Introduction

I don't really know when it all started.

I can remember feeling this way when I was really young ... maybe in first or second grade. At least that's as far back as I can remeber. There isn't a day ... or even a moment that I don't think about it. I guess I just learn to suck it up and try to forget .. like always.


I put on my comfy white sneakers and head out the door with a heavy book bag weighing me down. I look back at my house, like I always do. The chipped red paint and the unattended bushes made it look unapproachable and a little scary. The old rusted gate creaked slightly when I forced it open just enough for me to slide through. The moon shone bright in the sky, guiding me through the empty and haunting streets.
I didn't know where exactly I was running to, I just knew I had to get out. I had to run away if I were to even think about living. Living in that house ... isn't really living. It's being locked up under strict supervision. Being or not being; meeting or not meeting the set priorities and expectations of myself. It's like being a butterfly locked away, cursed to never see or feel the rays of warm and embracing sun.
So I wander along Central Avenue feeling alone and utterly hopeless. I keep hoping for a guardian angel or a sign of any sort telling me that I belong in this world, that I deserve to live. I keep running the scene of what just happened over and over again in my over energetic mind. At one point when I saw the flashing light of SubWay I couldn't take it anymore. I stopped walking as the air was drained from my lungs, I couldn't breathe. The street lights looked farther and farther away. The last thing I saw before I passed out was the ash colored broken sky. How perfect that seemed at the moment.


In my foggy memory, I remember hearing sirens. Shouts of distress, calls for help. Ii woke up in a hospital, I hate the smell. The plain walls and sickly smell made me want to just go back to sleep and never wake up. There was a knock at the door and a nurse walked in. She was pretty; long brown hair, green eyes, and an olive skin tone. She smiled at with her heavily pink lipstick coated mouth.
"Oh hey honey, you finally 'wake? You been knocked out for hours. I was wonderin' when you was goin' wake up." She rambled on and on about random things, like the weather and how much I reminded her of Angelina Jolee. She was oblivious to the fact that I wasn't really listening. I was too busy thinking. I just stared at her until she finally left.
I didn't really know where I was, area wise. I got out of bed and looked out the window. I was on the first floor, downtown by the looks of the area. I grabbed my clothes off the beige shelves beside the window. I nearly ripped off my hospital gown and slipped into my jeans and a baggy t-shirt. I found my shoes on the other side of my bed and slipped them on. I opened the window and far as it would go and the alarm went off.
Startled, I jumped out not bothering to look for my bag. I ran and ran as far as I could until I just couldn't push myself any further. I hid behind a dumpster in the nearest alley. I finally snapped and broke down crying. I cried until all I could do was hiccup. I wiped my face on my t-shirt and tied my hair with a ponytail holder I found in my jeans pocket. I heard footsteps and I looked up, embarrassed that I was caught being so disgustingly weak and pathetic.
"Hey, you okay?" A boy about my age asked. He was light skinned, good looking, and tall. He looked like someone I couldn't trust.
"I'm all good ... " I mumbled, looking at the ground.
"Who are you lying to; me or yourself?" That was all he said, but it hit hard. Like he already knew and understood everything ... like I wasn't alone anymore. It's kind of funny, huh? How you're whole perspective of life and living could change because of one sentence. And from a complete stranger. I guess it is funny ... 'cause that's exactly what happened.

Chapter One: Three Years Later

I want to live.

That's what I learned when I walked myself back home that day.But I'm not really sure anymore. Three years is a long time to hold onto a seemingly impossible dream. After all, I was only thirteen at the time. I was still naive.


