(These Four Walls- Little Mix)

~~~

I breathe in and out, trying to get a hold of my breath, but I can't. I run to my front door and take the key from under the mat. As soon as I unlock the door, I stubble in and drop to the floor; I slowly get up. Trying to get my barriers together.

I don't even bother to close the door; I just drag my heavy body up the stairs and into my room. Once I reach my room, I walk over to my desk and grab everything, tossing it on the floor; my blue glass pencil holder shatters on the ground. I take my notebook and rip every page out. The white pages fly in the air and then slowly hit the floor.

I use all my strength and scream out as loud as I can, no one's here, no one is ever here, so I'm not disturbing anyone. I continue trying to catch my breath, but I can't; I scream again and drop to the floor. I ball my fist tightly and continuously bang on the ground.

I cover my ears wanting everything just to stop; my ears are ringing, the room is spinning.

"Just do it," The voice says, "No one loves you, no one cares about you," it mocks.

I remove my hands from my ears and yell, "Leave me alone!"

"They don't care about you; if they did, why would they leave you every chance they get, your a disgrace to them; your a 'King' your supposed to be perfect,"

"I'm not perfect," I sob.

The voice then says, "Cleary," it continues, "They'll hate you for what you did," I cover my ears and curl up on the floor, "Just do it, do us all a favor and put yourself out of your misery, end everything now,"

I rock back and forth still with my hands on my ears; no matter how hard I press my hands on my ear, the voice always makes its way through. I need alcohol.

I get up off the floor and march downstairs to my father's office; he has the best liquor. He has the type of alcohol that will make you drunk within seconds; I grab the bottle of 1968 bourbon off the top shelf and quickly remove the glass cork. As soon as it is off, I guzzle down almost half.

The burning sensation flames my throat, causing me to cough and gasp for air.

"You can't shut me out," the voice says, informing me that the alcohol is not the way to shut it up, "You know what you have to do,"

"I can't,"

"You hate your life, so why not end it? You don't think you'll actually be missed, do you? You have to do it now that you burned down your fathers most prized possession,"

For a hundredth time, I bring my hands to my ears, "Get out my head!!!" I shout and walk out of the office and up to my room. I slam the door shut and take slow steps back; my back hits the desk.

My eyes search the room, I can hear the voices, but I see nothing. The voice is back, stronger than ever; it's looking for a fight, it's trying to win, and it just might. It will.

I walk over to my closet, grab the shoebox. After I open it, I lift the two suicide notes I had written previously from my last two attempts and pull out the razor I cut with.

I don't want to write another suicide note. Why write about what I went through when no one cares?

I walk over to my bathroom and lock the door. Then I sit well, fall, my body has gone completely numb, I can't even hold myself up, I lean against the tub and look straight ahead, with my right foot I close the door.

I turn the razor over from side to side, contemplating if this what I want.

"No one cares about you; they're just pretending," The voice whispers.

No one understands, and that's what hurts the most.

I roll up my selves and look at the scars that are already there from me cutting previously.

No one understands you until something dramatic happens. Yes, killing myself is dramatic, but it's what needs to happen for me to be heard.

It's funny when you're dead how people start listening.

If my parents gave a shit about me maybe, I wouldn't do this; if anyone cared about me, perhaps I would have something to stay here for... something to live for.

No one does, though. Not one person has seen me slow drifting away. How can you not see someone dying?

I rest my head on the edge of the tub. I scramble through my mind trying to find something to live for, trying to find some reason to stay here, but I can't. Right now, I don't see the reason for trying, for talking, for breathing. I'm just done.

"You better do it now; your parents will be home soon. You need to be gone before they get here."

I take the razor into my right hand and place it two inches down from my palm; I press hard, the sharp end enters into my skin. I wince at the pain. My eyes squeeze together tightly as I slowly move down my arm, my skin slits in half, and blood comes rushing out. I'm already starting to feel light-headed as I watch the blood gush from my veins.

"Now the other one," the voice instructs,

I put the razor into my left hand and do the same thing; after slicing, the razor drops to the floor, and I slowly slide onto the floor also. I just stare up at the ceiling.

Usually, I'm able to look up at the ceiling and write my thoughts.

With one white ceiling, I could write a million invisible words; if people only stopped to look up, maybe they would see my cries for help.

I can't write anything on this ceiling now because there is nothing left for me to say.

I don't know if it's the liquor or the blood leaving my body; maybe it's both, but it feels like everything in me is shutting down. The room is still spinning, and my eyes are heavy. Everything is slowly going dark.

In these moments before my departure, I feel more clarity than I have ever felt in my dull life. In a few seconds, I will be free from the voices, the pain that's scarred me beyond repair.

My eyes start to close, but then I hear my door open, "Jayda!" a voice calls. It's a male's voice but not my father's voice. The person twists the knob, and after realizing that the door is locked, the door gets kicked in, it breaks from its hinges.

The boy rushes over to me, "Jayda," he places his hand on the side of my face. "What did you do?" he examines my wrist, frantic.

