Page 3 of Prayer of the Damned

I keep my eyes open because the bit of alcohol has done its work, and every time I shut my eyes my head spins and threatens to bring back the nausea I’d finally chased away.

I keep humming, but my eyelids are getting heavy. I peek at the clock. It’s 11:59. Before I close my eyes I manage to see the clock tick over to 12:00 AM – a new day has started, and my life is ending. Darkness envelopes me and my lungs no longer cry out for air.

I think I feel a hand caressing me as my eyes close, but it could be a pill-induced hallucination.

Because this is the end for me.

Farewell.

Chapter Two

Bellcolor

Iopen my eyes and blink rapidly.Am I in Heaven?

I can see gleaming sunbeams and a white curtain waving in the wind.It’s nice, the cool breeze blows over my skin and I smile to myself.

My smile is quickly replaced by a twitch when a horrible stench hits my nose.Oh God, that’s gross, what is that?I find out that the smell’s coming from my stained and moist blanket. The sharp tang of bourbon mixed with vomit kicks me in the guts, and I’m so startled that I leap away and fall out of bed.

“Fuck…” I rub my butt.

What the hell is happening here?I examine my room.

My bed looks like a scene from a cheap horror movie, my window’s wide open, but I know I didn’t open it before my suicide attempt, which obviously failed.

The early morning wind caresses my face.Is this the divine revelation everyone talks about?A derisive snort slips out of me and I banish the thought. When did I become religious? That’s ridiculous.

When I hear rustling outside my door, I realize that Betty has arrived and is already energetically preparing breakfast. I jump to my feet and hurry to destroy the evidence of last night’s failure.

I change the sheets and throw them into the laundry basket along with the blanket and my stained clothes. Ugh, they stink! Betty will probably ask questions I’m not interested in answering, so I’d better run the washing machine myself before she reaches the laundry basket. Or maybe I’ll just throw them in the garbage before I head out to my graduation ceremony, because I have no idea how to operate the washing machine.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I curse in my mind, realizing I’ll have to go through this awful nightmare of a day after everything. I can’t even kill myself! How much of a loser do I need to be to fail such a simple task?

I spray my room with air freshener and run to the bathroom to wash up and get the stench off me. I have to destroy all evidence of this catastrophe.

Emotions surge up within me the moment my body relaxes under the stream of hot water. I feel a heavy lump in my stomach, but I can’t cry to relieve the unbearable pressure. I guess swallowing dozens of mood stabilizing pills will do that.At least I managed to kill something in my body,I think bitterly.

I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a big, soft white towel, standing in front of the mirror and wiping away the steam to examine my reflection.Fuck, what did I do to myself?

My coal-black hair is wet and sticking to my cheeks. My skin is paler than usual – which is understandable given the circumstances, and I push my hair back to get a better look at my eyes, which were always black. They still are, but now they have strange pigmentation, white dots decorating the irises of my eyes, and I stand on the tips of my toes to get closer to the mirror and examine them up close.

Holy shit, I’m in trouble.

What do I do now? There’s no way my father won’t notice this!

I know! I’ll pass by the Optica store on my way to school and buy some colored contacts. It’s the only thing that will hide whatever this is.

I hurry back to my bedroom, put on the elegant black dress my father bought especially for the graduation ceremony, which is of course way too expensive to be worn to a one-time event. I dry and arrange my hair and decide to skip makeup. It’ll only draw attention to whatever I’ve done to my eyes, or the contacts I’ll be wearing.

I examine myself in the mirror. The dress is very feminine, and hangs like a disguise off my childlike body. My frame is thin, absent of curves, and my breasts are so small it’s like they didn’t get the memo that they were supposed to grow during puberty, the prime of which I’m long past. Well, then… that’s the best I can do considering what I’ve got.

I put on flat black shoes, leave my room, head to the kitchen and sit by the table attached to the marble island. Betty serves me a bowl of porridge with fresh fruit, and I make a face. The smell, which usually tantalizes me, now stirs up a terrible nausea in me.

“Is everything alright, dear?” Betty looks at me.

“What’d you put in the porridge? It smells awful!” I hold my nose.

“Nothing unusual. Soy milk-based oatmeal and brown sugar, and your favorite fruits, Bellcolor. Like always.” She puts her hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling alright? You’re a bit cold and pale.” Her concerned face is too close, so I cast my gaze downward so she won’t notice my twisted eyes.