0 | Not Okay

IT SUDDENLY DAWNED to her that perfection was a myth. The being she stared at in the mirror was ugly, just like the people that whispered down the lane throughout the halls when she floated on by. They picked at her, poked her flaws, and ripped away any shred of good. She had not a single ounce of good left in her.

The mean thoughts bit her brain as she held the broken scissors in her pale, shaking hand. It was finally going to happen; the end that she was praying for in her dreams when she slept. It was going to happen now in her bedroom with the lights dimmed so she could only see the shadow of her reflection and watch the world turn black. It must happen.

She placed the sharp tip of one end of the scissors onto her healing skin. It sent a chill as the cold metal licked her nerves. She bit down her quivering  lip and pressed the scissors into her skin, hard. The moment was clear, vivid, until the lights flashed on and she was blinded by the purity of her room and the distinct voice crying out her name.

Someone slapped the scissors out of her hand and held her tightly in their arms when she tried to crawl after it. "Don't be stupid, Canvas, you're better than that!" The voice whispered soothing words that held her back from wanting to reach out for her death. 

She thought it was her father. Perhaps, just maybe, it was her older brother who could hear her whimpers through the hallow wall that departed their rooms. But the voice was familiar in a different sense. 

It was the heartbeat of Castor, one of her brother's close friends, that thumped wildly against her back. She could feel his fear and anxiety mixing with her own, and somehow that sent a wave of peace, feeling the comfort of another being. 

In all her life, she never was held so close to another body before. It was strange to feel his palms against the bare flesh of her arms. His breath hit against the back of her neck through her hair, and she absorbed the heat, closing her tired eyes. The silence skinned their voices from being able to speak, but it made them shiver with the hope that it would be okay. They could feel it, even through the shaking breaths and watery eyes, they could feel it that things would be alright.

"I'm okay," she breathed, not expecting that it would trigger the tears to fall.

He held onto her tighter, swaying with the rhythm of their heartbeats.

She clutched onto him and gave up on trying to hold in the tears. It was pointless; the pain burned her lungs and scratched her throat. She needed to cry in order to breathe, to feel. She finally felt it when the tears smeared her cheeks, and she gasped in the air that evaporated from her lungs. She felt the release of anger and oppression that vanquished the lonely joy inside her heart, and she breathed. 

The tears softened and she could taste the salt on the tip of her tongue. She cringed and sighed, relaxing in his arms. 

It was a long moment of silence and deep sadness that unfolded between them as they sat on the floor of her bedroom. The ceiling fan spun in a fast circle, blowing strands of hair onto her damp face. Her eyes closed from the heaviness of  the emotions that poured onto her body, drifting her into a subtle slumber. 

The floor creaked and Castor turned his gaze to the doorway, seeing her brother standing there with his eyes glued to the scissors scattered on the floor, and then onto the two on the floor. Their eyes locked. 

They said nothing. They just knew that it was almost too late.