Bub' s Art Trash 2

Purple Pins (NAAU)

WARNING

Slightly mature content??

You get the idea.

It's not that bad though.. :/

-

She turns to him, a lump in her throat, "I'm not that awful a person.."

He scoffs, "Yeah okay."

She turns to the food bag, continuing to open it with slightly frantic hands, trying to be quick as he'd ordered. Her anger swelled. Did she yell? No, she couldn't bring herself to truly snap, to let out all the anger she felt. She'd caused so much last time she had. Instead, it just filled inside her bottle, leaking out here and there in more ways than one. The word spilled from her mouth before she could stop it, a timid mumble, yet so...so angry. 

"Thanks." As soon as she'd said it, her mind raced, eyes watering. Anxiety and paranoia filled her head with many possible reactions. None of them pleasant.

"What." He snarled.

She didn't look at him and covered her face with her hands, "Oh god, I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. My emotions got the best of me," she stuttered out quickly, as if maybe she could erase the word she'd said. One single syllable.

And this all could've been avoided. If only she had had a better grasp of her emotions. This was her fault.

Tears welled in her eyes in fear. A moment passed, two, then she was kicked out of the kitchen.

In the living room she fidgeted with the coat she'd just put on. She needed something to do. Her stomach was so twisted with paranoia that she felt being still would cause more anger in him. So she sat in the chair and retied her Doc Martens.

Suddenly her back was on the chair and he was towering over her, taking in her clearly afraid state. As if remaining as still as possible and clutching her slightly trembling fists to her chest would make him stop being angry.

"You wanna see what an awful person looks like?" His cold blue irises pinned her. She didn't utter a word in response.

***

Her ride had come to pick her up. They hadn't noticed the tears rolling down her face the whole ride to school. Neither did the students she passed in the cafeteria, waiting for the bell to ring so they all could go to their lockers and classrooms for the exams that day.

Her tears dried soon after but made minor appearances throughout the day, watering her vision if only a moment. Her mind wouldn't let her rest, taunting her, mocking her, filling her head with insults and unpleasant honesty. She focused best she could on her exams though, and kept up a smile to her friends.

They hadn't noticed.

Neither did they noticed her pin.

Honestly, though, who could blame them? It was poked into her already colorful book bag.

She never cut her wrists or her thighs or anywhere. Her "mother" did that, and still does. She didn't want another reason for him to compare her to that woman.

Instead, she took the purple-topped pin into the fingers of her right hand, and dug it into the fingers and palm of her left. Never enough to intentionally draw blood - most the time anyways - but just enough so that when she had finished, it gave her hand a shredded look.

One of her anxious habits was picking at dead skin. She had plenty to keep herself busy now.

As usual, no-one noticed. Both the hand and pin were easily hidden.

Now, dear readers, I ask you:

What are your thoughts about this girl? How do you feel?

Who's the bad guy here?

Now that you've had time to answer, I'll continue.

She never liked being pitied. She hated crying around others, but was too damn sensitive otherwise.

Her misery, however, is her own thought. Not his.

He's not the bad guy, she is.

She lied for years, she disobeyed, she acted out, she was lazy.

He was just tired.

Though now, she was trying, trying to be better.

But it was too late for that. He'll never see her efforts.

So she bottles, cries, and picks away her anger and sadness. Leaving it to drip out now and then, just as it had that morning.

What is she to do?

Nothing she can. Just keep moving, I guess.

Time will pass.

And she'll remain under the conflicted assumption that she's not that awful a person.

Is she?

-

Okay so this isn't very good, I apologize. It was just a spur-of-the-moment idea that I had to write.

~ Bub =)

*dabbing away the cringe*