Attacked By My Thoughts

​A/N: This is a rewrite of the original story (see next part) and has a much different ending. The original writing isn't as good but it has a happier ending. *Trigger Warning*

The whispering begins as soon as I step on the bus. The laughing begins. The teasing. It's her it's the weirdo she's always washing her hands I heard she can't even touch her own family freak freak
Freak.
I sit alone. After all, no one wants to sit with someone who will start hyperventilating if they brush against them. I find a seat somewhere in the middle of the bus and attempt to ignore those around me.
"Hey Germaphobe!" someone calls out to me, but I pay no attention to him and his theatrics. "I said 'Hey, Germaphobe!'
"What? Are you deaf now too?" The bus has gone silent. Everyone is listening closely, wondering if I'll snap. But, no. I will not. I've taught myself not to.
Shove it down and maybe it will go away.
The boy, on the other hand, does not go away. "Why, do you have a new fear that if you talk you'll catch some sort of disease?"
What if I do what if I do what if- Shove it down. Shove it down and don't let it affect you.
"No." I say. Quietly, almost timidly, but enough to convince myself that what the boy suggested would be stupid. Although all my fears are ludicrous, I know that, I don't need to add to my list. No, I wash. That's it. I wash.
"Ah! She speaks!" He's moving up the rows, seat by seat. "She's not mute or deaf after all! Just crazy." He laughs. They all laugh.
*
I hate my shrink.
"How are you?" she asks.
Terrible. "Fine," I mumble.
"How are your hands? May I see?"
I inwardly roll my eyes. She's seen my hands a million times, and they're not much to be proud of. Just a mass of irritated, red skin, cracked in some places with dried blood. Disgusting.
​But the blood never bothers me. It never did. It was the germs, or the thought that they were on me, infecting me. That was what made me run to the sink and scrub scrub scrub it all away.
​Dirty. My hands are dirty. They have germs, and need to be washed. There is no room to debate. They have to be washed before I can do anything else.
*
​Clean clean clean wash it away wash it away
​There is a ringing in my ears. No, an alarm. The fire alarm.
​Clean clean clean wash it away wash it away
​I have to go I have to-
​Clean.
​"What were you thinking?" someone important screams at me. "If that wasn't a drill you could very well be dead! Why did you stay in the building?"
​To clean wash it away "I don't know." I murmur instead, wondering if I would be better off dead.
​"What on earth do you mean 'you don't know'?" Her voice is sharp. Like a blade. Would a blade work? "You must at least realize what will happen next."
​I don't care "No."
​The woman sighs. Her necklace is pretty. It reminds me of a noose. Would a noose work? "I'm afraid you'll have to be suspended. I'll call your parents."
​I'm so anxious to leave I almost jump out of my chair. Jump. That's it.
*
The wind from the rooftop whips my hair and clothes around my body. But it doesn't matter. I came here for one thing and one thing only.
My emotions have no hold on me. My love for my family: pushed aside. My nervousness: buried deep inside. My guilt: hidden behind a mask of indifference.
I take a step toward the brink of the building. And another. And another. I'm standing on the edge now, looking down at a sea of life that will be of less importance to me than an ant in the grass soon.
I move my foot forward; its toes hang off the rim. End of all my suffering pain misery. I look down below. Down at the tiny cars and tinier people. People who won't care. They might be shocked, or disturbed, but they won't care about the girl who will be splattered on the ground, head cracked open, blood pooling around her. They. Won't. Care.
I've been locked in a cage of my own making for so long now. Maybe I need to fall to learn how to fly.
The idea that I soon may escape this world with no love or hope or reason fills me with an unfathomable joy. Though there are people I love, they do not love me.
​It is odd indeed, that in this moment, I feel unwavering. All these days of worry grief brokenness... and now I am not affected by anything. Whereas I was a flickering flame before, now I am a blazing wildfire. I am invincible. Nothing will break me. Nothing will stop me.
​A voice whispers in the wind, in my mind. Don't jump don't jump don't-
​"It's too late." I call out.
And I learn to fly.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Please comment, vote, and share. Or not. I don't control you, but it would make me super happy!!