School night. Her mother was going to kill her. The girl known as Natalie was now 16. She was productive in high school, close to the honor roll. For once, she felt calm and happy. Though, like the usual, she would occasionally become a hermit in her room, hiding away from her dad, who still liked to constantly yell and scream about the economy, money and politics, and all of the other bullshit that she was flat-out tired of hearing.

Her eyes started to feel heavy. She had an assignment to work on – but that was no longer important to her. All that was on her mind, was sleep. She closed her laptop, and after her eyes adjusted to the darkness slightly, she saw her old, worn down stuffed giraffe in the corner. she stared at it, in complete and utter silence. memories passed through her mind, and she felt tears come to her eyes. But quickly, she blinked them back.

“No more breaking,” she thought to herself. But she continued to stare at it. “What the fuck are you looking at?” she said to the stuffed object. It simply stared back with soft, black, beady eyes. She shook her head and stood up. She looked down sadly at the little toy animal and gently picked it up in her arms. She cradled it and spoke softly to it.

“I-I’m sorry…” Some tears ran down her face. She pet it’s rough, short fur softly as she lay down on her bed. She slowly went to sleep.

She was woken up by the angry growls of her mother. Exhausted, she slowly opened one of her eyes.

“I can’t believe I forgot to take that laptop away! You were on it all night, weren’t you?” Natalie sighed and pressed her face deeper into the pillow, hugging her giraffe closer. Her mother sighed and walked out. She took a shower, brushed her teeth, and ate some breakfast. Then she got dressed. She put on a grey and blue hoodie with fur inside its hood. It wasn’t her favorite, but it was the only one she could wear to school due to the others being in the wash. She also put on black jeans and some thin “fashionable” boots. Finally, she went down the stairs to get driven to school. She hopped in the car and her mom sped off.

However, on the way there, due to lack of sleep, she slowly put her head against the window of the car and began to drift off. Her dreams – or more accurately, nightmares – consisted firstly of her physical abuse as a child and, secondly, of the sexual abuse she had suffered at the hands of her own brother, Lucas. The abuse had lasted for four years before she had the guts to turn him away. She started twitching and cringing in her sleep, but her mother took no notice. Her mother never took notice. Suddenly, she was jolted awake by the sound of her mother’s voice.

“We’re here,” her mother said with annoyance in her voice, most likely from catching Natalie napping again. She looked at the large sign of the school, which read “Walkerville Collegiate Institute for the Creative Fine Arts.” She sighed tiredly and stepped out, putting her backpack on her shoulder.

“See ya,” she proclaimed and closed the car door.

She walked into the school and chatted with a couple of friends until she went up to her locker on the third floor. She grabbed her books, and before the five minutes of time was over, she ran to class.

Her English teacher annoyingly put her hand on Natalie’s desk. “Where’s your assignment, Miss Ouellette?”

Natalie swallowed.

“I, uh… forgot it at home. Sorry, Miss Homenuik.”

“Your time is up, Miss Ouellette. Don’t disappoint me.” Natalie seemed puzzled by the thought for a moment. She didn’t know why, but those words seemed to melt through her. She simply ignored it and went back to listening to the lesson, and falling asleep not too long after, of course. Later that day, she was heading to her locker for fourth period, when suddenly, her boyfriend Chris approached her.

“Hey, um… talk to me after school, alright?” She smiled. She loved talking to Chris. At the time, she didn’t suspect anything. Chris was always sweet to her.

During her French class, Natalie failed to pay attention. Instead, she doodled the things she loved to draw the most: blood, gore, people being stabbed, knives, and macabre things of the sort. Others would say it was pretty dark of her to draw such things, but she saw nothing wrong with it. For some strange reason, it actually felt like a normal thing to her.

“Miss Ouellette.”

She quickly covered the doodles on her paper and looked up at her French teacher quickly, trying to hide her fear. “Uh, yes, Mr. LeVasseur?” With a slight turn of his head, he gestured for her to move her arm.

“Show me your work.”

She hesitantly moved her arm, showing her teacher the picture of someone getting stabbed by an insane man. The teacher stared, puzzled, looking at her a bit. She smiled nervously.

“Erase that and get started on your work,” he said in a strangely calm voice. He walked away, and she sighed and began to erase the picture. “And Miss Ouellette…” Mr. LeVasseur interrupted. She looked up at him slightly. “Your time is almost up to get your work done. I suggest doing it now.”

She growled at the remark. Time always seemed to be against her. As far as she was concerned, time could go fuck itself. After class, she walked out of the school to find her boyfriend standing near the fence on the sidewalk. She smiled and walked over, hoping he had something to say that would cheer her up on this miserable day. But as she walked closer, her smile slowly faded. He wasn’t smiling back.

“Chris, what’s wrong? What did you want to talk to me about?”

He sighed.

“Natalie, I think it’s time that we should… start seeing other people.”

She felt her heart break.

“But… why?” Natalie cried. He responded with a stern look.

“It’s your mindset. Your drawings… They just…creep me out. I think there’s really something wrong with you. And the saddest part is that you haven’t told me why you’re acting like this. It makes me feel irresponsible. So, I just… can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.” And with that, he walked away.

* * * * * *

Natalie slammed her hands on the bathroom counter at home. She stared at herself in the mirror, her eye twitching. “I-I won’t hurt myself like the others. I can stay strong.”

There was a needle and black thread in her hand.

“It’s pointless. It doesn’t help.” Some weird sensation pulled at her subconscious. She chuckled slightly.

“No… I’m doing it because I want to.” She held up the needle with thread on the end of it and smirked.

“Time is up.”

Piece after piece, cut after cut. Even though excruciating pain was going through her, she did not whine. She did not whimper. She did not cry. There were no more tears to shed. All she did was smile. Blood leaked from the pierces and made a low dripping noise into the sink and onto the counter. When she was finished, she stood back and admired her handiwork. She stroked the horrendous stitches on the sides of her mouth, which spread into a wide smile.

She felt the warm, wet blood on her fingers and licked it gently, consuming the metallic-tasting liquid in pure ecstasy. She stopped when she saw her mother’s reflection in the mirror behind her, and sharply turned around. She saw her mother’s wide eyes and pale face, and she looked at her fingers, seeing the blood. She suddenly felt the pain, and began to cry.

“Mom?” Natalie cried. She had never felt so confused. What had just happened to her?

Her mother had scheduled some therapy for her. Natalie had not gotten rid of the stitches, in fear of how much pain it would bring, so she went to the session with them. She made sure her hood was up, as to not let anyone see. She sat down on the comfortable leather seat and stared at the blonde woman across from her in silence.

“So your name’s Natalie, isn’t it?” Natalie nodded.

“I’m Debera, and I’m here to help. Now tell me, Natalie, what have been some of your problems recently?” Natalie stared.

“Time. Time has been my problem.” Debera gave her a confused look.

“What about time, dear?” Natalie’s hands roughly gripped the leather of the seat.

“Everything. It makes you live through it, slowly progressing through life, being controlled by society, only to be tortured to seemingly no end, until you find you no longer have a purpose. It’s a vicious circle. Time does not end. It does not slow down. It does not speed up. It is violent. It makes you live through the torture over and over again, unable to fast-forward through any of it.”