My alarm clock never went off.
In fact, I was awake when it was supposed to go off, but it never did. I stare at my phone, wondering why it suddenly decided not to let me know I should look out my window. Maybe I missed that shooting star.
Who am I kidding, it probably never even came.
"Ah well," I sigh to myself, pushing the covers off my body. It's the beginning of summer, almost 80 degrees, and I still can't sleep without my heavy blanket. It's not really my fault I get so cold, even without the air conditioner.
My therapist says it's my mind playing tricks on me again. Whatever that means.
Balancing my phone and brush in one hand and my eye liner in the other, I drag my feet to the bathroom. The lighting catches my eyes just right and they sparkle. I feel more human in the bathroom.
God, and she has to start crying. Of course; I can't have one peaceful morning. Trisha is purring in her room, telling her it's alright and all that bull crap. It's not alright, and that thing should know it. One day, when she gets older, she will wish I threw her out that window. I wish someone had tossed me when I was her age.
I run my brush through my thick hair, wishing it were as sleek as those other girls. It looks nice in a pony tail--a messy pony tail. But other than that, it's unattractive. Over all, I guess I am unattractive, but that's not the real problem. Even ugly people have friends. So what does that make me?
School. I laugh to myself at all those pitiful kids running around, only worrying about some latest gossip scandal. Too small to realize that their world is nothing but a lie. But I know it, I see those lies. Deception can only be covered up so much, and I'm smart enough to sniff it out.
The teachers, they don't care about their students welfare. They just want their checks to come into the mail so they can stuff their fat faces with delcious TV dinners and look at Ikea magazine for that "perfect' nightstand. When that bell rings,they just want to go home. But, I don't blame them. I want to leave, too.
My uniform is straight and dull. I look like Hell's version of Catholic school girl.
I wonder if God's mad I go to one of His schools.
As I turn back to look at my reflection, my heart suddenly stops. There, staring right into my eyes, was me. Well, another me; the one I'd seen last night down on the street. She is furious; it's strange to see emotion on my face.
I am not scared.
"What do you want?" I say. My tone, although slightly ridged, is casual. I don't want her to leave, I want to feel that anger that's burning in her eyes. I swear it's singeing my skin.
She doesn't answer, I figure she can't. Her neck is twisted, leaning too far to one side with her head tilting to the other. It's a sickining purple color, although I'm not grossed out. One arm, though very normal at first glance, is twisted all the way around. I wonder if the car had done that. Her torso juts out towards me and I'm sure if I pushed my finger into her chest, I could feel her broken ribs.
Blood is all over her. She's drenced, from the nest of hair on her head down to her broken toes. Yes, even they stuck out abnormally. I think I can see one of the bones in her foot--
Her presence, although threatening to the perfectly polished bathroom my mother adores, is completely fine by me. I like her, after all. She's me, only she has that passionate gleam in her eyes. I want it. I wish for it.
I continue to fix myself up, although it doesn't get much better than how I woke up this morning. I wonder if anyone else can see her. Maybe my baby sister would freak out so much, they would give her away. Who would want that sobbing, blubbering thing for that long? It would just make our house that much more depressing.
I stare at her--me--in the mirror. I decide to call her Lydia the second. When I tell her that, she doesn't move an inch. Maybe because one of her legs is shooting out in the wrong direction, or maybe it's just that original and boring that she likes it.
People like original and boring, right? Change scares people, that's what my therapist says.
To Lydia the second, I am not invisible. In fact, she is looking right at me with her deadly blue eyes. She doesn't scare me, how could I be afraid of my own self? Besides, nothing can frighten me. Believe me, I know. I would rather be glowered at than ignored. I feel at peace with the second at my side.
She follows me to school, and I wish I could take her hand and squeeze it, but I'm afriad it will snap off in my grip. She walks slow on account of her mangled body, so I slow my pace to walk next to her.
No one seems to notice her, otherwise I'm sure their shallow faces would be much different.
In fact, everyone keeps their head down. Why is it people always walk with their heads down? I like to keep it up as I walk, especially at night. The second can only look straight ahead.
"We're almost there," I inform her.
She just keeps on walking, one step behind me. I think she likes to follow me instead of keeping pace with me, but I'm okay with that. At least she wants to be around me.
School is the same, except the second is in the back of every one of my classrooms. She's like my own personal chauffer. I nod at her in the middle of class sometimes, but she just glares at me. Sometimes, I can even feel her stares pricking at my back.
Her eyes are deadly, like daggers, and I can only wish for something so lucky...