Paradise

XIII

Sadness is the moment you realise just how disposable you are.

Paradise approached the building, her heart pumping fast. She hadn't spoken to or seen her father in nearly a week. She stayed in her home, and Parker picked her up everyday for school, and dropped her off at home, staying with her till she fell asleep, watched her a few hours, awaited Raymond's arival, and gave up around four am, going home and showering, dressing in fresh clothes, and sleeping two or three hours, if he was lucky.

Parker's body began to mirror his beloved's. Pale, skinny, dark circles and stringy hair.

That's why when paradise saw that Parker had fallen asleep, his arm wrapped around her waist, she simply untangled her body from his , got dressed, and walked to school.

For the first time in weeks, she was alone.
And do you know what happened?
Paradise sat at lunch, playing with her sickly looking greenish mashed potatoes and imagined if she could sleep instead. Sleep was one thing paradise enjoyed, beisides breathing. Paradise slept, and breathed, but never did she eat. Not unless it was abesolutley necessary.

But. Then, she picked up an apple, inspecting the reddish orange color. She gulped to herself, licking her dry lips.

She took a bite.
And she chewed, enjoying the flavor. Her icy blue eyes that reminded a certain of frozen lakes and clear skies searched the crowd, landing upon a very frazzled looking Parker. She smiled, abandoning her meal and running to stand behind him. "Did you sleep well?" she asked, and he didn't turn around, he didn't answer. "Parker?" she called, raising her voice a tad, he still didn't respond. Paradise began to become afraid. "Parker are you angry with me?" she asked, panic lacing her words. Still no answer. "Parker please, did i do something wrong?" she began to cry. Parker seemed to ignore her. Tears ran down Paradise's porcelain face and she sobbed. "I-I'm s-sorry" she choked, turning quickly on her heel and running out of the cafeteria. She ran. She ran home. She turned the tap on, hot water only. Her skin became red and raw and painful. She picked up her trusty friend, drawing pictures on her thighs and stomach and wrists and ankles. She bled a little, but not enough. Her blade was dull with age. She drained the orange bath, standing and dressing in her dirty clothes. She opened her cabinets, grabbing the bottle of anxiety medication and the hidden bottle of sleeping meds.

In one quick motion, she swallowed them all, not bothering with water.

She sat down, hugging her knees.
And she cried.
But she wasn't sad.
Because, no longer would she be the ellaborate ruse of large shirts and baggy pants and long sleeves rubbing against new cuts and playing with sickly looking greenish mashed potatoes and lying on the cold, dirty, cracked linoleum floor in a puddle of her own tears. And angry red slashes on wrists, and the sadness that was held in each of the purple bruises that littered her perfectly imperfect face and icey blue eyes that reminded a certain boy of frozen lakes and clear skies, and dark circles under those eyes that were cold, but not hateful, with words that were a symphony of melody and beautiful harmony.

The girl who's father was an angry drunken junkie liar, and though he was a terrible father and a horrible human being, Paradise was a daddy's girl.

She was just a depressed, stressed, hot mess, who enjoyed the burn of alcohol in her throat and the feeling of numbness that came with it, but hated hangovers.

Parker felt a prickle on his neck, and a strange sinking feeling on his stomach.