𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐃™

Hh 2

Isis
* Trigger warning : Skip first section if you have sensitivities to any level of suicide. Though this one isn't considered 'severe' and doesn't go into critical detail, to most it can be!

I couldn't sleep.

I'd already showered, ate some chicken-noodle soup, and was wearing a huge white shirt that Asa owned, but nothing could put me to bed.

My mind was hopscotching dad's words, big macs words, my tragic loss of self being in that hole I shared with almost forty other women.

None of that could beat the sting in my chest when I saw Na'Jour, though.

He could see right through me like a ghost. It was like he was replaying the murder of Natasha right before our eyes.

What made the sting puncture more was the mere memory of blood storming through her ruptured stomach.

This was my karma..

Yes, I was traumatized but it fucked with me that I was the reason he was too. To make matters worse, he called me 'mommy'.

It punctured my tiny, bruised, heart. Not because he mistaken me for his mother, but because that's what my child's supposed to call me.

I no longer had one.

Being in this room, alone, made me regret not going on that van with the rest of the girls.

I was so use to sharing beds with four other bitches and hearing their voices whisper and speak all night, that I didn't know how to sleep without the comfort of them being around.

Per usual, and out of respect, Asa gave me his room while he took the living room.

Anytime i'd be grateful, but my soul was sunken, sitting on this california king size bed - with nothing but space.

I had no phone, no dignity, and after finding out about Yasmins lack of appearance, I was left with no family.

That's when it began to hit me. If I ever felt like my life wasn't meant to be; now more than ever had that felt true.

Man I wanted this feeling.. this feeling of numbness and emptiness to go away so bad.

The type of feeling that I had was so tender and overbearing that drugs couldn't cover this shit.

It was something that was chewing and eating at me since I was a child and had only grown to be worse.

I use to be so good at hiding it, so good at masking it.. so good at faking the fact that it even existed, but now I was so broken to the point that there was no energy left in me to keep fighting it off.

My fingers shook, frantically as I unhinged the locs of the windows.

I took a deep breath, trying to think about what I really had to live for, but I couldn't name a thing and I was okay with that. I accepted that.

For once, I felt absolutely fine with knowing that nothing in this life was worth another day of suffering.

Shoving the window seal up, my head dangled through first, allowing me to feel the breeze and test the waters of the fall.

I wish I was scared or frightened, or ashamed, or subjective, or shook, or saddened, or heartbroken, or mournful, or crestfallen, but I wasn't. I just wanted to be done forever.

So with that, my eyes closed, and I tilted myself over..

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