Content warning: suicidal ideation
Reflexively, she shied away from the curly haired boy’s gaze and grasped the hood that was once covering her to find that it had dropped to her shoulders during the commotion.
When his round eyes narrowed questioningly beneath the furrow of his brows, and his lips pursed in confusion, she threw her fabric shield back over her head and ducked to run down the staircase. Everyone always looked at her that way.
She tied the drawstrings dangling from her neck into a firm knot against her chin to avoid the mishap again. Then she scanned her eyes over the various station platforms to be sure no one else had seen. She needed to quickly become invisible again and her gaudy pink hair wasn’t going to help her achieve that.
Pink. Like a used ballet slipper or a faded rose petal. Like many of the things in her life, this wasn’t her choice. Somehow, she had gotten just the right genes to inherit the disastrous colored locks after three generations of brunettes. It would often make her stand out and cause people to stare at her strangely like that boy had.
The oddly colored, rarely seen strands had even been a source of bullying and teasing for many years. That was, until her father had swiftly put an end to it with a strike of intolerance.
She buried that thought. She pummeled it down with a hard swallow. Her hair wouldn’t be an issue after today.
Moving with more awareness through the platforms, she kept away from large groups of people and wayward gazes. There was a particular spot that she had already chosen out for her plan.
She had been eyeing it for weeks now. It was a perfect, secluded section of track on a low traffic express train. It was a spot nestled just beside the tunnel leading into the station. And the best part? At this late afternoon time there was no one else around.
She leaned against the brick wall and slowly inched her way forward until the bumpy tactile paving could be felt beneath her shoes. Her eyes darted to the arrivals board. Ten minutes until the next train, but she was sure it would feel like forever. She only needed to be smart, casual until then. Decided.
A deep breath grounded her to the edge of the tracks. Within ten seconds, she was fidgeting. She tugged at the edges of her blue jacket and adjusted and readjusted her shoelaces; she even took off her bookbag and set it beside her against the brick arch of the tunnel she looked into with an anxious anticipation.
The choice she had made was heavy enough and she wouldn’t need anything inside that dumb bookbag in a few minutes. Her heartbeat picked up its pace at the thought, but her mind halted with the natural appeasement of self-preservation.
Was this really what she wanted to do?
Her body became rigid. She swallowed hard but her mouth felt extremely dry, like she hadn’t had water in years. Was she crazy for wanting this? Was she crazier if she didn’t do it?
What if it didn’t work?
She shifted to throw her head back against the wall. A nervous bounce of her knee. A sharp inhale.
What if it didn’t work?
Then, a soft giggle broke through the stagnant air. The swaying melody of it was so contrary to what she felt swirling around inside of her that she couldn’t help but lift her eyes to glance across the tracks towards the identical platform that the sound had trickled over from.
As her sad brown eyes lifted to take in the unyielding sights, Suri saw the usual train folk. An older man with a brown leather jacket looked down at his leather strapped watch impatiently. A person in ridiculously high, black heels and tattered jeans hopped the tracks to lazily cross to the platform she stood on.
Except it was the young girl who had caught her attention with that laugh; a young girl with her father—or so she assumed by the similarities in their faces.
The chubby faced girl laughed sweetly as her father handed her a sandwich and took a sip from his coffee cup. They held each other’s free hands and settled onto a bench of their own, leading the teenager watching them to think back to when she used to take the train with her own father.
When she was small like the giggling girl, Suri would hold her father’s hand tightly, too, and shy away from the curious glances the passengers would throw her way. She had always been a fussy child, especially in crowds, so he had developed a ridiculous game for them to play to keep her occupied.
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