I highly recommend anyone who thinks highly of me to go away now. Please click the ‘X’ button at the upper right corner of the screen right this instance. Please. Don’t ever read this.
To be honest, I don’t even know why I wrote this. I guess I lapsed into depressing mood and got this idea. If you’re just going to be spiteful and call me a hypocrite, get the hell out of my face right now.
Model: Hannah Murray
She left the tap running freely, listening to the water lapping against the ceramic walls of the sink. The shower was on too, hitting against the tiled floor. It was almost too loud in the small bathroom, but nothing was louder than the voices in her head. Those voices that taunted and haunted her for years.
There was Rebecca, the psychotic, hard-headed girl who whispered ferocious thoughts into her mind and sent her multiple threats whenever she refused to listen to her.
There was Ollie, the shy, quiet yet fierce boy who tainted her mind with ugly and dark images whenever she was alone.
There were so many people…voices, but perhaps the most scary voice that frightened her the most was Violet’s.
Violet was the one who started all this.
“Elle Dawney.” Mrs Grance called out her name. Elle was startled. Her hands were shaking as she rose from her seat and walked apprehensively towards Mrs Grance’s table at the very front of the classroom. Her heart thumped hard against her chest, and she couldn’t help but let out a nearly inaudible whimper as she studied the stern expression on Mrs Grance’s face. She knew it was bad news even before she reached the table.
“Elle, what is this? You have been failing all your tests these few months!” Mrs Grance threw her report card in her face and shouted at her in front of the whole class. Elle tried hard to restrain the tears that threatened to escape from her eyes.
I have given up. I’m not the person I used to be anymore. I can’t do it, I can’t be that perfect child everyone looks up to anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore.
She bore the weight of everyone’s stares on her. She knew what they were thinking; Elle Dawney, top student, fails?
“Fuck them all. Fuck everyone.” That was when she started hearing Violet’s voice.
10 years ago
Under the bed. In the closet. There were only so many places you could hide in your house. She could only curl into a tight ball and quiet her breathing as she strained to hear any noises. Then there they were, the heavy footsteps of her stepfather as he came home, bellowing her name.
It was like the story of the monster and the little kid. The big, ugly monster that crept into children’s bedrooms to capture them, slice them open and devour them in one gulp. The one who move stealthily and quietly you wouldn’t even know if he was standing right beside you. The one little children always thought were hiding under their bed, but was fed lies and excuses by their parents to calm their fears.
What they didn’t know was that monsters like these exist in real life, albeit not presented in the way they had expected.
“Where’s that little cunt?” the monster shrieked as soon as he stepped into the house. “I feed you and raise you and DON’T YOU DARE HIDE FROM ME!”
The scene that followed afterward was brutal. The monster seemed to have heard her whimper and wrenched open the closet door, to find a shaking, weeping girl crouched timidly in the furthest corner of the wooden closet, hidden behind layers of thick winter coats. The discovery of her hiding spot seemed to send her into hysterics, sobbing noisily into her hands.
But the monster ignored her crying and, with a single pull, heaved the little girl out of the closet and brought his right hand down onto her small cheek, leaving a large red mark that would serve as a reminder to the little girl, forever and always.
With vile force, the monster yanked his belt from his waist and delivered blows onto the little girl’s body.
Her screams went on endlessly for the night, but no one ever heard her.
I am not hearing voices.
She was scared, her report card a prominent, glowing object in her bag hanging from her shoulder. It was like a piece of raw meat, so sickening and revolting she wanted nothing more than to hurl it into the ditch along the street she was walking on.
She just knew she was going to get a terrible beating from the monster when he found out. It would be worse than his usual torturing, because everyone he knew would find out that she, Elle Dawney, the girl who had won so many awards and certificates for her brilliant academic performances, was failing her tests. She dreaded returning home more than anything else.
Therefore, she took a turn to find herself standing on an unfamiliar and secluded lane, full of garbage and stray cats. She heaved a sigh. Anything to stall for time.
She was unaware of a pair of eyes watching her hungrily from the shadows, and stopped only when she heard the sound of shuffling feet.
The pause was all the stranger needed. He leapt up from his hiding place and held a switchblade in her direction.
“Oh, damn.” There was the voice again, exasperated, this time.
“W-what do you w-want?” Elle stammered, regretting choosing the decision to turn into this alleyway. Her hairs stood on end and she had an ominous feeling about this.
She was forced into a corner of the lane with nowhere to run to. The stranger had a sick smile on his face, one that reminded her of the monster. The switchblade was stabbed into her left thigh, and the stranger started to lick her neck, his hands pulling off her skirt and her underwear, his other hand busy stripping his own jeans off. He entered her so suddenly she found she had lost the ability to breathe. She couldn’t do anything except watch the whole scene through helpless eyes, her body to hopeless and ached to protest or fight against the stranger.
