Suicidal Love (part 3)

May 2, 2010
By
More by this author
As I'm working on my math homework my dad calls me, "Estella get down here."
I take the steps two at a time, still in a good mood from talking to Alex, "Ya dad?" Before he answers I walk into the living room and see him talking to some woman I've never seen before in my life.
"Estella I'd like you to meet Shelly Bellom, she's my secretary," he says putting his arm around her. I look her over, she looks like she's about 20. What is he doing with some chick who is like 5 years older than me! That is just sick!
"Oh I've heard so much about you," she says giggling. That giggle reminds me of all the preps that make fun of me at school.
"It's nice to meet you," I say, "But why are you here?" I may sound rude but I don't care this is just creepy.
"Estella I'm dating Shelly and we thought this would be a good time to tell you," my dad says.
"What?!" I ask shocked; my suspicions were right, "Ok I'm going back to my room."
As I'm walking I hear my dad say, "I'll be right back," to little miss prep.
He catches up to me before I reach the top of the stairs, "Stella what's wrong?"
"Oh I dont know," I say turning around, "Maybe because you're dating some chick that is old enough to me my older sister!"
"You're making a big deal out of this," he scolds, "Don't you think it's time you got a female influence in your life?"
"Uh not if she's just like the stuck up preps that make my life hell!"
"Don't start on that 'poor me' stuff. It's annoying. Maybe that's why you don’t have any friends." I can feel the tears welling up in the back of my eyes.
"I hate you!" I say running up to my room and slamming the door. I lay on my bed and just let the tears loose. How could my dad do this to me? He knows I dont want a replacement for mom. How could he say something like that? I hate my life! People wonder why I'm suicidal, maybe if they lived one day in my life they'd understand. I'm tempted to do that right now, but i dont wanna be put on more intense suicide watch. I'm already not trusted with drugs or anything I can use to hurt myself. That's when an idea hits me. I walk into my bathroom and look in the cupboard. I take out a razor and a shampoo bottle. I take the shampoo bottle and use it to smash the razor, causing the blades to fall out.
Ok Stella, this is going to ease the hurt, I think as the blade pierces my skin..............
I stare at the blood trickling down my arm. I still felt horrible but not as bad. At least if I get rid of pain this way I won’t be watched like a hawk; plus it’s easier to hide. I feel myself shaking but I ignore it. I feel kind of weak so I decide to take a quick shower and just go to bed. That night I have the first nice dream I’ve had in awhile. Alex and I were sitting by the creek in Brick-wood Park and we’re talking and having a good time when he says, “You know you really are an amazing girl.” “You’re an amazing guy,” I say dipping my bare foot in the water. “So does that mean you wouldn’t stop me?” “Stop you from what?” “Doing this,” he says leaning in and kissing me. In return I wrap my arms around his neck to which he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close. I am then awoken by the slamming of a door. I realize it’s my dad leaving, obviously p***ed off at me yelling at him last night. I check my clock and see that’s it’s already 6:45, my bus comes at 7:00! I rush to get ready, just throwing my hair in a high ponytail and barely putting on eye liner, and run out the door. I barely make the bus and as I walk down the aisle I can feel the stares of other students on me. I sit in silence at the back of the bus not quite sure why people are staring more than usual. As soon as the bus stops at the school I rush off and head straight to my locker.





Join the Discussion

This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

sparkofheart said...
May 11, 2010 at 6:48 pm
this is sooo good im like really getting obsessed with the story :) great job!
 
Belinda B. replied...
May 12, 2010 at 11:12 pm
thanks :) :)
 
bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback