Running • Iggy

Truth

I lived on autopilot the entire day after. I didn't speak, didn't eat, I didn't even drink water. It was already 6pm when I snapped out of whatever trance I had been in. I was standing in the middle of my room, staring at my reflection in the frosted glass of my window. I was so numb that I didn't care it was my reflection.

I could hear laughter downstairs. Iggy's laughter, Max's loud chuckles, and Fang's amused words. They were the only ones home for the night, I wasn't even sure where the rest of them were. I brought the scissors in my right hand to my mid-back length hair, hovering about below my ears. I closed the scissors before I could rethink the decision, watching as the orange locks fell to the floor. I kept cutting, making sure it wasn't too messy. When I finished, my hair was midway down my neck. I scooped my hair up and threw it into a bag, walking downstairs to throw it in the bin.

Iggy looked up when I entered the room, and had done a triple take by the time I had got to the bin. "Did you cut your hair?" He asked suddenly. Max looked up, and then Fang did too. I simply nodded as I threw the bag away, fixing the sleeves over my hands. "Any reason? Any person you met at work, by chance?" Max asked. I shrugged as I walked back over to the stairs.

"Hey, wai-" Fang began. I was already up the stairs before he could finish. I locked my door behind me, running my hand through my short hair.

You don't deserve them.

I shut the thought down as soon as it emerged. I did that a lot, shutting down feelings and emotions whenever they appeared, fighting them off like fighting off the waves on my island.

You don't deserve them.

More insistent this time. Why didn't that work?

It's your fault.

Why won't it go away already?

You don't deserve them.
It's your fault.
"Is she like... a body painter?"
"Max, what's up with her skin?"
"Monique, her eyes are scary..."
"My friends won't hang out with me because I have the scary sister."
"Nudge, Citrus is over there, she can hear you."
"I don't care, it's Citrus' fault anyway."
Shut up.
"You wouldn't understand, sorry."
"We're going out, we'll hang out tomorrow, okay?"
"Could you go into the back? You're scaring potential customers away."
Shut up.
"She's in a mood."
"Why'd you break it?"
"Told you she was in a mood."
Shut up.
"She's so cold, does she even care about you Jamsie?"
Shut up.
"Oh look, a walking circus."

Thinking it wasn't enough. I had to say it.

"Shut up."
"Mommy, does she have a disease?"
"Shut up."
"Just smile and walk on, Amy."
"Shut up." I was getting louder as my thoughts got louder. Anger surged through me as fast as the thoughts until I couldn't take it anymore.

"SHUT UP!" I screamed, grabbing my lamp and throwing it hard at the wall. I didn't even register the shattered glass spraying across the room, I just grabbed my bedside table and hurled it again a nearby wall, destroying the broken pieces further.

Ugly.
Useless.
Disgusting
Your fault.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP, I KNOW ALREADY!" The mattress is torn to pieces and I've snapped the bed frame in half.

Ruined it.
Broken.
Unworthy.
Waste of space.
Burden.
Freak.
Murderer.
Selfish.
Attention seeking.

"SHUT UP!" I had hurled half of the bed frame across the room, completely destroying my desk and chair in the process. Why won't it go away?