16 | sixteen

Stacey slipped out of bed hours later.

Her eyes were red and stung from tears and the TV could still be heard as she walked out of her room and into the dark hallway. She blindly headed towards the bathroom and flicked the light on, walking in and shutting the door quietly behind her.

Stacey turned the lock.

She looked at herself in the mirror briefly before opening the cabinet and getting out a pair of scissors that were always lying around.

She held the scissors and looked at herself.

Sad.

Pathetic.

Slut.

Whore.

Weak.

A tear ran down Stacey's cheek and she grabbed a chunk of her long blonde hair, put it between the two blades of the scissors and pressed the handles of the scissors together.

And she watched with a hollowness inside as chunk after chunk of her hair fell onto the ground.

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