((I did the writing thing again. So much angst it's unreal. Warning: this ficlet hints at abuse and violence due to sexual orientation. Apart from that, enjoy the heartbreak that I can put into the Modern AU.))
Adalyn felt numb and ached at the same time. The world didnât move and yet it spun faster than the speed of light, blurring her thoughts and feelings with the tears on her cheeks.
She stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom, arms spread out to the side, hair splayed out around her head like she had been shot and blood was pooling out from her head. Bandages covered her arms, her shoulder, her stomach and her legs, eyes as red as the specks that soaked through the white and out to the surface.
Inside, she wasnât nearly as still. Inside she was shaking and crying and screaming but, when she was forced to her limit, she shut down and blocked out the world. Inside she could feel her heart breaking and her confidence faltering.
She had always known there was dangers in being yourself- especially when yourself wasnât as ânormalâ as the brutes wanted her to be- and she had always known that not everyone could be won over with a smile. She had experienced hate- shouts and shoving and mild aggression- before and she had scrapped with the dogs on the floor but for different reasons.
Now, not only was her body under attack but her entire being and it hurt. It hurt like drowning only to wake up and find that you have to go through it again and again and again, finding no rest or peace or comfort anywhere.
Her shirt and jeans had been discarded as soon as she had gotten the chance, the white writing like a neon sign to remind her of why she was so afraid to be her.
Her entire wardrobe was unbearable to see now. Sayings and jokes that she had loved to show werenât things to be proud of and were things to be scared of. âI am as straight as my hairâ. âLesbionageâ. âNobody knows Iâm a lesbianâ. Even the shirt Danial had got her for Christmas one year- âmy girlfriend got seven headshots on me, is stubborn as hell and is my best friendâs sister but I still love herâ- made her wince.
It had been hard to go out that evening and act like nothing was wrong. It had been tough to wear one of those shirts and pretend she was still as bold and proud as she had been. Truthfully, she hadnât even wanted to go but it was an annual get-together and it would have been more suspicious if she hadnât gone.
Questions about not replying to calls or texts had been answered by a dead phone. Queries about how she was had been answered with lies and false smiles. Even when someone brought up Thorn, her smile was a lie like the rest of her.
I am proud of me.
I am proud to be me.
I am proud of me.
I am proud to be me.
She didnât feel it even though she told it to herself over and over, lights in her room turned down low, bed linen changed so it wouldnât smell like Thorn, five empty beer bottles on the bedside table and a bucket on the floor.
~
âDo you mind if you donât come over today? Iâm not feeling great.â Adalyn lied, phone on speaker, the sun stuck behind her undrawn curtains as she curled up on the sofa, laptop balanced on the coffee table so she could watch her films.
She couldnât handle seeing Thorn. Not today. Not when her lungs threatened to burst and her stomach turned at the mere thought of even looking at the woman, let alone spending time together like they did.
âAre you alright?â Thorn asked, voice a little garbled by the connection. Of course Thorn would see through her disguise; Thorn was the master of walls around emotions and the blunt tone to Adalynâs voice was clear, even through the effort she put in to make herself sound realistic.
âIâm just feeling a bit sick; thatâs all. I was going to sleep most of the day and I know you have things to do.â That wasnât completely a lie. She did feel sick and she was going to sleep most of the day and Thorn did have things to do but it wasnât honesty either.
As soon as Thorn agreed, she hung up and switched off her phone, ignoring Danialâs text as it came in. She pressed play on her film, pulled her blanket up to her chin and watched it, disconnected from the world around her.
It was easier that way. Blocking everything out was simple but it meant that she was alone with her thoughts so thatâs where the films came in. It didnât matter if she could recite all the lines backwards for fun, it was a distraction from that.
It didnât work. Every onscreen punch was like a real one and each drop of blood tore at the remaining foundations that Adalyn had until she slammed the lid shut and sat, shaking and silent.
She could hear the calls, see the glares and feel each blade against her skin, tearing at her until she felt like she was falling apart.
I am scared of me.
I am afraid to be me.
I am scared of me.
I am afraid to be me.
That was the worst part of all when it finally sank in: she was afraid to be herself in a way she had never thought even possible before.
I am scared of me.
I am afraid to be me.
I am scared of me.
I am afraid to be me.
