A Wallflower

Prologue.

She peeped out her bedroom door, looking into the darkness of the hallway, before closing it silently and creeping into the shadows of her cold room. She tiptoed to her set of drawers, where she went to the bottom one and pulled out a razor. Silently, she went to the window, sat down and only using the light of the moon from her arched window, she pushed it into her forearm and slowly began to cut lines, each one bursting open and becoming bloody. She closed her eyes and felt the familiarity of the blade ease her mind, until she was numb. 
     Nobody knew the real Astrid West. Nobody knew how many times she’d sat in her room and cried, how many times she had lost hope, how many times she’d been let down. Nobody knew how many times she had to hold back the tears, how many times she’d felt like she was about to snap, but didn’t just for the sake of others. Nobody knew the thoughts that had gone through her head whenever she was sad, and how horrible they really were. 
     She would always tell her ‘friends’ she didn’t want to talk about it. Actually, she did, she was just too afraid of their reaction. She was afraid that they’d never see her as an equal again. She was afraid of the pity in their eyes when they realized how screwed up she actually was.
     But she didn’t know who would leave or stay, so she pushed them all away.
     She set the blade to the side and let her arm hang, blood dripped off three letters she had carved upon the other scars; fat. She closed her eyes and let it all fall, she was tired of everything, but most of all, she was tired of being tired.
     She cleaned up her arm and changed into new clothes, including a long sleeved top and slowly she slipped the razor back into the bottom drawer. Then she crept into bed, she just lay there, before closing her eyes and falling to sleep, where in the morning, she’d morn over the damage she’s done to herself again by the same blade.
     Astrid West was a wallflower.