She felt empty. A kind of hollowness that one wouldn’t know how to fill. It was an abyss, an endless void. She have no idea what she wants, no idea what to fill the void with.
Her days were dictated by her boredom, of listelessly chasing things that would give her a temporary high. Even just a flare of any emotion was enough for her, even though she knows that it would just sputter and die and leave her emptier than before.
It frustrated her, but she don’t know what else to do about the emptiness.
She flirted with danger, with death or just anybody really. She smiled, jumped off cliffs and batted her eyelashes, anything just to get her body to produce the hormones she needed just to feel something. Anything.
There were times where it got too bad. Times when her emptiness becomes suffocating that even pain looked like salvation. She dabbled in pain; a blade on her skin, a punch on the wall. It would leave her knuckles bleeding and her skin a garish mix of red and white lines, but it calmed her. It was almost cathartic.
She tried falling in love, or at least forcing herself to pretend that she is falling in love. It was pathetic, she thought. The emptiness inside her was too encompassing that pretending to have an emotion that is also as overwelming is just an exercise in futility. It didn’t end well, he told her she was too mechanical, too cold and too perfect, like a Stepford wife; a vacuous shell made up of shiny synthetic materials.
She feels lost. Trapped in the darkness that is slowly consuming her. And she would probably won’t be able to escape.