Heavy Heart

Quinn sat on the sidewalk feeling her hair, or lack of. She has taken some of her mother’s money while she stormed out of the house earlier and got a buzz cut. She felt like crying over it, even though the woman had even said she could just even it out and it’d be only two or three inches off.

But Quinn was pissed and wasn’t having anything other than her dramatic idea.

Now that she had cooled down a little, she regretted it just like she regretted everything else she’d ever done. But what’s new?

Quinn’s mind switched gears, and she thought about the knives in her kitchen, the lake a few miles out, the gun her father left behind when he ran off with that twenty year old, the pills in her bathroom cabinet. How? When? Where?

Would she leave a note? Would anyone care to read it? It was too breezy for the end of May, and without her long locks, Quinn felt colder than normal. She hugged herself, breathing in the smell of her sweatshirt. It smelt like smoke, but more like a bonfire than a cigarette. There were also traces of her perfume, a mix of lilies and berries.

Quinn had another question at the back of her mind, though, one that twisting her stomach into knots.

She knew she had to die, but when it got down to it, would she really be able to kill herself? Could she pull the trigger, swallow the medicine, jump into the water, cut or stab?

She almost wished someone would just murder her, break all of her brittle bones. Make her feel pain worse than she’d ever made Jane feel.