"How does that make you feel?" My therapist, Pat asked.
"Like crap!" I yell. She was bringing this subject up a lot lately, me being an on and off drug addict at the age of sixteen. You know, it's not as uncommon as she thinks.
"Uh huh, so why do you do it then?" She asks, jotting things down in her notepad.
"Why does every drug addict do drugs? To have fun!" It was a lie though, and I'm pretty sure she didn't believe it either. I didn't do it because it was fun. I did it to forget everything .. to be without a care even for a minimum amout of time. I almost start crying but I stop myself. You're not weak!, I chant in my head, along with the rhythm of my heart trying steadily to slow itself down. "To forget . . ."
"But what I'm trying to understand is what you want to forget." She said, looking me in my deep brown eyes with concern written all over her face. But I can't say anything. I want to, but the words are stuck in my throat and I start hyperventilating. The walls are closing in and I barey hear Pat telling me to calm down.
After what seems like eternity, I calm down. But just as Pat is about to ask me another question, the alarm dings, concluding today's session. I leap out of my seat and bolt out the door with a faint shout of goodbye.


Waking up the next morning was horrible. I woke up groggy with a headache from all the asprin I took. Attempting to sit up on my futon resulted in me landing on the floor, not really wanting to get up. I fell back asleep on the wooden floor until my dog came barging in and started licking my face.
"Aww Baby, get off me!" I yelled. Yes, I named my dog Baby. Get over it (Haa). I pushed my giant black lab away so I could somehow manage to stand on my numb legs. I walked down the hall and into the kitchen with Baby skipping happily beside me. I don't get how that's possible, a dog skipping. I guess it's what you could say she was doing. Heck I don't know, I'm not a dog specialist.
I walked over to fridge and opened it, doing a scan of it's contents, acting like I was really interested in eating anything it had to offer. I shut the fridge door with a sigh. I turned around to the sight of Baby panting at me with a lopsided grin, tongue hanging out and all. I can't help smiling at her, which makes her tail go ballistic. I pet her softly on the head, not wanting to be too rough with her.
She whines when I stop petting her to walk back to my room. I change out of my boxers and tank top into some black jeans and a white Aero shirt. I grab my black Aero sweater and slip on my comfy white shoes. I comb my hair out as I walk back down the hall into the kitchen to find my bag. I finish tying my hair in a high ponytail when I finally find my bag under my dog.
"Aw Baby! Get off my bag! Off, off!" I make hand gestures at her trying to mime what I want her to do when I finally give up and pull my bag out from underneath her. Finally, with bag in hand, I leave the house. But I don't run this time. I know it's pointless. I shut the screen door behind me and squint up at the burning sun. I find my shades in my bag and put them on, comfortably looking at my surroundings without the sun bothering me.
I go down the small walkway leading to the metal fence and open the rusted gate, and slide myself through. I walk down the sunny and strangely inviting street, breathing in the air of limited freedom. I walk down Central Avenue to a bus stop. I sit on the bench, waiting for the bus to arrive, it was always late. 15 minutes or so passed when the bus finally halted to a stop in front of me. I grabbed the $2.00 out of my pocket and a few coins just incase I didn't have enough.
I boarded the bus and put my money in the money slot next to the driver. He just grunted in response. I looked around and found only one open space. It was next to a light skinned, good looking guy. He looked older than me, maybe by a year or two. I walked up to his seat and asked if I could sit next to him. He just looked at me and said with a dazzling smile,
"I don't own this bus. Anyone can sit here."
So I sat there, all the while thinking. He seemed familiar somehow. There was somthing about the air around him that drew me in. Made me feel scared yet safe, if that was possible. I noticed that his eyes were green, like light emerald. And the my brain suddenly turned itself on to the night I ran away three years ago. The alley . . . that boy. I gasped.
"Oh my god, it's you." I said, slightly breathless. He just looked at me, knowingly and smiled.

Chapter Two: Flashback

His name was Marcus, and he was perfect.

He made me laugh. Like honest to God laughing, not the polite giggle you do so people don't feel bad if their jokes aren't the slightest bit amusing. I swear I could feel my heart sing and a hole was torn down in my wall, sunshine beginning to peak through just a bit. It was a little, but it would be a lot in the long run. He was sweat, giving me a simple compliment that lasted in my heart through the whole day. Was he my sign?

