A Unique and Torn Romance

I wake up feeling numb – the effect of the pill still in my blood. Unfortunately, the numbing effect does not reach my brain.
I’m so fucking stupid. I’m such a fucking fuck-up! I can’t even establish a friendship before I shoot it down – or kiss it down.
I just fucked up a real friendship – a friendship build on actual common interests and problems, and not on a common person in our lives.
Don’t get me wrong; Frank is an awesome guy – when he’s not on the phone with my brother or around my brother and whenever he just talks about other things than my brother.
I’m starting to hate my brother. Damn; I wish I could loathe!

I get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom. My body is so numb that I can’t tell if I actually have to piss, but I do it anyways – just to be on the safe side of a wet bed.
I forget to flip up the seat, so I spent about three minutes cleaning up. I can’t handle my mom’s complaints right now.

I walk over to the sink and start washing my hands. I glance up at myself. My eyes go right back to my reflection.
I look like pure and utter crap. My eyes are swollen – I don’t remember crying, but I have been drugged out for the past few hours – and my skin is paler than usual. The goatee that this morning was light-brown like my hair, is now white – completely, fucking white; almost translucent.

I look up to see that my hat is on crooked. I reach up and pull it the rest of the way off.
My horn slowly unfolds – rising up like a long balloon being inflated. It twists around itself and begins to go a brighter shade of white. It’s practically glowing.
I stare at it. It’s standing proud – sticking out just above my hairline like a fucking white, cart board ice cream cone.
I snarl at it.

I lower my head and look down at the flowing water that’s still running over my hands – cleaning off my already-innocent fingers.
I look over to the side and spot a pair of scissors. The metal glistens quickly – winking at me and begging me to grab it and cut.
With my hands still dripping wet I reach over and grab the sharp metal – leaving a pool of water where it lied.
I put my fingers through the holes and squeeze it in my hand, before I bring it up in front of my face and stare at it – my grin being reflected in its glossy metal. I look past it into the mirror and stare myself in the eye. With my other hand I reach up and grab the white tip of the one thing that makes me more of a unicorn than I can bear. I bring the sharp sides of the scissors to the base of the long, white, cone-shaped unicorn-asset and squeeze my eyes shut – awaiting the inevitable.
I cut.
I whimper.
Why does something so fucking simple hurt?!

I put down the pair of scissors – wiping it free from the white material – and place it in the pool of water.
I then grab my shaver and shave the rest of the white goatee off.
I hate being a unicorn.