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“Because you need to pay.”The voice in my head snickers, prancing around my consciousness, ensuring I stay stuck, but today something stronger breaks me free.

Sprinting, I bend over and hurl everything and nothing in my stomach at the same damn time.

It feels like an eternity before the feeling abates and I can stand. I wipe my mouth, and the tears I didn’t even notice were falling.

Whirling around, I take in all the photos, but it’s too late. The pictures of me bleeding out on the floor are on every door—every fucking door. My pain is on full display. My weaknesses and failures are plastered for all to see.

How could anyone have these?

My body—limply prone on my bathroom floor. I’m barely covered—my white bra looks like it was intentionally dyed red.Blood is puddled, pooling around the open wound of my left wrist as the silvery-colored blade almost glints from the sunlight beaming through the window. My skin looks ashen, lacking its usual bronze vitality.

A piece of me dies where I stand as I become aware of the crowd growing around me.

“Not so fucking bold now, are you, murderer?” Tricia’s acidic question burns through me, eviscerating any progress I’ve made toward healing. No, not healing—existing. I don’t think I’m capable of healing. That would require me to forgive myself, and that’s something I can never do.

You’re not worthy of it.

Whispers echo around me, and I finally unfreeze. Rushing forward, I rip my most private moments down and run inside, hoping the closed door will buffer the ridicule. But as I step into the building, I see they’re also lining the walls—each at a different moment spelling the word “freak.”

One is me squeezing my belly fat.

Another is me with my razor cutting into my thigh and the look of euphoria on my face.

Then, there’s a photo I’ve never seen before. It’s Fah. She’s lying on what’s supposed to be the plush lavender carpet of her familiar room, but it’s not light purple anymore. Instead, it’s stained in crimson.

I can’t think. I’m just stuck. Bile rises in my throat at the sight of Fah lying nearly identical to how I was in the pictures outside. Then, I see red. A rage I’ve never felt engulfs me, wrapping around me like protective armor.

Stomping forward, I rip down each image, tearing them to shreds and following the path it takes me on. I don’t realize where I am until it’s too late. I’m back in the hallway where I swore I saw Farrah—where I chased her, hoping my best friend wasn’t truly gone. That’s when I hear it.

“I hate you.”Farrah’s scream reverberates off the walls.

Spinning around, I look for where the audio is playing from, but I come up empty.

“You’re a fucking murderer—a monster who preys on the weak.”The vehemence in my best friend’s voice flay me open. All I see around me is blood?—

Blood on the walls…

Blood on the floor…

Blood on my skin.

And I begin to rub. “Get it off me,” I cry out hysterically. “I need to get it off me… I’m so dirty. I need to—” My rambles become incoherent, even to my ears. Then, I feel it in my throat—the blood, it’s choking me.I can’t fucking breathe, but this isn’t a blissful, euphoric feeling. It’s a punishment. One I’ve long since deserved. That doesn’t stop me from fighting. I don’t like this.

Clawing at my throat, I try to find a way to get the blood out.I just need to get it out.But I know I’ve lost the battle when spots dance before my eyes. I feel my body hit the floor with a thud. There’s no pain. I can feel nothing.

Tired, I just let go, allowing death to take me. I find no peace here as the silence rings loud—death is a lonely journey, but I embrace it with open arms.

Noise breaks through the silence, and I hear Farrah’s voice calling me. I run toward it, catching a glimpse of her. I smile, happy to be reunited, until she turns around. White, vacant eyes cry tears of blood.“You made me do this, and I’ll never forgive you for that”are the last words I hear before it goes black.

38

tricia

Slammingthe door to my room, I snicker at the scene I watched play out. Eva spiraling is my new favorite pastime.

What we did to Eva today was utterly genius. It was a masterclass on how to mentally leave scars—psychological warfare.I only wish I could’ve witnessed more of her descent. But there’s still time.

“Fucking stuck-up, rich bitch,” I snarl, walking over to stand in front of my dresser. I smirk at the glee painted on my face when I peer into the mirror.