You Know My Name Not My Story
Chapter OneI pulled out my razor in the secret compartment in my dresser. I cut because I feel so alone. Very alone.
My parents don’t love me, they never said that they love me ever since my sister died. They call me a mistake. They abuse me. Not physically (sometimes.) but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.
My sister, Kayla, was 16 years old when she died. She was texting while diving, and didn’t see where she was going. She lost control of the car. She passed away before the ambulance could get there.
Sometimes, I feel like its her fault this is happening to me. I don’t know. I miss her. But I just don’t know what to do anymore. Cutting seems like the only time to break free.
“Mira!” My mother shouted.
Well. That’s my quo.
I threw down the razor back in the secret space and got up off my lumpy, worn, yet comfortable, bed. I walked downstairs slowly.
Everyday when my parents come home from work, they call me downstairs so I won’t miss out on the next round of abuse.
I let out a deep sigh as I walked the stairs.
“You’re so worthless I should of aborted your ass.” My mom said.
“I knew right when the pathetic creep of a doctor put you in my arms you were nothing.” My dad shouted.
I don’t know why I put up with this. I know I should tell someone what’s happening.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” my father spat at me.
I kept my head down just to piss him off.
All of a sudden a shock of force hit my face.
“Look at him when he’s talking to you!” My mother continued to shout.
Her slap forced me to the ground.
“Get up!” My dad yelled.
At that second I blacked out. Everything around me was getting dark. I don’t know what’s happening. Maybe I’m finally dying. Breaking free from this hell.