I gave him my number to call me. Days went by and I still didn't hear from him, not a word. And it was torture, he was all I could think about. I tried calling my sister Mimi, but she didn't ever answer her phone. Mimi lives with our grandma May, she's my half sister and older than me by twenty days (she thinks that gives her the right to play the older sister, haa she wishes).
It was really very frustrating, the long nights in bed staring at ceiling wondering why he wasn't calling. What if something happened? What if he just didn't like me? You see? It was tiring. This was exactly why I didn't do this sort of thing. Boys were just too confusing. They were like a whole different world compared to girls. Actually, scratch that; a whole different world compared to me. I just hope he calls before I go crazy.


I wake up slightly dazed and realized I fell asleep with the lights on, again. I switched them off cursing under my breath at how much the electric bill was going to cost this month because of that. I pay the electric bill. One of my friends in school asked me why I did when I accidentally let it slip one cold January morning. I said,
"Well, for a lot of reasons. Bur mainly because I like to be warm in the middle of winter, where as my parents couldn't care less if we freeze to death or not as long as we're saving money. So I got a job this winter and started paying for the electric and heat."
After that everyone looked at me differently so I just kept to myself the rest of the year, waiting until summer. The long awaited summer is finally here, but I'm doing the same thing I did in the winter. Staying at home with my music on, singing along and writing short stories. But I'm doing this without the excuse of it being too cold outside to interact with other living people, unlike my parents who are like zombies walking around the house when they're not at work. The only emotions they show are disappointment and anger; anger at the world for being so unfair and disappointment at me for not being all they wanted in a daughter. Of course, this equals up to a great relationship with them. What a happy family we are.

So I decide to go to Starbucks to start my day off on a good note . . . I left at about four thirty in the afternoon. It took forever to find an outfit that said, "Hi, I'm just casually going out for some coffee, no biggie. You think these jeans compliment my butt? Oh gosh, you're making me blush! You flatter me too much." Yes, I actually did think that. And no, I am most definitely not over thinking this. Okay, maybe I am just a little. But hey, can you blame me? I don't really do this everyday ya know.
I'd been completely transformed. I actually had on make up, some eye liner and mascara finished off with an eye-shadow the color of golden dandelions when they glisten in the bright and warm sun. My outfit was simple, but flattering. I had on tight black skinny jeans with a black Aero shirt and black balle flats. I shoved three gold bangles on each wrist and left, my hair strangely behaving well, light brown curls flowing to about the middle of my back. I was happy, really happy. And that all changed as soon as I saw my parents sitting at the living room table, looking worn out and angry. I tried to sneak past them without them noticing, but it didn't work.
"Young lady, where do you think you're going?" My dad's voiced whipped out, making me flinch hard. I took a step back.
"I'm just going out for a bit, I'll be back in time to make dinner I promise." I said, trying to smooth things over before they got out of control.
"Oh no you're not! You're grounded young lady." My mom said, just as angry. I flinched once again, talking another step back.
"But why?" Once I asked this, I realized it was a mistake. It's exactly what they wanted me to say, as an excuse to take out their frustration on me.
"Oh don't act so innocent! A boy called while you were busy getting primped up in your room. Don't think we're stupid. We will absolutely not allow our daughter to be a- a -" My dad stopped, taking a deep breathe. And suddenly I was angry, right along with them.
"A what, dad? A what? Tell me what you were going to say!" I yelled, shaking.
"A whore! I will not allow my daughter to go around with boys like a little whore!" He yelled back, a vein popping up in his forehead.
"I'm not a whore, nor do I go around with guys!" I screeched. I silently prayed to God that this would end alright. I really hated arguing with my parents every time we're together. "You know what, I'm just gonna go. I'll be back later tonight."
"Oh no you don't! Little girl, do not push me! You, get back in here right now! I mean it!" My dad's shouted commands faded as I ran farther from the house. My heart was pounding when I finally looked at where I'd ended up. It was a little park that my dad used to take me to when I was growing up. Back when things weren't complicated, back before he changed.
I don't know when he changed, maybe it was the first time he put his hands on me when I was in first grade. I still remember bits and pieces of those days. The terrifying memories that seem to haunt my dreams and are almost always just a layer under my every waking thought. I sit on a swing and swing back and forth until I'm high enough that I can just sort of float down. And I start to think . . .

