Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Burning a Hole Intwo ❯ Burning a Hole Intwo ( Chapter 1 )

Rabbit walked quietly into the bathroom. She had the house to herself, but she still felt like she had no privacy. She set the plastic bag down on the counter Careful! Don't let it crinkle, she thought. She took out her For-Private-Use-Only things as she called them. Avoiding her image in the mirror, she changed into the old shirt and wrinkled skirt. She fingered the tatters on her pocket. From her daze, she removed the old, balled up doll dress from the bag and unfolded it.

Rust, she thought. There's rust on it. Dull and heavy, the razor lay in her hand. Oh, Protector. She held her breath to fight the tears. Why was he avoiding her? I know why, she thought, he's seeing that other girl. Or he wants to anyway. WHY?! She grit her teeth but was careful no to clench the razor in her hand. She drew back her arm to throw it, but pathetically stopped. They'll hear…. That girl. She thinks she's so per-fect. "Oh, I'm so beautiful"---I'll show you-you--. She struggled for a word hard enough and grimy enough to fit her roiling and long-suffered hatred, her scorn and her envy; though she was only unconsciously aware of the last.

"I HATE you!" she whined in the back of her throat. Someone will hear! Shhh. Her chest knotted and constricted with the rage she kept there.

With the razor, she raked the air before her image of the girl. Then she turned on herself: deep, drawn cuts in the zone over her arm. She lay back her head, mouth agape. And in her heart's cavity she screamed. She cried out with the misery of that secret, all the cruel, shallow and obscene words she knew. And that girl deserves them all.

Even with all her madness condensed in her limbs, she could only lightly toss the razor into the sink. Not with rust on it.

Tangling her arms about her enflamed brow, she kicked her way to the bathtub's rim. Sitting there, she bored the tile floor noiselessly with her heels. She jerked her fists into the air, tightened her arms and with all the strength of her mind but none of her body, she struck her own face. A dozen times she swore with those red words, I HATE you!

LET 'EM HEAR!

"I hate you!" she whispered.

Her unadulterated rage found expression only in a groan as she drifted into the tub.

Oh how I hate you.

But all her weary anger poured out and filled the bath, and warmed her into ease.

I only wanna know why.

Rabbit rested her chin against her chest. The skin folded there and with disgust she tossed back her head.

He thinks I'm fat! He thinks-I AM a pig!

Grumbling, wonton tears welled in her eyes-almost forced there.

Don't act like a baby, she scolded. You're gross enough as it is! She saw how her arm's flesh spread as she set it on her stomach (which until now had never looked so big.)

Don't, Usagi. You've read enough novels to know.

Maybe if I was anorexic, Protector would come to me, concerned and loving-like. Then he'd forget Fatso.

You're Fatso.

No, she's Fatso.

With all her abandon and ferocity spent, she climbed heavily form the tub. She still wouldn't look in the mirror at that ridiculous girl-face. She'd been there before-that disappointing, anticlimactical exhaustion of will. Unable to damage herself, she realized just how dramatic she tried to be, and the abominable immaturity of that forced drama.