Page 93 of Twisted Heathens
All the anger, indignation, gut punching rage… it’s gone.
Finishing my second line and wiping my nose, I clamber to my feet. The toilet lid is dusty and spotted with white flecks, but I don’t bother to clean up after myself. Snorting cocaine in the bathroom on my knees is a new low, but luckily, I don’t care anymore.
“Leave me alone!”
A door slams, followed by muffled crying and the sound of a lock sliding across the neighbouring stall. I brush myself off and sneak out to splash my face. Eyeliner streaming down my cheeks and red lipstick smeared, I look like a deranged clown. I stare into my own eyes, watching my drugged-up smile fade.
I am my own destroyer.
Every single solitary moment of my life, I’ve been fucked over, abandoned, forgotten and used. By everyone and everything. And somehow, it all comes back to me. There’s no one else to blame but myself. I’m a failure, a goddamn failure.
“I hate you,” I shout at myself, a deep frown marring my brows. The pressure in my chest still doesn’t relent so I shout even louder. “I fucking hate you!”
My fist sails into the glass and it cracks right down the middle, my blood smearing beautifully. With all the coke swimming in my veins, I don’t feel the pain from my busted hand. Crimson rivulets spill down my skin and I stare, enraptured by the sight.
I deserve this. People like me shouldn’t live. I’m a waste of air and if I died right now, I’d be doing the world a favour. No one would even notice.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Britt emerges from the stall, trailing mascara and pink cheeks staining her face. She looks from the smashed mirror to me in disbelief, unwilling to move even a step closer, like she’s physically afraid of me. “Seriously, Brooklyn? Hello?” She waves a hand in the air as if to attract my attention.
“I...I—” I stumble, blinking rapidly.
What am I doing? Why am I here? Nothing makes sense anymore. Shadows creep into the edges of my vision and begin to mutter, tipping reality on its head. All I can feel is my heartbeat threatening to break my ribcage open.
“You look fucking insane right now.” Britt slowly crosses the bathroom, hopping onto the counter next to me. “But who am I to judge, right?”
“Right,” I croak, splashing my face a second time.
I try to force the crescendo of voices from my mind, to seem somewhat in control as Britt watches me with critical eyes that see far too much. She clicks her tongue, a knowing smile blossoming as I contemplate breaking her jaw.
“Where’d you get it?”
“Why should I tell you?” I counter.
She hops down from the counter and gets in my face, lips pressed tightly together. “Don’t be a dick. Just tell me. You got more?” Her eyes trail down over my skimpy outfit. “Although I can’t imagine where you’d be storing it in this slutty get up.”
The insult snaps my remaining self-control and I shove her back, watching in delight as she stumbles and falls on her ass. Something that looks a lot like fear flashes through her eyes as I prowl closer, looming over her, my fists clenched tight.
“Who exactly are you calling a whore? Tell me, Britt,” I spit her name hatefully. “How many times did you spread your little legs for Hudson, hmm? Bet you took every scrap of attention he threw at you, like the desperate whore you are.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shoot her a grin. “How does it feel now he’s gone?”
“Fuck off! If it wasn’t for you, he would still be with me.”
I bat my lashes innocently just to screw with her further. “Nothing to do with me, sweetheart. Guess he just got bored of breaking you over and over again. It loses its thrill after a while. Trust me,” I meet her eyes without shame, “I know.”
I turn to leave but her choked, furious voice stops me dead.
“You know what? You and Hudson deserve each other. You’re both screwed up, selfish, unlovable psychopaths.” Her voice drops low as she glares daggers at me. “I hope you kill each other or better yet, hurry up and fucking kill yourself. God knows you won’t be missed.”
She looks away to face herself in the mirror, and my stomach bottoms out when I see the reflection looking back at me in the cracked glass. He’s standing next to her, soaked in blood. Clothes torn and saturated, body slashed beyond recognition. Looking so real, I’m convinced if I reach out, I’ll be able to touch his broken form.
Victor.
I’m terrified that he’ll escape the glass and kill me himself. Watching the slow smile spread across his blue lips, I break into a run, desperately fleeing the bathroom and the demons inside. The party still rages in the cafeteria, I can hear the pumpkin competition being called over the microphone.