Celeste's childhood wasn't something she loved talking about. It was filled with nothing but painful memories. Whether they were the ones from when her father, along with her brothers, left, or the ones from her mother's death and her stepfather's a...
tw: mentions of abuse, suicidal thoughts and attempts, and murder. please be careful while reading.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
four months ago
HOT WHITE PAIN flashed across the surface of my skin as its burning flames leaped across my neck. My head tiredly rested on the small, circular table in the cafeteria, and my eyes remained shut as strands of my hair tumbled across my forehead, concealing the white room and flickering faces from sight.
My chest rose and fell, the walls of my throat aching with every ounce of air I inhaled and exhaled. The corners of my head pounded, my skull getting rattled with Jack's poisonous whispers and his noxious laughs. Chatters bounced off the plain walls, their noises blending and merging as they drifted in and out of my strained ears. I heard someone call my name but kept my head against the cold metal, my head too heavy to lift.
A part of me was desperate to fall back into the blissful darkness of sleep, for I hadn't gotten an ounce of it in the past few days. Every time my eyes had shut, my body had jolted awake, trembling in response to the horrific images of my past. That part of me was desperate for the silence of my dreams and the relief darkness offered.
Despite that, my body jerked upright, flinching in response to the sound of metal colliding with itself that pierced my ears. My eyes were wide as they scanned the cafeteria, my gaze frantic once it landed on the filled trays dropped onto the table. Swallowing past the lump in my throat and the burning sensation that had ripped its walls apart, I let my eyes lock with the light brown ones belonging to August, the seventeen-year-old boy I shared a cell with.
"Eat," he ordered, his tone cold, almost distant. Ignoring his comment, I rested my head on the table again, watching as he took a seat across from me, his eyes not leaving my figure. "Lorenzo, eat."
I shook my head, closing my eyes as I pathetically clung to the darkness that had swallowed me. My limbs ached, and my stomach twisted in knots, the nausea surging from its pits. "Not hungry." My words were a murmur, and apparently, they were the wrong thing to say, for I heard the resurfacing anger that coated August's words when he spoke again.
"I said eat, Lorenzo." His tone was harsh, but I didn't even flinch. I just shut my eyes tighter, not caring about how I looked no different from a kid getting yelled at by his parents. August shoved the second tray closer to me. "I fucking get it you tried to hang yourself, but you're not going to starve yourself to death," he muttered, and I curled to myself in response to his words. "Not under my watch. Now fucking eat."
Pulling my head from the table, I watched my surroundings as they spun and swayed, my world tilting off its axis as I blinked the darkness away. "I didn't tell you to fucking stop me, did I?" I gritted through clenched teeth, my eyes burning at the mere thought of being so close to death yet so far. I was close. I was so fucking close. The thin sheets had been around my neck, choking me, cutting off my air supply. Darkness had started to creep into my vision. My mind had stopped screeching for once, my father's taunting whispers fading. And then he fucking came. "You're the one who decided to act like a fucking hero."
