Whiplash | jjk.

[03]: New Start

[A/N] sometimes I like to put in songs to listen to while reading. it's your choice if you want to or not :)

You can barely look at yourself in the mirror.

But at the same time, you can't look away.

You finally made it home, at around 4:30AM, after spending the whole afternoon and night in hospital beside Mia, who had to be in intensive care until she came back to her senses.

Other than some severe bruising in her face and neck, and minor cuts on her calf, she'd be okay. And the same went for you, who only really had to get some small cuts tended to. Oh, and twelve stiches in your shoulder.

Hunched over the porcelain bowl in just a singlet, you stared at yourself hard. Your right shoulder was bandaged up like a mummy, and there was blood already leaking through and staining the gauze. You had three big scratches down the left side of your face. The centre one looked like it could nearly scar.

Other cuts and bruises littered what seemed to be your entire body, thanks to all the rocks.

But your encounter with those girls had done a lot more than just bruise you.

It had changed you.

The torment had finally crossed the line. Bringing Mia into it had crossed the line. You had been beating yourself up for hours, as you had to sit and look at your innocent, unconscious friend who had now been hurt because of your family and the way people felt about it.

Because maybe she wouldn't have been hurt if that guy didn't restrain you.

If you weren't weak.

Maybe you could have stopped them. Or you could have gotten to her before, if you were as strong as him.

You reached for a pair of scissors in your top drawer.

Why couldn't you protect her?

The snap had been a long time coming.

You pulled the scissors up to your hair, and didn't hesitate to cut off the full length of it on one section.

Your hair fell to the ground, you looked at it, and you kept going.

You snipped and snipped, mutilating your hair with a lifeless look in your heavy-lidded eyes. You didn't care for anything except change, anymore. It seemed like you were trying to breathe life into the universal banishment of your past self.

For she was dead.

Gone.

What you had been holding onto over the last few weeks, the very last beam of hope, had finally shattered and your world was crumbling around you.

There was nothing left to hold onto - this was a huge wooden door opening, and you didn't have any reason to hesitate walking through it.

Heck, you're running.

As you snip and slice all the inches of your long hair clean off, you're really fucking running.

The sleek, quick sounds of the blades cutting through your hair echoed through the empty apartment. It was dark inside; lacking a family. There were no lights on except for the bathroom, so the rest of the house was lit only by the beams of moonlight that desperately seeped through the gaps in the curtains.

Your cheeks were red, not just from the scratches and surface irritation. But also from the mortification that you hadn't been able to wipe off your face.

------

Half an hour later, you are curled up crying on the floor. Your hair is now cut short, and your chest is bind down with a bandage, so tight you can barely breathe.