any sense.
She had spilled her blood in the bathtub and one of her arms was hanging out, spilling red all over the floor. Her cotton underwear was slowly getting more red than the original white. She remembered the metallic smell and finally the clink of the blade falling to the floor. She felt dizzy and lost consciousness soon after.
And here she was.
Clean.
She awoke with her plain underwear, drowning in the bathtub, water clear and not a sight of red. Instinct made her climb out the porcelain tub and she slipped.
She stood still.
But very much unharmed.
That was not the plan.
Somehow that was not the end. And a few years later she'd point that Tuesday as the beginning.
All she kept from that incident was a bruise that lasted a few days. Not on her wrists, no. Those were as clear as always. She had a bruise on her butt, from the fall.
She got curious and did what any other seventeen year old girl would have done: search the net.
On a private page, just in case.
Getting paranoid seemed like the normal thing to do, right?
She got two conclusions that weren't straight out a teenager's movie, yet they seemed quite unlikely. She wasn't a vampire or something. She was a plain human girl, right? Those things didn't exist.
First possibility: she had an hallucination, or even some kind of mental health related thing that might need the help of a professional. Something on her brain could be going wrong.
Second possibility: she had fallen in the bathtub, the moment she lacked oxygen in her brain had made her see things. Feel things. Smell things.
The remaining problem was that nothing contemplated the fact that she had cutted herself, bleed a lot, not died, and there was not a single red spot in that bathroom. Not even in the blade.
Nothing matched except some unnatural, mystic, weird things that were in sci-fi shows, horror books and strange fiction movies. But Allyson had already put aside that idea. And she'd keep it a secret. No need for her parents to freak out and sent her to an asylum.
-
The next days, life when by, like it always did. But it didn't. Not for her.
She couldn't sleep much. She awoke to the simplest noise. Ally went to classes, went home, study, had dinner, and layed down to stare at the ceiling for a few hours.
Something had changed.
-
Eventually she used her sleeping time to read, listen to music, just to pass the time. But whatever she did, the question remained: why was she still alive?
She felt disconnected from the whole world.
She'd ignore it for now, and focus on her career. There isn't anyone that would miss her anyway.
Thinking about the song: S.O.S. - Good Charlotte