April Levesque
I hate you more than Camila.
Coward.
Hypocritical bitch.
A subdued sob escaped. I slam my mouth shut to oppress more, swiftly surveying my surroundings. No one is here. Cars bustle the road here and then. Pigeons toot on the lamplights.
I need ... I need space to gather my thoughts. I need my brother. How far is the cemetery?
I skelp the concrete sidewalk, harshly wiping the mushed murkiness leaking into my mouth, meddling with the mucus. I tremble, massaging my sleeved arms, the wintriness whisking straightened strands, claws desentizing my naked legs. The night sky fogs the city — a marble of a refulgent abyss, stars mounted the skyscrapers. I straightforwardly discerned the mightiest beacon, beckoning me for an embrace in its highest realm. Crossing my arms, I hastened to it.
I'm tired. So, so, so tired. I hate this world. I hate life so much. Thiago, Roy, Hunar, Holden, Rhett, Camila, Destiny, Aashvi ... When will it ever stop? Why is it needed? The cruelty. I simply don't understand. It is so inconceivable, it feels like a stimulation, an administered mirage.
What is truly wrong with me? Why is it so hard to be happy, to even try — and when I am, when I do, there is an endless brick that breaks my bones. Aching breasts, the crippling sensation crawls to my throat. What, am I a magnet for everlasting misery? Do I scream to get used?
I bump into strangers, muttering apologies. Phantoms of trauma and brutality, of movements and insurgences, of anger that lasted for centuries coruscate each corner, each direction, caging me in, possessing an odious, skin-crawling and skin-bleeding glare so intense, I let them eradicate me, let them drown me in the noxious atmosphere. My brain is a prison.
Coward. Hypocritical bitch.
The betrayal I felt destroying Treyvon ... I bit my lip, quivering as tears fall, fall and fall as if I am the last essence of a waterfall, needed to saturate and reinvigorate, humid and unruly, parky and prickly.
I am so sorry, Bodie. You wanted me to help. I ignored it. I ignored it, and you were still so sweet. You still decided to be a friend. You deserve better, you said. A man, not a boy. Better friends.
Why were you so sweet? I wish you weren't.
My Cross burned and burns my collarbone like a brand. The moonlight appeared for the first time that night. You broke down into tears and shook, shook and shook in pain, as if your body reminisced the tingles Camila, Destiny, Aashvi left after they used you like a toy. Glowed around you was an aura, an aura of a message: everything will turn out right. You had hope. A hope greater and stronger than mine, stronger than the world's.
I sank to the floor, not caring about the grime. A sobbing mess, an ugly mess. Slamming my head back on a bricked wall, tears drop. A frenzied shiver, the grief, the sorrow, the culpability timbers and timbers, a stinging, desolate touch of a talon. Knees folded to my painful chest, I harshly wrench a fistful of hair and my scalp throbs.
Insufflating unfathomable, profound, challenging breaths, I rock back and forth, the heels clicking, trying to endure, trying to heal, trying to rise. Heart beating stridently, remorselessly, my mind roars of manipulation, immorality, negativity — the true danger.
I don't know how long I stayed here, crying and sobbing. I could tell I've wasted a lot of time panicking. Clouds cloak the empyrean, the howls unkindly striking a million knives again, again and again. Closing my eyes into an oblivion of ruthless, ancient and isolating cackles, the oblivion that was once the room. Except, no demons — the worst punishment of all punishments.
Coward. Hypocritical bitch.
I had enough. I had enough of everything. What is the point, anyway? I spent so long convincing myself that it will get better, that life will get better. It's not and never will be. I am exhausted from telling everyone I'm fine. Exhausted from feeling lonely, hating myself, the insults.
I can't take it anymore.
I roll down my sleeve, unsheathing the knife, clutching the blade tightly. I hiss, the brittle-mending scar on my palm tearing open at the agonised pressure. Darkness pools, crying to the sleeves, modifying the sparkly red into a darker, sinister shade.
Shattering into a thousand pieces, gradually and excruciating, a heart attack. I begin to heave shallow breaths, bringing the razor-sharp edged to my wrists and arms, enticed and tempted. Sob, sob, sob, slash, slash, slash. The nippy whistles burn and insensate the soreness, blood dribbling and drooling and raining on the ground. The tenderness implored to stop, abhorring the spiteful sting.
The boys sniggered at the lists, wrote their opinions and comments. They joined out of spite, diplomacy, and to earn validation, to earn interest and approval. I believed girls participated, too.
Coward. Hypocritical bitch.
"I was going to ask you out a couple of moments ago in the cafe, to be honest."
The throbs resided, my shoulders relaxed. "R-really?" said Roy.
He nodded and did a cute, little, timid laugh. "I just got nervous."