I hear yelling, and I run into Mimi's room in my feetie pajamas at the age of seven. Mom and dad are fighting, and I see Mimi crying in the corner rocking back and forth with her eyes shut tight. I run over to her, but not before my dad sees me. It's like he's a crazed man with a gun and I just ran past him. He strikes me, telling me to go away before he does something worse and I fall on my small behind.
I don't cry, I just sit there confused. I realize that this is probably what happened to Mimi, and finally her crying makes sense. Now looking at her, I see she's praying. Some how, with all the noise I hear her last sentence.
"Mommy, what's happening?" she whispers to herself, not knowing I can hear her. She looks so broken, and I see a bruise starting to form on the side of her neck and I start crying. Yelling at my dad to stop it, crying to my mom to make him stop, begging Mimi to stop crying, and praying to God give me the strength to protect my sister.

I snap out of it and I realize that I'm actually crying and I can't really stop. I hear footsteps coming my way and I wonder who'd want to be at this deserted park, other than me. I took up and see him standing there. He was looking at me, wondering the same thing. I quickly try to clean off the smudged eye-liner and mascara. I sniffed a little and smiled at him halfheartedly.
"Hey, what're you doing here?" I ask, hoping my voice didn't sound like I was just crying.
"I could ask you the same thing." He said, smiling.
"Oh, I just kinda ended up here by mistake..." I said, feeling stupid.
"I called you." He said, abruptly.
"Oh God, that was you?" I blow out a deep sigh and throw my head back, looking at the sky. I didn't notice how late it had gotten.
"Yeah, what's wrong? You seem . . . well you seem like you did the first day I met you. Please don't tell me you're running away from home again." He sighs, and walks over to me. Sadly there's only one swing and I was already on it so he had to sit on the sand box beside me. His height wasn't helping his comfort level at all, it was a funny sight.
"Okay, talk to me."
"About what?" I asked stupidly.
"About anything, anything you want to talk about. I'm all ears." He said, pulling on his ears as if to make his words more trustworthy.
"I don't know what to say." I said, stupidly.
"Okay then, what's you're favorite color?" He asks, smiling.
"Blue and green." I said, feeling a smile creep up on my face.
"Well, what a surprise? Those are my favorite colors too." He smiled widely, laughing a little.
"What's you're favorite sport?" I asked, suddenly wanting to keep that smile on his face for as long as possible.
"Basketball, yours?"
"Volleyball and football. Sorry, basketball just doesn't excite me." I said laughing.
"What?! Basketball not exciting? I'm offended!" He put his hand on his heart, looking taken aback. I almost fell off my swing because I was laughing so hard.
"I said sorry!"
"Okay, you're temporarily forgiven." He smiles, widely once more before his smile slowly fades away. We're in complete silence and his green eyes are shining.
"Thank you." I said, looking into his eyes.
"Yeah, anytime." He said, smiling slightly.
And he leans in. He keeps looking from my lips to my eyes and back again. My heart is pounding and I'm doing the same. We're so aware of each other, it makes it hard to breathe. We're about to kiss when I hear a truck stop at the end of the park and head lights are shining on us. I shield my eyes and squint to see who the lunatic was driving the truck.
Then I see my dad in the driver's seat.
"Oh crap. It's my dad. You should go, thing's are not going to go well if you stay." I whisper at Marcus.
"But when am I going to see you again?"
"Tomorrow. I'll call you. Just go!" I whispered back. He smiled at me and ran. He ran fast. Really fast. I was impressed.
"Young lady, what the hell do you think you're doing here all alone?" My dad yells at me from the truck. Good, he didn't see Marcus.
"Nothing dad! Just taking a break." I said.
"From what?!" He yelled.
"You." I whisper.
The whole ride home, I can't stop thinking about Marcus. I can't wait 'til tomorrow . . .

