Chapter Text
Her arms hurt, they hurt so, so fucking bad.
Even the lightest of touches send buckets of pain crashing into her, wincing sharply as she tries to do something, anything to distract her from the agonising pain.
Currently she found herself curled up in a small ball in her dark room, knees to her chest covering her bare half, shirt abandoned as even that seemed to cause her pain. She was just laying on the floor, head rested on one of the many piles of discarded clothes she's just been ignoring for probably a while now. Cuts, scars even gashes, painted across her whole body- her legs, chest, midsection but mainly her arms.
Her arms were noticibly in the worst shape, the other cuts on the rest of her body miniscule in comparison.
She honestly didn't even really know why she did it, she knew how bad it would hurt, she knew the looks her classmates would give her because of it. She knew how her dad would react.
So why, why would she do it? Why would she even put herself through this unbearable pain?
She was just itchy, allergies that robots didn't even have.
A lie, obviously, but that's just what she told herself, what she told anyone who actually took the time to ask. Only she knew the truth, she would be the only person who would ever even understand the utter amount of shit going through her head constantly.
So, she just continued to lay there, paralyzed in a small ball on her floor, her dirty, disgusting floor in her filthy, dark room. She wanted help, god she wanted someone, anyone to just notice her, to notice how bad she's suffering.
Her dad had once obviously saw her arms, it was a while ago by now, maybe like a few years ago. He didn't even really do anything, didn't attempt to get her help, didn't even fucking help bandage up her cuts. He genuinely only got fucking mad at her, told her how dangerous it was- as if she didn't already know- and just told her that she needed to stop it, that it would cause damage, scars that she would regret in the future.
He didn't- doesn't- even know that she can't even imagine her future, doesn't see herself making it past her next birthday. Even if he did know, he would probably wouldn't make that much of an effort to help her, maybe reffer her to the school Councellor, maybe even send her to a fucking mental asylum. But weather he did or didn't help, he wouldn't care. If she did die, would he even be sad? Would he even care? Sure, he cared about mom's death, but did she really matter to him as much as her mom did?
She knew he wouldn't, if he did he would've at least made some attempt to get her help, made some attempt to actually just fucking care.
Tears unwillingly sprung to her eyes, she didn't even sob, just continued laying there, silently crying. Everything hurt, her arms, her whole body, fucking everything, she just wanted this pain to stop, why wouldn't it stop??
"-Uzi?" A quite voice interrupted her from her thoughts, it was her Dad's voice, muffled by her door.
She didn't respond, her throat now apparently too tight to even mutter a reply.
"Uzi, come on," Khan sighed, his exhaustion, annoyance, apparent. "Come out of your room, you know you can't keep doing this." That line wasn't uncommon, she couldn't count on her two hands how many times he's said this, or atleast something along those lines, to her.
They both remained silent for a few moments, her throat now apparently too tight to even mutter a silent plea. Khan just sighed, "look, Uzi-" He started, sighing audibly again," just come out of your room, even just to get a small drink of oil,"
She just stared at her hands, fingers covered in dried up oil, her oil. She still didn't reply, she was hungry, she wanted to drink something, anything. Yet, she still just continued laying there, staring at her own hands, silently crying, as her dad only got more impatient outside her door.
He sighed once again, clearly annoyed despite being outside her room, "- Fine," He said, "look, I'm... I'm not just going to bother you if you clearly don't want help, just-" He stopped again, everything going silent again as he tried to think of the right words, "just stay something, anything, or ill just leave you be."
She still remained silent. Waiting a few moments before hearing her dad sigh for the umpteenth time and slowly walk away, his footsteps getting more and more muffled the further he got.
why?
Why The fuck would she do that?
She knows she needs help, god she wants help.
So why? Why would she just dismiss the one person who actually took time to care about her? Why couldn't she say just one simple word??
who are you fooling? He doesn't care, he never does. Fuck, you could die and he'd probably be glad, noone would even miss you. Just die already.
what's wrong with her? She's so, so fucking tired. Everyday is the same; go to school, sits in her classes for hours just doing nothing, not speaking, not even doing the work, as other kids constantly bully her. She doesn't even understand why, she did nothing, fucking nothing to these drones yet they still think its funny to act like 8 year olds. She doesn't even have any friends, perhaps if she had even one school would be atleast somewhat bearable. But no, everyone in school thinks she's a freak, a wierdo, a fag. It hurt, she always acts like it doesn't, pretends to ignore the comments, the hitting, punching. But truthfully, it affects her more than anything. She wished so, so badly to just drop out of school, never show up to that hell hole again, but she can't, her dad would definitely never allow her to, and if she just dropped out anyway against his wishes he would definitely only hate her more than he already does.
She's so tired. Every night she fucking dreads even waking up. She dreads having to see her dad. She dreads going to school. She dreads waking up in the same pain she's always in, always disappointed that she's still breathing.
She doesn't even know what the point is anymore. Eternally suck in this cold, dark bunker, her own dad too pussy to let even anyone go outside. She's stuck, stuck in this bunker, stuck in this crappy world, stuck in her shit life, her terrible, miserable life.
She could vomit her guts out, cut or scratch her arms until they bled, she could starve herself, she could do fucking anything, a petty attempt at ending her miserable life, yet she still lives. No matter what she does, she can't find it in herself to actually kill herself. She doesn't even know why, her life is miserable, she has nothing worth living for, she has no reason to live. Yet, here she still is. Cuts all over her body, eyes dim and exhausted, hair looking like a birds nest.
She wants help, she wants help so badly. Her own father doesn't even care, her mom is dead, and she has no friends, no one, not a single sole left on this freezing planet who actually cares about her, who remembers her, Uzi Doorman.
God Uzi hates that name. She doesn't even fully know why- yet another thing she doesn't know. Doorman. Was her father really that obsessed with doors, to the point where he would like change his own surname?? Uzi doesn't even know, she knows how much he adores doors- much, much more than her anyway. When Uzi was younger, she honestly quite liked the name, thought it was 'unique', or something like that- she honestly doesn't really remember much, her memory had always been bad. Yet now Uzi can't stand the name, can't stand with actually being related to her father, her miserable, neglectful father.
As soon as she turns old enough, Uzi's going to change the name. She doesn't even fully know how it works, not really, just knows that she doesn't want to be associated with her dickhead of a father. She doesn't even know what she would change her name to, Uzi... Uzi- Who was she even kidding? She's not even going to make it to eighteen years old, never actually going to be old enough to change her name. She was already so tired, there's no way she can handle around two more years of this shit. Two more years old endless bullying, two more years of hurting herself, doing anything as some sort of desperate attempt to get actual help, for someone to actually fucking notice her.
She felt sick. That wasn't anything unusual recently. Usually, it was just after she ate, no matter what it was, how much it was, she always felt sick, to the point where some nights she would force herself to vomit, desperately hoping that it would somehow rid her of her nausea. It never worked, just leaving her feeling even worse. It got to the point where she would starve herself for days, wanting to feel something, anything than that same sick feeling whenever she ate.
Uzi is tired. She's so tired. Her arms hurt. Her whole body aches.
Why wouldn't she just die already?