Nothing Left to Say | The End
I'm giving up, giving up, hey hey, giving up now...Â
Seventeen and completely orphaned in the world was Viola Olivier. She deserved it; she must have. Why else would so many bad things keep happening to her? Why else could she never find a break and just be happy, even for a moment? Life didn't have it in the cards for her, and that was a fact she had accepted long ago. But then hope had to step in and ruin it all. It got her believing that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. It held her up, only to drop her again from a new height, leaving more damage when she hit the ground again. Viola knew she should have known better. She might have very well been cursed. But like a foolish little girl, she let herself fall into the fantasy of a better life, and now she was paying the price.
She snuck out of the hospital later that day, slipping past the busy nurses and out onto the street with relative ease. Viola let her feet carry her home, out past the small town where she'd grown up and out to the cottage that had been her home for the past twelve years of her life. It never felt much like a home, but it was the only one she had, and her Sylvia Olivier was her only family. Now, without her there, it seemed ghostly. Just standing outside, the small comfort she had always felt when in the cottage was gone, and in it's place was a hollow loneliness. Only two bedrooms, and yet impossibly large all on her own. It didn't feel right. But where else did she have to go? It was the only home she knew.
Stepping in through the front door, the wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. No lights were on, and the house felt cold and empty. Just a week before, she would walk through the exact hall and find her aunt in the woman's favorite rocking chair in the living room. She'd be watching television and would snap at Viola for not finishing her chores or arriving home late. But that was a week ago. Now her aunt was in the morgue, and the brunette teenager would do anything to hear her speak again, even if it was to shout at her.Â
She began to cry as she stepped through the small archway, connecting to her den and kitchen. Oh, it was so cold. It was unfriendly and torturous, reminding her of everything she had lost. The pain built up in her chest, slicing like a thousand knives that had her gasping for breath as Viola fell to her knees. She wanted it to stop; she wanted it all to stop, and there was only one way she had ever found that would achieve that. Her water filled eyes looked up from the hardwood and into the kitchen, eyeing the knife rack in desperation. She needed to find relief.Â
Pulling herself to her feet, the little teen pushed herself into the tiled space that held all the cooking supplies. With a shaky hand, she reached out and grabbed onto the handle of a butcher's knife, nice and sharp. Viola cried as she stared down at it, and for the first time in her life, she felt a sort of peace with her decision. She didn't want to stay anymore. She had no reason to stay anymore. Life only held pain and misery for her, but death was peaceful. Or so she hoped. But anything had to be better than the hell she was currently living. And she would see her family again. Viola would see her parents again, her grandparents, and even her aunt. All of her family; she was the only missing piece.
Dragging the knife across the scarred flesh of her wrists, she squeezed her eyes shut and counted to five. Five cuts per arm, along the vein, and deeper than she had ever cut before. Ten cuts would be her final end. The blood oozed down her arms in heavy streams, and Viola began to feel lightheaded as she wobbled on her feet. She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep. She never wanted to open her eyes again.Â
Then there was shouting, and Viola found herself in someone's arms. Genevieve's. What was Genevieve doing there? She shouldn't have been there. Viola never wanted her to see her like that. Weakly, she opened up her eyes to find the crying brunette looming over her, clutching her body to her tightly. She was hysterical, but Viola couldn't make out the words she was saying; they were all a jumbled mess, hidden beneath a steadily increasing fog. "'M sorry.." She mumbled through soft breath to the girl who she had considered to be like a sister to her. Sorry for everything. Sorry for the fighting; sorry for the nagging; sorry for being the biggest disaster someone could ever have the misfortune of knowing. Viola never wanted to hurt Gen. She loved her.
But she wasn't able to voice all of that, finding it incredibly hard to speak anymore. She let her eyes fall shut, and slowly the world faded away.Â
What no one understood was that Viola had been dying inside for the past two years already. Each cut on her arm was more of her soul departing, until she was left with only a shell of the girl she used to be. She was gone long before knew, and there was nothing that could have been done to save her.Â