Chapter Three:Sissy

I stayed up all night thinking about one thing . . . "love".

What is "love"? Is it really an emotion we feel? Or is it something we tell ourselves we have and should feel? Do we just make it up in our heads to give ourselves a reason to live? If we do, then why is the line of love so thin and breakable? Why is it so painful? That's what I've been thinking about all night. Does anyone have an answer? Huh, I didn't think so.


I don't call him. I don't want anything to do with men. I just sit in my room, door locked with Eminem blasting through my head phones. I see the blinking light on the answering machine telling me some one left a message, but I didn't hear it. As I nod my head to Eminem rapping about his dad, I can't help but wish my dad had left us. We would have been better off without him. I sometimes think that everything would be better if he didn't change.
If he would just shut up once in awhile and let me speak. All my anger stays pent up, followed by a short fuse that lights at the slightest thing. I don't want to be like him. I don't want to put the people I love through pain. I don't want it to happen to me. Just listen to me dad, just listen for once to what I want to say. I start to scream and I pull my hair out, and for what? For all it matters to you, I was just a seven year old having a tantrum.
So finally I learned to suck it up. Suck it up and keep on walking. Life was gonna go on, no matter how much I wanted it to end everytime I had a melt down. Everytime the world felt like it was gonna collapse and finally take me with it. Everytime I cried and wanted you to hug me, say it was all going to be okay. Everytime all I wanted to hear were three simple words, so I knew that you cared enough for me to stay alive. I loved you dad, why did you have to go and change that?


It's kind of funny, how you happened to buy me a new present after everytime you did something wrong. You break my new Barbie, here's a new one. Yell at me for breaking my new new Barbie, here's a toy dog. Throw my toy dog at me and break it on my forehead,
"Oh I'm sorry honey, here's a real doggy. It can be your new best friend."
But it didn't matter how many toys or animals you bought me, and you know that. That's why every time I broke your presents out of anger and hatred, you bought a newer and better one then the last one.
Each one always ended up broken. I even tried to kill the dog. But I chickened out. She was so alone and when I held her in my arms, she shook. She felt as if all she needed was a hug to calm her down. She felt like me; abused and abandoned. Left to die, not really wanted around. So I kept her, the only toy my dad got me that actually survived.
And I made sure Baby knew that. I make sure she knows how much I love her. She knows that she's my baby. I'm the only one that loves her. She knows that.


I stay in my room the next three days, not even coming out when my mom told me the food was ready. I stayed in my bed, huddled up in the corner with Eminem still blasting through my headphones. Now he was rapping about not giving up, till he collapses. And I start to think to myself, 'Why can't I be as strong as him? He's been through more bullshit than me . . . why am I weaker than him?' And I make myself a promise. I won't be weak. I won't break down and I won't let him run my life. I won't let fear and anger run my life. Just then, the song I hate most by Eminem comes on.
When I'm Gone, and I start to cry. I hate it because it makes me cry. It feels like he's rapping about my life. All the promises my dad made, breaking every one of them. All the times he left for days and months at a time, then just comes back and acts like everything is gonna be just fine. The second verse comes on, and about halfway through I stop it at Sweden. I can't take anymore. I snatch the phone that sits on my side table and I dial the only number I can think of. It rings.
"Hello?" A girl's voice says into the other line. But I can't say anything, all I can do is cry loud enough for her to hear. "Sissy, is that you? What's wrong?" Mimi asks into the speaker.
"Get me out of here." I say through gritted teeth, trying to stop crying.
"Aw baby girl, I'll be there as fast as I can. You can tell me everything later." She hangs up the phone, no doubt she's yelling for Grandma May to get the keys,
"Something's wrong with Sissy," she'd say. And I'd stay in my bed, counting the seconds that go by until she comes. And I know why I stay alive again. I live and die for her. She's my very own sissy.

Chapter Four: Black Tainted Tears

I want to disappear.

