Turning off the computer, I sighed. My eyes scanned my walls. Bare and white. Well, more like yellow. I hated this room. I hated this life. But mostly, I hated myself. Spinning around in my chair, I stood to leave my little room. I had my twin size bed, small dresser and my old style desk. You know the ones that fold and lock up so that you can’t see what’s inside. That’s my favorite part. I had to keep it locked so that David couldn’t get to it. Inside of my desk held the things I held most dear, and I just knew that if David found them, he would surely destroy everything before I could stop him. The desk held my notebook, sketch pad and art supplies, and my laptop and mp3 player. Everything being payed for by guess who? Me.
Before I started getting ready, I put everything except for my notebook in my desk. Folding over the top I unclasped the chain around my neck. On it hung a skeleton key. After locking the desk and returning the key to it’s rightful place, I walked the few feet to my dresser. Pulling out underwear, I crept to the bathroom down the hall. Glancing at the clock on the wall I saw I still had an hour and a half to get ready. Sighing I opened the door to the bathroom, wincing as I heard it creek slightly. Stopping all movement, I listened intently. Hearing no noise, I relaxed. I shed my pj’s (a pair of shorts and a tank top) and quickly hopped in the freezing shower. Even though tempting, I knew I couldn’t turn on any hot water, I would have hell to pay. The cold sheets of water cascaded down my body, bringing little relief to the bruises and cuts that marred my skin.
I stepped out of the shower, almost falling in the process and wrapped myself in a towel, bending down to grab my clothes in the process. Opening the door the same way as before, I crept down the hall towards my room. Closing the door and throwing on some clothes which consisted of black jeans and a long sleeved shirt. Tuggin on my boots and grabbing my backpack, I shoved my arms into my hoodie and retreated down the hall towards the kitchen.
After making breakfast for David and setting it on a plate I put it into the microwave to stay warm, and cleaned up the small mess I made. I looked at the glowing green letters on the microwave and saw it was time for my daily ritual. I went to the bathroom once again. Reaching into the cabinet, I grabbed my razorblade. Pulling up my sleeve I touched the cold metal to my arm. For 10 minutes the blade was connected to my skin. A thread of pain holding it to my body. I reached under the sink grabbing a black wash rag, and running water over my burning arm. Gripping the rag in my fist, I scrubbed my arm. The roughness made my cuts split, and my eyes clench shut. I need to focus on the pain, or i’ll go mad. I can’t stand it here! I would give anything, anything to have my mom back. No one knows how bad I want David to rot, for all the pain he caused me and mom, for all the pain he is causing me now. Figuring that I might as well start my day of hell, I used the already bloodied rag to wipe off the sink. Grabbing my dwindling stash of gauze to wrap my arm, I rolled down my sleeves. Hearing David’s door open, I winced. I was here too long. Tossing the rag into the hamper and the gauze in my pocket, I backed as far away from the door as I could. Hearing his footsteps approach, my breath hitched. The footsteps approached the closed door, then continued walking down the hallway. Creeping towards the door I jumped when hearing a crash from downstair.
“You worthless little girl! Can’t you do anything right?!” David bellowed from downstairs. Shaking in fear, I had never felt so weak.
“Get your butt down here!” He screeched. I righted myself, opened the door and ran down the hall toward my room. I snatched up my backpack. Sprinting down the hall, I dropped it by the door. I skid into the kitchen. Coming to a stop, my eyes widened. The plate was smashed across the floor. The food was all over the counter. The microwave door swinging. Raising my eyes to meet David’s, I curled into myself. What could I possibly have done? David stomped over, fuming for an unknown reason. He doesn’t have the right to yell at me! I did nothing wrong! It’s not my fault he can’t hold a plate. Serves his lazy ass. His hand rose menacingly, and I quivered. His hand came down, meeting my face with an audible smack. My cheek stung, pain blooming throughout. I could taste the metallic flavor of blood, and focused on that. His fist connected with my stomach unexpectedly, knocking air out of me. His fingers tangled in my hair and using it like a handle, he yanked me around, bashing my head into the counter. Stars danced in my head. With one last tug he threw me to the floor.
“Get out of my sight,” David grunted. Why did mom have to die and leave me with this monster? The sorry excuse for a man? Damn the law that says I have to live with this bastard. It’s not my fault that he’s stuck with me. He’s the one that married my mom. Picking myself up from off the cold tile floor, I whimpered. I could feel the bruise forming on my stomach. No doubt that’s it’s going to be black and blue soon. Running as fast as possible to the door, and slinging my backpack on, I ran out of the house. After running halfway down the block I slowed down. My breath was coming in short gasps. Walking for what seemed like hours though only minutes I finally saw my middle school come into view. The red brick was dull, lifeless. Students were emptying the buses, their multicolored backpack creating a sea of confusion. Or for me, prime bullying territory. Using my hood to hide my face, I scurried through the crowd. I could hear the whispers as they wove through the student body.