Everything slowly gets dimmer, but before it completely goes dark, I see who it is. I use the little it of air I have left in me to say his name "Ryder,"

I quickly lift from the hospital bed, breathing heavily, trying to catch my breath. My father gets up from the chair he was sleeping in and rushes over to me. "Just breathe, breathe," he instructs. I do what he says. "It was just a dream," Soon my breathing comes back to normal, "You okay?" he asks.

I nod my head and then lay back on the bed.

A dream, it was just a dream.

Well, a memory because everything in that dream actually happened. I have dreams about that night all the time. It's the same dream, but this time the ending is different. This time Ryder was there.

Ryder's dead, but yet he's still here.In my fucking dreams.

I guess it's normal for me to have nightmares and for me to be thinking about him while I'm sleeping. I did watch him die.

...

It took them all day to get me a CT scan; the day has already passed. It's six o'clock now. I have just returned to my room from the scanning. Doctor Grey said that I might have to stay an additional night because it could be a while before getting the results back. I hope we don't have to. I want to go home.

My father is downstairs at the cafe getting us food. I'm glad he's gone; just him being here is making my blood boil.

I didn't forget what he did. Maybe he thinks I did, but I didn't. The only reason I have yet to go off again about it is because I can't speak.

If I could, I would tell him to leave; I would tell him that I don't want him to be here and that again, I hate him.

Am I being harsh by telling him I hate him?

No.

He didn't care about my feelings when he paid the dean to reject me and say all those horrible things about my work, so why should I care about hurting him?

The door opens, and he comes in with a tray in his hand, "I got your favorite!" he says and sits the tray on my lap.

Chicken Tenders and Fries.

It is my favorite. No matter where I am at, if they have chicken tenders and fries, that is what I always get.

"I saw Doctor Grey as I was coming up; we are not getting those results until tomorrow, she said if everything is fine. They will send you home then," he informs me. I nod. "I'm going to go home and change; I'll be back in an hour or two," he leans over and tries to kiss me on the forehead; I pull away and stare straight ahead. "You can't be mad at me forever," he says.

Wanna bet?

He sighs and walks to the door, "Oh, and your mother is trying to get back here. She tried to get a flight last night, but there were none. She most likely will be back tomorrow," he states.

He continues looking at me; it's not like I can say 'okay' he then walks out the room, shutting the door behind him. I watch as he walks down the hall and turns the corner; as soon as the coast is clear, I remove the tray from my lap and get out of the bed; I have no socks on, so I feel the coldness from the floor project on my feet.

I tiptoe over to the door and then open it. I look both ways, making sure the coast is clear. The receptionist is gone for the night, and there aren't any nurses roaming the halls. The hospital is surprisingly quieter at night.

This is my chance. I overheard the nurses talking earlier when I was being wheeled to the radiologist. I know exactly what room she's in.

...

I've finally reached room 423; it was all the way down the hall. When I open the door, she looks up at me, and her eyes go wide. "Jayda," she says weakly. I walk into the room and shut the door.

"Im sorry," she says. "I'm so so sorry," she repeats. "I didn't know what Travis was going to do; I swear I didn't," she pauses, waiting for me to say something. She must hasn't heard that I can't speak.

"You have to believe me. I never meant for any of this to happen, and Ryder... I'm so sorry," she starts crying hysterically. "He was just supposed to give Travis the money, and then we were leaving town, that's it," she states.

What? I told Travis... dammit, she really is dumb. This is precisely what he wanted. She fell right into his trap. I fell right into his trap.

"He told me to call you; he said he just wanted you to see that 'he gets what he wants,'" that sounds like something he would say.

She's so stupid. Travis wouldn't play a game without any reward. The reward was supposed to be my life, not Ryders.

If it really were about the money, he would've taken it after he shot Ryder, and I was knocked unconscious.

My eyes go to her stomach; it's not as big as it once was; I guess she lost the baby. "I lost the baby," she says, confirming. She throws her head back and stares up at the ceiling. "Everything comes with a price," she says softly.

"My jacket," she looks at the chair in the corner; I think she wants me to get it for her. I grab the red jacket and then hand it to her; she digs in her pocket and then pulls out a hard drive.

The hard drive.

"Here," she puts her hand out and hands it to me. I take the small object from her. "Before we even reached the town line, he pulled over and told me to get out, of course like a dumbass I begged him not to leave me, anyway before I got out the car I managed to swipe that," she explains. "Wherever he's going, he'll be pretty mad to find out that's not with him," she smiles a little.

I walk away from the bed and over to the door; before I leave, she says, "I really am sorry, Jayda, you were right about everything,"

(Katie Washington- Katherine McNamara... her red head days of course! I miss shadow hunters😢

Also I haven't casted Jayda because I honestly don't see her as anyone, and even when I was looking up people no one seemed to fit, and someone mentioned Storm Reid or Amandla Stenberg... for me it's a no cause Uhm there both light skin... Jayda is brown/dark skin... sooo yeah no... so On Jaydas behalf it's up to you, picture her as yourself or whatever, I just picture her as me sometimes, kind of weird but idc lol...so yeah it's up to you! 

Hope you guys enjoyed this weeks chapters❤️)