Happy Ending

She sat in the corner of her darkened room listening to Avril Lavigne's poignant lyrics: "So much for my happy ending." She understood the song too well. "Yeah, so much for my fucking happy ending" she thought to herself. She could have screamed it, but there was no point. No one would have heard anyway. Soft, loud, silent, it didn't matter. There was no one to hear her cries; save her lonely, discarded self. All she wanted from life was love. Yet it was the one thing she couldn't hold on to. Like sand through an hourglass, it slipped through her fingers. Did she love too much, not enough? It didn't matter anymore. The realization had finally sunk in. No one was ever going to love her, truly love her. She wasn't the kind of girl that men fell madly in love with. The kind of girl men would walk 1,000 miles for. She was temporary. There for one night. Even if it turned out for many nights, they left her in the end. She needed love like everyone else needed oxygen, and yet there she was, choking. Gasping for air, for arms to hold her and tell her she was worth loving. Yet she knew she wasn't. She'd always known, deep down inside. She spent her whole life searching, hoping, praying. Praying for what, she didn't know, because she knew not even Jesus loved her.

She looked at the array of pills in front of her. Xanax, Prozac, Ambien... the perfect lethal cocktail, washed down with the only man who was with her. Jack. Daniels, that is. She started to swallow them one by one. She laid them all out in front of her. "One for me, two for me, six for me, followed by a long, wet kiss from Jack. She spaced them out perfectly, methodically as though she was a member of the Hollywood club.

She felt numb. Her head was heavy. She lay her head down on her pillow, and as her spirit lifted from her lifeless shell, she thought, "Finally. My happy ending."