I want to float away in a cloud of bliss .. to God. As I think these strangely alarming thoughts, the room seems hotter. I can't breathe well and my chest is tight. The room closes in and I feel like I'm going to collapse. All of a sudden, Mimi pops into the room just as I start to cry. She doesn't say anything as she runs over and puts her arms around me. She just holds me tightly, comfortingly.

After three days and two nights of hiding out in Grandma May's house, I finally go home. Grandma May doesn't like the idea, she's worried. But I reassure her that I will be absolutely fine, I Promise. Something like this won't happen again. Something like this meaning I won't have a major melt down and call Mimi crying again, wanting her to come pick me up. But I know it probably will happen again. Of course, I can't tell Grandma May that. So I just plaster a smile on my face, and talk in a perky voice. I look at Mimi and see the look on her face, pain.
She knows I'm faking and every perky word I force through my slightly clenched teeth hurts her just as much as it hurts me. But I act as if I never noticed the look, I avoid Mimi's understanding eyes and continue smiling and nodding my head to whatever Grandma May's talking about, not really following the story. 'Smile, nod, don't forget to smile!', I think to myself, these words running through my head throughout the whole drive home. 'Do not cry!', are the the final words that run through my mind before I completely go numb and shut off. Numb is good, very good.


As I sit in my room, staring at my bare legs in my boxer shorts. This feeling of needing something slams me so strong on the inside of me, I can't even begin to explain it. It's like my heart is aching to beat out of my rib cage and break through the flesh of my chest. But it's also fighting to stay inside of me. I want to cry, but I can't. My heart is stopping me. I force myself to cry, a couple of tears fogging my vision.
My heart aches more but I feel no pleasure, no feel of release in this forced act. I can feel the pain and I can't explain it. So I do what I promised myself and my sister that I would never dare to do again. And I start, line by line they appear.
Sometimes quickly and sometimes slowly, letting the feeling sink in deep. By the time I'm done, I look at my legs. They're no longer bare, they're been violated. I just stare, taking in every smudge, every drop, every sting. I take in feeling, emotion. I cry and cry, but for what? I'm not sure, but I want to know.
I think and think and it finally hits me. Hits me hard. I'm crying because what I'm looking at is what's happening to me internally. I'm bleeding inside, that's why actually seeing the blood makes me cry. And as I realize this, I can feel the tickle and I know all this blood pumps from my heart. My heart is bleeding, tearing, and draining out right in front of me. My thighs are red and bloody, and I still can't stop crying. My whole body is shaking, and I don't know how to stop. I can't stop, because no matter how many times I wipe the blood clean with a paper towel ( a toy or simple words of love ) it just keeps on bleeding, and I can't stop it. I have no control over it. No control over my life, or me. No control whatsoever.


After my melt down, I go into the kitchen to get me something to drink, knowing my dad's at work so it'll most likely just be me and my Mom. I open the fridge, and pull out some orange juice. My Mom stands at the counter next to the sink, chopping up potatoes for dinner. I'm about to walk out of the kitchen with my juice, but my Mom's voice stops me.
"You have an appointment at Riverside at 5:30pm. So you have about an hour or so until we leave. Go change and tell me when your ready to leave." She says this cautiously, like she thinks I'm going to blow up on her for mentioning therapy.
" 'Kay." I say, trying to walk away.
"If you ask me, I don't think therapy is working. Your acting the same. Disrespectful and always talking back. What do you need therapy for anyways? Me and your Dad have given you everything you've ever wanted, and you treat us this way. Why? Can you tell me? What did we do to you?"

I want to scream.
"Mama, it's not you! It's him . . . you know I don't like him! Stop clumping yourself in with him Mama! I love you okay? How many times do I have to tell you?"
"If you say this to me about him, then what do you say to him about me?"
"Oh my God, Mom! Stop it! I love you okay?" I scream at her.
She cries. I feel like shit.


