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All created stories have to follow . We do not allow any sexually related material. The Doll Palace will be enforcing this rule and completely blocking access to the accounts that disregard our policy and create sexually oriented stories.
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Hi, my name is Kara
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 | I'm Not Okay - 2 |
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 5 with 2 vote(s)
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| Created: 2008-05-02 15:31:27 |
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And this is where it changed? I think. Idk. I don't even think I finished writing this chappie. 
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2
My foot struggled to lift above the small, wires that enclosed the school's roof. I suddenly knew why this part was forbidden: kids like me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
My body froze at the sudden interruption. This was a bad day. I couldn't even kill myself without messing up.
'Because you're a screwed up little twit,' the sadistic voice pointed out.
“That's right,” I whispered aloud. “I'm a screwed up little twit.”
A pair of hands grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me away from the edge. Spinning me around, I stared into unfamiliar charcoal colored eyes. They stared back, glaring forward coldly. Unforgiving.
“I'm sorry to say this,” he started, “But you do strike me as 'screwed up'.”
“Is that something you should tell someone who just tried to kill herself?” I asked, all niceties pushed aside. There was no point for them up here with just the two of us.
'Was there ever a point?' one of the voices whispered. I was too out of it to think too much about it.
He stared back, unapologetically. “Only one suicide attempt at a time, and I do believe I was here first.”
I stopped my moping, pushed back all the pain, and stared at him. Really stared at him.
His jet, black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, the ends dyed a flaming red and matched the few lose strands that managed to slip between him and whoever his gaze locked on.
He walked away. Not caring to comfort me anymore. His sneakers scuffled across the scattered rocks surprisingly graceful. His hair blew slowly as the wind settled in. Sounds of the classrooms below were now audible.
“Why?” I didn't recognize the complete innocence in my voice. The uncertainty.
He turned to glance over his shoulder, his lips pursed as he thought.
Coming up with no real answer, he shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Why not?”
“You shouldn't answer a question with a question.”
“Does it offend you?”
I blinked indifferently.
“I'll take that as a yes.”
His voice had changed, a tinge of some kind of accent could be heard.
Another tear fell, but I was too tired to wipe it away. My head hurt. Everything hurt. My friends.. were they my friends? And what would my parents say if they knew the truth? Everyone would find out the truth.
I felt nauseous.
“If you're gonna vomit, please don't stare at nothing while you do it.”
I snapped back into the real world. Black eyes inches from my own. A pale finger brushed away a few more tumbling tears, big and fat and falling too fast.
“I'm okay,” I whispered to myself.
He shook his head but agreed verbally. “Sure. Of course. Lemme take you to the nurse, kay?”
I shoved him away. A thought tugged at the edge of my memory. Something seemed too familiar about this situation, about this boy. Why couldn't I just kill myself and get it over with?
“My head hurts,” I muttered out loud, confirming what I felt all too much.
He nodded his head in agreement before taking my hand and leading me to the rooftop's only door. We descended the stairs slowly, the whole world wavering in my sight before I realized that another scene was playing in my head.
Only there was no Matt, no Morgan. No liars.
Just two little kids running through a garden it full bloom. It looked so pretty.
“Don't make it be so pretty,” I whispered in a daze.
I felt my head land on the boy's shoulder. He wasn't that tall. He wasn't tall at all. His jacket smelled fresh, and his shampoo was strong and almost girly.
“Hey,” I whispered again. It sounded like a weak whine. I hated whining. But I had to get it out. I needed to get it out.
“You should hush,” he whispered softly. It sounded magical. Like there were bells in the distance.
We moved a few more steps and then, to my amazement, I realized they were bells. On his necklace. Tiny silver ones with curly tiny script. If I tilted my head more, I could read what they said.
“Hey,” I repeated remembering that I still hadn't told him what I had intended.
He muttered something about being disobedient and stubborn, but I ignored it. Reality was fading. Fast.
“Hey,” my voice was too soft to be heard. I couldn't make it louder.. my head hurt. “Do me a favor and promise.. don't die. Please. Please.. Oh plea-”
My voice stopped working. My legs decided to quit at the same time. With my head on his shoulder and his arm around my waist, we looked like lovers. Only way more awkward and twice as dysfunctional.
I let my fingers curl into the folds of his baggy jacket before fading away. No more thoughts.
No more pain. |
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