“Ugly.”
“Loner.”
“Emo,” everyone hissed. They think I can’t hear them. Barely four weeks into 7th grade and they already hate me. A boy that I can’t really remember comes up to me, pushing me into another. Another joins the sick game of catch. The pressure knocking the air out of me. My stomach lurched as a hand came in contact with my tender head. Each person in the crowd had their own version of a smile, none of them sad. Just as someone was about to push me into a wall, the bell rang. The shrill cry halted their game, giving me a headache. Following the crowd I made my way to my locker. Thankfully it was relatively close to my homeroom. I reached into my locker to grab my math book and notebooks. My hand was completely submerged in my locker when it closed unexpectedly on my arm. I gave a small cry, flinching slightly. Hearing a chuckle and retreating footsteps, I picked up the books I dropped and cradled my arm near my body.
The rest of the day passed without hitch, most likely because teachers were around the whole time. By the time I was supposed to go to language arts I was exhausted. I barely got any sleep last night, and I skipped lunch again today. I could feel the weight settling in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t eaten for days. My head was pounding, pain reverberating through my skull with each step. My feet felt like lead, and the books in my hands felt like rocks. After lugging myself to class and plopping in my seat I rested my head on my desk. My hair was sprawled across the surface, and my hands were under my forehead. Just as I was relaxing I felt a harsh tug at my hair. Releasing a yelp of surprise and pain, I raised my head from the desk’s surface. Instead of letting go of my hair, the person simply held on tighter. With the mixture of me moving my head and their hand already pulling, the pain only intensified. While I was trying to turn my head away from the pain (more so the person inflicting it) they yanked abruptly, then let go. Leaving me with a sore head, and even more broken feelings.
Despite the bullying, Language Arts was definitely my favorite subject. I adore writing and reading. Social Studies is a bore and reading time passed by way too quickly in my opinion. By writing time I was shaking with anticipation. Nothing special was happening, yet I couldn’t wait. I am a writer at heart. It’s all I can do. I grabbed my notebook, and pen and opened it to the first blank page I came to. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. Ink soon ate up the paper.
Long before I wanted, the bell rang, and I was released from one hell to another. Walking home in the same fashion as before, though with a little more enthusiasm. Using the key placed under the mat, I entered the rat’s nest I called my home. Ever since mother died and left me with David (A.K.A stepdad) my life has been a living hell day in and day out. Why did she have to marry that jerk anyway. Now that she passed, he’s my guardian. Shutting and locking the door behind me I made my way upstairs. I only had 30 minutes until David got home. I refused to call him “dad” or even “father”. He does not deserve it. Sitting down on my small bed I unzipped my backpack. I took out my minimal amount of math homework. Getting that done in less than five minutes, I was bored beyond comprehension. Returning my backpack to it’s place in the corner of my room, near my dresser, I sighed. I had at least 20 minutes until David got here, if not more.
Walking slowly down the hallway, I broke down. I don’t know why I’m so weak, but I can’t take it anymore. I tried to push the thought back, to lock it away, but it consumed me, devouring all logic. My feelings took over and I knew what I had to do. With a new hope and goal, I sprinted to the kitchen. Opening all of the drawers and cabinets, I threw everything around the house. Glass shattered and silverware clanged. I ran to the bathroom, and scooped up all the hair products and such into my arms. Walking carefully back to the living room, I opened all the lids and poured the contents from the bottles all over the furniture. Releasing a high pitched giggle, I started laughing uncontrollably. This one moment of freedom, of doing what I wanted with no fear, was what I wanted to remember. I wanted this feeling to be the last thing I felt before I died. Hearing the front door slam shut, and David’s heavy footsteps approaching, I grinned. Anyone looking at me would think I’m crazy. But what they don’t understand is after today, I’ll be with my mom. That’s all I can ask for. I saw David in the doorway, and sooner than I thought possible, his fists were connecting with my body.
“You worthless brat! Look what you did!!” He screamed right in my ear. His voice pierced my eardrum, but I just kept on smiling.
“Why are you smiling? Are you happy you're going to die?” He taunted. His putrid breath almost making me gag. He didn’t know how right he was though. Even though I was in pain, and David’s harsh words continued to spew from his mouth, I was the happiest I’ve ever been. Laying on the ground curled in a ball, I laughed. Tears were streaming down my face in rivers, and I shook in pain and sadness. Yet all I could do was laugh. I laughed at the bullies, I laughed at David. He was giving me the one thing I wanted, even though he didn’t know it. Mainly, I laughed at myself. For dealing with everyone, for not standing up, and for not thinking of this sooner. Closing my eyelids, my body jerking with each kick, my head swimming in pain, I sighed. I felt the darkness creep into my body, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Death was running towards me, banging on my front door. I gladly opened it and accepted it in my arms.
See you soon Mom.