Illusion - Chapter One (1/2)

I decided to split this chapter into two as it may be too long for some readers if it is published in one piece.

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“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”
-Martin Luther King Jr.

I broke a promise: a promise to myself that I would stop the cutting. But I'd relapsed as I always did, failing and shattering the never ending promises I made to myself. The urge to cut would become empowering, too strong to resist after a week or two. For me, cutting was like a heroin addict's crack, a pirate's booty. It could take away the pain I felt and it let me express my buried emotions in a way that allowed me to that no other could. Most of my frustrations and hurt of being misunderstood and outcast were vented out through small cuts along my arms.

I stood against the wall of the cubicle, my sweaty forehead pressed against its cool and smooth surface. My breath hissed through my teeth and I squeezed my eyes shut. All I could see was blackness as my left arm -which was hanging by my side- burned and pulsated with pain. In my right hand, I held an open pair of scissors, the metal blades cold against my moist fingers.

I'm a goddamn failure. I couldn't even go two days without cutting...

I opened my eyes to the white wall of the cubicle. My forehead burned and sweat trickled down the sides of my face, soaking the tips of my short dark hair. Some ran down the back of my neck, icy cold against my skin and dampening my collars.

Using all my might and strength, I lifted my forehead from the wall of the cubicle. I couldn't bear to look down at the pair of open scissors in my hand. The metal blades of the scissors were no longer cold, but instead blistering hot against my skin.

I glanced down at my left arm and my stomach lurched at the sight of it. Although it was only three small cuts it was still enough to send revulsion and disgust through my body. The cuts were weeping already, swollen and beaded with blood.

It was all I could do to stop myself from doubling over and retching.

I carefully placed the scissors on top of the closed toilet lid as to not make any sounds so that none of my other classmates outside the cubicle would hear the scissors clattering against the plastic of the toilet lid. They continued to chatter to one another, completely oblivious to my actions. I tore off a strip of toilet roll and carefully folded it. Gritting my teeth, I gingerly pressed the tissue against my cuts. A stinging sensation shot through my skin and I bit back a yelp of pain. The blood had already soaked into the tissue, creating small dots of red against the crisp white.

(Heh. Nice bit of artwork.)

I watched as the cuts wept again, blood slowly filling the tiny gouges like water gushing through an empty valley. I gently dabbed at the cuts, wincing from the pain as I did so. It seemed to be that no matter how many times I dabbed at the cuts, new blood would replace the blood that the tissue had absorbed.

Gazing down at my arm and watching the cuts refill with blood, I felt numb, almost emotionless. The shouts and laughter of my classmates were muffled, distant and in a different world. I was hypnotised by the sight of my blood welling up and the cuts burning into my eyes...

Then the spell was shattered.

I quickly looked up, my eyes wide. The time on my digital watch read 15:47, a time that I'd normally arrive at home after school. If my mum and dad were at home at this time, they'd be worried by this time at my lateness. I yanked down my jumper sleeve, no longer caring about the blood. I was glad that my jumper sleeves were long enough to conceal my cuts.

I tossed the scissors into my school backpack- which was hung by a hook embedded into the cubicle door - and lifted up the toilet lid before throwing the bloodied tissue into the toilet bowl. With my heart beating fast, I pulled the chain and quickly zipped up my backpack before sliding it onto my shoulders. Glancing back at the toilet to make sure there was no trace left of the bloodied tissue, I unlocked the cubicle door and exited.

***

"And the vampire emerges from its coffin," was the first jeer I heard accompanied by laughter when I stepped out into the corridor of the first floor in the school building. I immediately recognised the voice. It belonged to Connie in my form.

Connie and I despised each other, although I was unsure of why she hated me so much. I hated her because of her stuck-up attitude and arrogant personality. Connie thought highly of herself and was surprisingly popular amongst her classmates. It was probably her vindictive and two-faced personality that helped her to have so many followers. Connie could have appeared to be sweet and kind to someone, but would transform into a vindictive and arrogant person. Her best friends Jenny and Chloe never left her side. Like Connie, they were also both arrogant and well known to the teachers in school as troublemakers: always causing disruptions in class or screaming as they hurtled themselves down the corridors or play fought with other classmates. At the time, I hadn't known why the three picked on me. I simply guessed it was due to my behaviour and way of speaking that were seen as abnormal by both my classmates and teachers.

I ignored the taunt and kept my face taut and expressionless as I turned away from Connie and her friends towards one of the staircases leading to the ground floor. I refused to rise to the bait and show fear although my heart thudded painfully against my ribcage.

"Hey, Aria, I've brought my cross necklace with me so you can't hurt me now," Connie yelled, her voice echoing off the corridor walls. Her yell was followed by her friends' laughter, high and sharp in the air, piercing through my body.

I walked faster, my cheeks burning in humiliation and keeping my head down to avoid meeting the faces of other curious students standing nearby. My backpack banged painfully against my back with each hurried step I took.

Shit, shit, shit...

"You can't run from us!"

My heart raced with fear as I sped up my pace. At this time, I wasn't able to afford returning home bloody and beaten for my mum and dad to see. I hadn't wanted them to discover that I was being bullied yet again and to panic, since they'd to deal with the stress of work and paying the mortgage.

Then I tripped.

I flailed, crying out as I did so. I thudded painfully to the floor, skidding slightly along the cold and filthy surface. I could hear Chloe and Jenny's laughter piercing through the air.

This is it...

Groaning in pain, I felt nausea wash over me. I desperately tried to scrabble to my feet, only to find my backpack being ripped from my shoulders and my arm being wrenched behind my back. Pain shot through my arm and for a fleeting moment, I believed that my knees would give way. A gasp of agony escaped from my lips and I felt my face contort. I was trapped and there was nothing I could do.

Connie held my backpack in her hands, a cruel and twisted smile upon her lips as she stood in front of me with Chloe next to her. This allowed me to get a good look at Connie and Chloe.

Connie wore her hair down in tiny braids that reached past her shoulders. She wore a short school skirt that always never failed to astonish me when the teachers never pointed out that it was against the uniform requirements. Connie wore a shirt that seemed to be two sizes small with the top two buttons undone, which exposed a huge amount of cleavage that never failed to disgust me (great fun to stare at though!).

Chloe was very beautiful, with a heart shaped face and long black hair that flowed over her shoulders. She also had a slim figure that most girls would envy her for. The smirk across her face spoiled her pretty features.

My eyes widened upon seeing my backpack in Connie's hands. I realised that she was going to tip out and expose its contents.

The scissors! The fucking scissors!