Page 63 of Tortured Whispers
“Okay guys, I’m finally fucking live. Let’s do this. I told all my followers that in a couple months I would have a super lit Live Stream the Loser challenge and look where I’m at…” Ashley let out an excited squeal and I felt my lungs constrict. Something was wrong.
Why was she in the bedroom saying stuff like that? I stood up and tried to quell the wobbling of my legs. My knees were useless though. “I’m at loser headquarters and I think I stumbled upon the fucking mother load. Look at this pathetic ass journal.” My ears rang when I heard her mention my journal.
I’d been writing in it ever since Cease suggested I do it to help my anxiety. It was filled with my emotions for him and how deeply I was in love with him. It detailed the first time we had sex too. It was a chronicle of our entire relationship.
When I opened the bathroom door and peered into the bedroom, Ashley was holding her phone, live streaming the pages of my journal to everyone. If I hadn’t thrown up everything in my stomach already, I would have been sick.
“Oh, guys, look who it is. The loser herself, retarded fucking Brookie. Aww, look at her. She’s so damn clueless. And to think, I had to pretend to be this bitch’s friend for so long. I could feel my brain turning retarded every time I had to talk to her.”
Tears blurred my vision and I tried to blink them away but they kept coming. “Look at this sick shit in her journal. Oh. My. God. Brookie are you screwing your hot uncle? Eww. You’re going to reproduce and have little retard babies,” she laughed maniacally with her head tipped back.
Flames of shame licked at my face. I tried to grab the journal from her evil hands but she dodged me and continued reading the pages out loud. One after the other. My private thoughts were ripped to shreds. Exposed.
“Oh, and guess the fuck what? Brookie here is a cutter. She’s the ultimate loser.” Ashley reached in her pocket and pulled out something small in a rectangular box. I couldn’t make it out because my tears were constant.
“P-Please, Ashley. We’re supposed to be fwiends,” I begged in a soft whisper. My stomach was in a million knots and it felt like I was slipping down into the water faster than ever.
“Fwiends? We were supposed to be fweinds, Brookie?” She mocked me with loud laughter before turning the phone around so she could record me. “Say hi to the loser.” I caught a glimpse of her screen and saw the number of live viewers climbing into the eight hundreds.
Water filled my lungs and my mouth popped open. I gasped but more water rushed in. “Here, Brookie. I got you a present since I know you like to cut.” She pried my hand open while I stood paralyzed by fear and anxiety and placed the small box in my palm.
My chest squeezed and it felt like my heart was beating in my ears. “Ashley, don’t do this,” I felt my lips moving and I knew what I was trying to say but I didn’t know if it came out right.
“Holy fuck you’re such a sick bitch, Brookie. Are you guys reading this journal? Take screenshots. This shit is fucking gold.” She turned to me and grinned. “Open your gift, retard. It’s a pwesent,” she mocked me with a sharp laugh.
I looked down at my palm and began opening the plain white box. “N-N-No…” I stammered staring down at the shiny new razors in my hand.
“Y-Y-Yes. I knew after this you’d want to kill yourself. So, go ahead. This’ll be the biggest Live Stream the Loser challenge ever. I’m going viral with this shit.” She blew a kiss to the phone then turned her stare to me. “Kill yourself. I mean, get it out of the way now. You’re fucking your uncle and isn’t he a doctor? Oh, sweetie. His life is ruined. So is yours.
He’s gonna go to jail for a long time for fucking you. He’ll have his license to practice pulled and everyone will know how disgusting you both are. You? You’re going to jail too.
So, make the world a better place and slit those ugly little wrists of yours. Now.” Her words hit me like daggers with poisoned tips. She was live and everyone could see my journal. Everyone knew my deepest secret.
I’d somehow managed to ruin Caesar’s entire fucking life without even doing anything. I was that much of a failure. There was no way he would still love me after this. Even if he did, they would snatch us away from each other.
How was I supposed to survive jail?
How was I supposed to survive life if I didn’t have Caesar?
“Oh shit, look guys…” Ashley turned the phone around and pointed at me with laughter bouncing off the walls. I looked down to see urine racing down my thighs. The number of live viewers had jumped to the thousand mark.
I couldn’t breathe.
The water was too much.
I was drowning.
“Kill your fucking self, Brooklyn. You’re trash and people like you don’t deserve to live. I’m sure that’s what killed your father, isn’t it? He found out you were banging his brother and it made him have a fucking heart attack. Because being dead is better than having a disgusting retard for a kid.” Ashley reared her head back and blew a mouthful of spit that landed on my cheek.
With hands nearly too shaky to perform, I dumped the box of razors out and fumbled around for one. I needed to breathe. I had to cut.
I know I promised Cease but…everything was too much. Besides, he’d hate me once I cut again. He’d hate me once he found out I was stupid enough to let Ashley into our house and expose our love.
He’d hate me.
He’d get ripped away from me and I’d never be happy again. I’d never have peace again.
All I wanted was a friend and I was too stupid to even have that. The promise of relief that the razor brought was so welcoming. Razors had been my only friends anyway.