When I walk into the Riverside clinic, I see Pat sitting in a chair looking at a People magazine waiting for me. She looks up and smiles at me, her light blond hair shining with slightly gray hairs.
"Hi, how are you?" She smiles.
"Hey, I'm good." I smile. And so begins the embarrassing hour long session of me complaining about my problems that all seem to draw back to the same person, perfect innocent Daddy.


Therapy always makes me depressed after, I'm not sure why. It seems like I don't get enough of it. I only get an hour a session and a session 3 - 5 times a month. Yes you read that correctly, 3-5 times a month.
As I wait outside in the rain for my Mom to pick me up, I feel my legs burn and I want to check them, make sure they're still there. Make sure my feelings don't disappear, leaving me an empty shell of a person. As I see my Mom pull up to the curb in her gray Suburban, I dash out and count the minutes it takes for me to get home.


I'm finally home in my room, wet from the rain. I want to take a shower, especially since I'm already wet. So that's what I do. But instead of going into the shower right away, I strip down to just my underwear and bra. And I stare at my feelings. They show pain with angry red jagged lines. I smile, and think to myself; This is what's going inside of you. Isn't that beautiful?
This is my pain, maybe it really is that simple after all. I smile once more at my reflection as a single tear drop falls from my deep brown eyes, a mascara tainted tear. A black tear. It lands on my right thigh, on one of the angry lines and I laugh. I find this amusing how both sources of my pain are drawn together, like they belong there. And just to add a third pain to the party, I open up the medicine cabinet and pop a few Ibuprofen. Pretty soon, black tainted tears are everywhere. And they wont stop. So I climb in the shower and wash all my problems away, a black tainted stream leading down the drain. When I get out I look in the mirror and see back tracks down my cheeks. Always there, but never seen. Just like me . . .

Chapter Five: The End

I hear banging drums.

My heart beats fast . . . I'm running. I don't know from what, I can't remember. Sweat taints my forehead as I concentrate on getting away from It. The drums beat faster, harder. Shouts of pain and screams of terror fill the black sky above. Black rain drops beat on the back of my head and neck. I realize that the shouts and screams are coming from me and as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I'm plunging into an seemingly endless dark pit, made of my heart. Jagged points and edges stab into my thighs and arms, I feel the blood drip down my body. I scream, loud and piercing. It wont stop. I want it to stop. Just Stop!


I wake up breathing hard, tears covering my face. I silently sit up in bed, looking at my alarm clock. It flashes 12:00-am, and I know that the electricity must've turned off or something. I can't sleep after that. I just stare blankly at my wall, the color barely noticeable in the dimly moon lit room. Now what?


I don't call Marcus, months go by, soon a year. I barely go out, bruises tainting almost every surface of my body. I'm scared. Scared he wont want anything to do with me once he knows how royally messed up I am, scared he'll think I'm a freak, and scared out of my mind about falling in love. But finally, I talk myself into calling him. The phone rings . . . . he answers.
"Hey, Marcus?" I asked the voice on the other line.
"Kaitlyn, is that you?" Marcus asked, completely surprised.
"Yeah . . . I know this is kind of sudden and you probably wont want to, but do you possibly wanna meet up? or something?" I ask, my heart clenching, waiting for his response.
"Ya know, making me wait for a year wasn't exactly what I would call thoughtful." He said, with a slight smile in his voice, mixed with something else.
"Sorry about that. So is that a yes or a no?" I ask, laughing a little.
"It's not a yes --"
My heart deflated, tears starting to fill my eyes instantly.
"It's a hell yes." Marcus said, after a minute of me not saying anything.
I smile at the phone and we hang up. Walking to my room so I can change into something pretty, I feel a tingle, deep in my stomach. Excitement deep in my heart. I went straight to my bathroom grabbing all my pills, flushing them down the toilet. Its like I saw a light at the end of my tunnel for the first time in my life, it was surreal.
I was finished changing and I walked through the front door. A new me, finally, I could be the person I wanted to be. Marcus was the first person to say my name directly in over five years. It felt strange, yet right. I was finally happy.

Whatever that meant . . .

The End

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 08.07.2010

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