𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙙 - e.d. [ completed ]

Four

Emma

"Sweetie, our neighbour is bringing their daughter over today, for babysitting. Do you mind company?" Grandma says, walking into my room.

I definitely pause to answer, hesitation clear on my features. I don't want even more people seeing my face. I'm still embarrassed about the look Ethan first gave me, the surprised face haunts me (everyone's does).

"Uhm, I don't know.." I say, honestly.

"She's just seven years old honey, you don't need to be afraid of anything, if that's what you're worried about?" Grandma adds.

"Okay, I guess. How long will she be staying?" I've always loved children, I guess. I just think now they probably don't love me as much anymore.

I look like a monster.

"Only until eleven, the parents have a venue to attend." she informs me.

"Okay, it's fine, I guess." I say, unsurely. A state I seem to be in constantly these days. Unsure. Unsure and anxious.

"Great. And I'm making enchiladas for dinner. Your favorite." she smiles, walking towards the door.

"Thanks grandma." I smile back and she leaves.

I look back at my computer screen and scroll deeper into my Tumblr feed.

I come across a quote saying:
"How can emptiness feel so heavy?" The same moment I am reminded of the inevitable pain I hold in my chest, pain so heavy, but I feel completely empty.

I was supposed to leave this world. I wished to die. But somehow I'm still here. And it's the hardest thing ever.

If I wanted to explain what I was actually feeling, I wouldn't be able to. I'm so messed up, even I don't know what I feel, even I don't know the answers to the questions. I don't even know what the questions are.

I sink further into my pillows, when I feel tears escape my eyes, spilling over the edge. I don't even know I'm crying, tears now days just seem to be a daily reminder I'm human and still alive.

Even though I wish I wasn't.

---

The doorbell downstairs rings, and I'm not ready to face other people.

By now I'm curled in a ball in the bathroom, a razor sitting on my sink, and my arm tingling in pain.

I get up, knowing I'll have to face the people at some point, and glance at myself in the mirror.

My olive skin looks pale and contrasts with the red puffy eyes, and dark circles under my eyes. My eyes are tired, lashes sticking together, beacuse of the tears and nose red and puffy. My hair is messy and looks like it needs a wash and a cut, frizzy and a little bit greasy. But the thing that stands out the most is the ugly scar, traveling from beside my eye, all the way down to above my lip.

I grimace, disgusted with myself and grab the razor, shoving it under a bunch of towels in a cabinet.

I hear voices downstairs. It takes a couple minutes, grandma chatting with our neighbor, mainly about the babysitting, before the mother of the little girl leaves.

"Emma, would you come downstairs please?" the kind voice of my grandmother sings. For a second I hesitate going downstairs. I feel sorry for my grandmother, she ended up with me, a messed up teen that hasn't came to visit her in the past 14 years. She has to take care of someone, who doesn't want to be taken care of, someone who doesn't want to live.

She doesn't deserve this.

I sigh and decide to go downstairs, I don't want to appear rude. I fix my hair into a low ponytail, pulling it to the side, and slide the hoodie of my white oversized sweatshirt over my head.

I travel down the stairs slowly and stop when I see grandma waiting for me, her arm on the shoulder of a small, brown-haired and green-eyed girl. She looks a lot like me when I was her age. Before I got broken, Happy and completely naive, unaware of the cruelty of this messed up world.

I smile a fake smile, and she eyes me carefully.

"What's on your face?" she says bluntly, and I see grandma tense up visibly, my smile lowering a little.

"Oh, it's just a scar." I say, keeping my smile on. She's just a child, she doesn't know all the fucked up shit behind the scar, and she doesn't need to.

"Oh." she says. "I like it. It makes you look strong." she comments, surprising me. I furrow my eyebrows, and actually genuinely smile.

"Thanks. I like your ponytails." I add, and step down the stairs all the way.

"Really? Mom says I'm too old for ponytails." she says, pouting.

"Well if you like them, I don't see why you should wear them." I assure her. "What's your name?" I ask her.

"I'm Melanie."

"Well Melanie, nice to meet you, I'm Emma."

---

Filler, sorry.