She was left bleeding and naked in the lonely lane until a police officer found her, almost dead, and she was sent to the hospital.
Since her raping incident, she found Rebecca. Rebecca was the worst, next to Violet. She was the product of her and the stranger, and Rebecca never failed to remind Elle how she had lost her virginity so suddenly and forcefully.
The others started swarming in so quickly she didn’t know if her mind could contain it all. Ollie appeared when her stepfather raped her the second time; Bernard appeared when she found a group of teenage dirtbags in the alley behind her house and took her first swig of marijuana; Helena appeared when she began taking sleeping pills every night, and Wessi appeared when she started cutting herself. There were always more than six voices in her mind, but the others were less significant, more like background noises, but annoying and chilling all the same. She could never get them out of her mind, no matter what she did, no matter what pills she took, no matter how high she got. It was fortunate the monster didn’t even think of sending her to a psychologist, not that the monster would care enough to do that for her, but still, she didn’t think she describe these voices to anyone, even if she was forced. They were a part of her, and she was starting to accept the fact that that was how she was going to have to live her life.
The sound of running water brought her back to her senses. Her ears immediately tried to detect any sound from downstairs that might have indicated the monster’s arrival. As far as she was concerned, she was completely alone in this house, just the way she had wanted it.
A palm-sized mirror was in her lap, and she held it up to her face. Her eyes were tired, swollen from the crying, with dark rings underneath it that made her look twenty years older. Her hair was a ball of tangled mess, which she didn’t even bother to smooth out. Her lips were filled with cuts, cuts of her own and the monster’s. Her own reflection was a huge and heavy boulder in her heart. She wasn’t sane; she didn’t look sane.
She stared down at her stripped body. Both her wrists and thighs were filled with old and fresh new cuts she made with her switchblade. There was still the scar on her left thigh that would always remind her of that incident. She wasn’t sure how long she would continue to cut herself, but she had made sure tonight was the last night.
She whipped the switchblade from the side of the sink and started to sink it into her left wrist. Oh, the pleasure of it as her blood flowed freely onto the bathroom floor. They were like screwed-up emotions, leaking from her own body and soul. She treated this as her own cleansing session, ridding of everything despicable and spiteful from herself. She almost laughed out loud from the pleasure of it.
She did the same with her right hand, and, with a sudden burst of inspiration, dipped her finger into the pool of blood on the floor and wrote her name on the bathroom wall. Ironically, the voices in her head were cheering her on, Violet’s were the loudest.
In all the chaos in her head, she wasn’t aware of how much blood she had lost until she felt pain. Blood was practically spurting out of her wrist; she must have hit an artery.
Pain shot up her right arm and she bit down on her lip. Her heart throbbed hard against her chest, making the situation worse. Gripping her right wrist, she tried to stand up without slipping on the pool of blood she was surrounded by. Red streaks were smeared rather obscenely on her skin as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She grabbed the bottle of oxycodone on the shelf next to the sink, and with trembling hands, picked a tablet out and gulped it down quickly, wishing the pain would just go away. She could start to hear Rebecca and Bernard’s snarls in her head.
“I’m doing! I’m doing it to stop the pain!” She yelled back at them.
But the pain was still there, like millions of bloody red ants crawling on her arms, sinking their pincers into her skin, but it was worse than that. Blood continued to gush out profusely, almost like a fountain of red liquid. She let out a cry of desperation and gulped down another pill. And another…and another, until she started gulping down in handfuls.
“Fool!” Rebecca hissed.
“Get the blade! Just get the blade!”
“To the balcony, you fucking bitch!”
With stinging tears in her eyes, she staggered out of the bathroom and stumbled across the hallway towards the balcony. Not only was the pain in her arms getting worse, her head was starting to ache terribly too. She couldn’t see where she was going clearly. She just wanted the pain to end; everything, from her mother’s death, her stepfather’s violence, her pitiless childhood; everything. She wanted everything to end.
Delirious, she stepped onto the narrow handrail, both hands stretched out at either side of her to keep her balance. Weirdly enough, her head was absolutely silent now. She felt uneasy.
“Rebecca? Ollie?” She whispered, her brown hair billowing against her cheeks by the wind. Blood on her skins was starting to feel sticky as she ran her hands over her breasts, stomach and thighs. Her wrist hadn’t stopped bleeding yet.
All of a sudden, she felt weak. So weak she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep. But the feeling that she was alone, without anyone in her head, scared her. Had all of them left her now? Why? She screamed in distress, and for once, she wanted to hear voices in her head.
Her wish was granted, but only one voice returned.
“Jump,” Violet said calmly.
With a lopsided grin, Elle Dawney leapt from the handrail.
And she was falling…falling…