"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" She's talking about herself of course, as she smashes her fist repeatedly into the bathroom mirror. Glass explodes with each punish, twinkling in the places where the light hits just right and wet with her blood. "I HATE YOU!" Her screams turn to sobs now and her enraged tone morphs into a pleading, desperate one. "I hate you! I h…Hate you!" Her fist slowly stops striking the mirror and instead rests against the remainder of it, the glass embedding itself even deeper in her bloodied knuckles. "I hate you." Tears flow down her face, the salty droplets stinging the wounds in her cheeks made by flying shards. Her shoulders shake and hiccuping sounds replace her previous screaming. She didn't always hate herself, but isn't that obvious? No one is born with self hatred. Infants don't have the capacity to do so. They made her hate herself.

They, the parents who didn't want to bother with her. They, the neighbors who avoided her and watched her with detest and caution. They, the lovers who left her to fight herself alone. They, the people she saw who weren't really there. "Why are you like this?" She asks herself quietly, tears still streaming down her deathly pale and bleeding face. "Why do you have to be this way?" Her body trembles like a leaf in a hurricane. "You're alone here" She lets her clenched fist drop from the mirror and she slowly falls to her knees on the glass strewn tile floor. The glass that breaks under her crunches but most of the shards just embed themselves into her bare skin. It's all bare, every inch of her. She had clothes earlier, but a man took them. He took something else too, and that was what sent her into this frenzy. She could still feel him touching her, she could still feel his hand clamped around her throat as the clothes were torn from her body, and it drove her over the edge.

If that incident didn't occur, she would have been able to last longer without breaking. She would have been able to function as well as she ever could for a little longer, but she was always going to break. She was destined to break and never to mend. "You're alone here. You-I! I'm alone here." She sobs softly to herself as she wraps her arms tightly around her cut and battered body. "I'm alone here, but I shouldn't be here at all. No, not at all." She shakes her head and slowly lifts it, looking up to the ceiling. Her sobs cease, but tears continue their trip down her face in silence. "I shouldn't be here…"

Slowly she rises and lets her arms fall to her sides like weights. She tears on the broken glass as she exits the room, but does not notice. If she were to notice, she wouldn't care anyway. She walks to the bedroom in a daze, leaving ruby footprints on the carpet as she goes. She unplugs the phone by her bedside and climbs onto the bed, her blood staining the royal blue comforter as she stands. She ties the end of the cord around the steel base of the ceiling fan and makes a noose around her neck with the other. The noose is a slipknot and she pulls it so tight that already she has trouble breathing, the rubber cord pressing hard against her skin while the plastic phone bumps against a discolored bruise on her bare breast. She then jumps off the bed and the little slack that was in the cord is no more, her rubbed nose chocking the life out of her. Another round of hot tears sting her eyes and they run down her swollen face as her body twitches and writhes, the last of her breaths leaving her in ragged gasps.

She twitches and flails as her face darkens, turning very dark red and then blue. Her legs kick back and fourth, some of the shards in her feet flying out, fresh blood spurting after. The fan is rocking with her weight and it's a wonder that the rubber cord doesn't break, even if the young woman doesn't weigh much. Which she does not, she is very thin though not frail. She's beautiful in fact, her figure a perfect hourglass with stunning eyes and full lips to match. She was damaged in many ways, but natural beauty had always been hers. Always until now anyway. Now that gorgeous face was purple instead of blue and she was no longer writhing. Now she was swaying back and fourth ever so slightly, her eyes closed and never to open again.