"So ... Yes?"
"Yes."
"I love you," he said months later.
Why did I allow myself to be so stupid?
Coward. Hypocritical bitch.
"Everything will turn out fine," promised Dad.
Will it really?
Coward. Hypocritical bitch.
You're fucking asking for it, slut. The grip compresses. I hoarsely gasped. Shut the fuck up about Ishaan, hmm. Wetness licks my cheek. He lifted his mouth to my ear, traumatised at his moans. Be silent about Ishaan or I'll fucking do it for you. My friends don't mind, either. Got that?
I didn't try to stop him. A part of me died the second he released my neck, and when he finished on me, the other part vanished.
Coward. Hypocritical bitch.
'Shh, it's okay, Little Sis,' he assured. 'It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. Shh. I got you. It's okay.'
My sight hazes, light-headed. Holden Tasse drags me into the initial position by my foot. "You're right, Wallace." He licks his lips, unfastening the buttons of his jeans. "She's a pretty thing, ain't she?"
Whole awareness and senses dead, I hear the call of my name, drowned in closeness—
"April, is that you?"
I jolt to my left. The dull, flickering lamplight welcomes Luke Matthews, illustrating his skull shadow. The bristling coldness shoves his sleeves to his wrists, masked his snakes. His frame is tense, and ten times stiffer as he inspects the eerily-abandoned road, his forehead creased in trepidation.
A bit too sharply and perturbed, "What the hell are you doing out here all alone? God, April, you do not know what can—"
He pauses, bewildered at a certain splatter. Slowly, he follows the miniature trail to my arms, inhaling a sharp, vulgar breath.
"April, what are you doing?" The words tumbled out in a pained tendency, each word vibrating with disbelief and anguish. "What are you doing?" he demands again.
He already knows. He saw someone he loves doing the exact thing.
I struggle to my feet, nearly collapsing but manage to brace myself on the wall.
He watches the blood waving to the ground, pooling at my feet, utterly dismayed and gobsmacked. He endeavours to compose. "God, darling," he mumbles. As calmly as he could, "We should — where do you think you are going?"
I cross my arms, palms tarnished. "Leave me alone."
"Leave you alone?" he reiterates, surprised at such bitter words. "Come inside and tend those wounds — April, stop walking!" His voice cracked.
I increase my speed, wiping my nose with a bloodied sleeve.
He grabs my wrist and twirls me to face him. I focus on the ground, thrashing my wrist free, the blood blemishing the skin of his fingers. "Let me go," I weakly protested.
"No," he snapped. "You are bleeding."
"Don't touch me."
I said it so softly, so mutely, with such fragility. I felt something broiling and withering patter my forehead. I glimpse up to see wet lines on his cheeks, his amber irises glossy and poignant.
He's hurt.
He's crying.
"I know what they did to you," he whispers. "I found out. You are a sister to me, too, darling. I lost Mike and ... I—I promised him. I cannot lose you—"
"Stop touching me."
"Let me kill them for you."
"W—what?"
"I can get away with it," he insists. "I can make them suffer, just as much as they did to you. I can make them bleed dry. It will hurt a lot more —"
"Luke," I beg in a cracking voice. "I don't know what you're talking about, but please let me go."
"I will if you let us help you."
"You can't help me."
"You did not have to tell us what happened," he protests, "and we already found out. That mark on your neck — which fucking asshole in your school did that to you? Tell me his name."
"Luke."
"Tell me his name," he demands. "Tell me all of their fucking names. I will let you go."
I instantly stop thrashing. "I don't know what you're talking about." Tears fell. "Please. I'm trying to forget it and you're — you're not helping."
He blinked once, and two melancholic, woeful tears fell. It breaks my heart into pieces.
Two minutes elapsed, he triple-taps his intercom and calls for a person named Fuentes. He voluntarily lets me go. Then, I managed to trek away from him. He instantly shouts my name. I speed-walk faster, stinging tears streamed one by one. I made my way through the labyrinth of fires, cackling and singing, accelerating at a severe, exhausting speed.
I don't know where I'm going. I just want to be left alone. Can't Luke accept that?
Tears falling, I hear footsteps pounding behind. "April, please stop!"
I just want to be alone. I want to die.
I hate you more than Camila.
That was the worst thing I ever heard.
I hate you more than Camila.
The incessant snivelling, my sight blurs once again. The beating of my heart weakening, last breath nearing. Feral, heart-rending sobs pours and pours, the fresh scars hissing to be covered, to be tendered and cared for.
The footsteps louder and louder, my name louder and louder. To avoid him better, I cross the road.
I didn't see it.
I didn't check both sides.
Luke screams, my right illuminated by car lights.
THE END
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Total pages: 673
Total number of words: 184,572