"I would cut my mouth if it meant I could swallow the world."
When you said that all those years ago, I laughed it off. I thought you were joking, that it was another Eila thing. I didn't notice your face then. Your eyes were hard, jaw set. Your hand trembled, but I didn't see that either.
When you were admitted to that mental hospital, everyone was whispering. You dropped out of school and I couldn't walk home with you. I worried that you'd finally gone too far, cut too deep. You knew I could never stop you with my words and I could never touch you. I didn't want to hurt you, but instead, you hurt yourself.
I saw you again a year later. I'd moved on, or so I thought. I found different friends, ones who didn't have histories with eating disorders, schizophrenia, or self-harming tendencies. When I saw you again, my eyes widened. The whole hall quieted as you moved through, people making a path for you. Our eyes met and mine widened.
Your eyes were dead.
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