TW: Su1c1de, Death, Abuse, and Substance Abuse
She took out the knife.
Although many people consider her to be- in a sense- the perfect girl, she never really thought about that for herself.
She took out her phone.
Her fingers, controlled by the inner her, pressed numbers.
“Hello? ______? Are you there? Where have you been? We’re worried sick about you!”
The girl didn’t even attempt to answer-she knew the connection was way too bad for the other person to hear her voice.
“______! Answer! Are you kidnapped? Are you safe? Hello?”
The girl turned over the knife.
The call ended.
The girl laughed, a shaky one. The laugh somehow twisted into a wail of sorrow and hurt. Her friend couldn’t understand her! No one will ever! Ever!
Her fingers pressed the numbers again.
“___! Hey, are you okay? You’ve been missing for a while, so I’m surprised that you called me! But do ya wanna come to my friend’s birthday party? There will be a lot of-”
The call disconnected.
The girl threw a glass bottle across the room.
It hit the wall, exploding with the force of a ton of bricks stamping the ground. The girl’s anger also intensified at the exact same moment.
Curse Robin, curse her! She only cared about herself, the damned moron! Always inviting people to her stupid friends parties, sleepovers, hangouts! At least Megara cared about her safety, Robin didn’t even bother asking if she was fine!
She wasn’t fine! SHE WASN’T FINE!
Calm down, she told herself. At least the call disconnected on its own.
Her blasted fingers slammed the buttons on the phone for the third time.
“Where HAVE you been, __________________? Escaping your house and home to leave and get another boyfriend? Or are you buying drugs? Or wasting our hard-earned money again, foolish girl? You sneaky fool! Come back home immediately!”
This time, the call didn’t disconnect on it’s own.
The girl brought down the knife on the phone in fury, stabbing it and breaking the case, throwing it on the floor, and smashing it with her foot. Then she snapped the phone in half and threw it out the window.
Animosity and disgust gripped her already damaged and fragile brain. How dare her stepmother! The ugly woman never even loved her anyway! And accusing her of all those things- How dare she? When she’s the one that was drunk everyday, she was the one that ignored the girl’s begs and pleads for mercy when her stupid husband whipped the girl for- nothing at all! NOTHING!
She sneaked in her stepfather’s house, praying that her step-parents wouldn’t catch her. She thought, “Returning only one hour late isn’t that bad!” but really, that was just herself hoping.
“So...Thought you could get away, eh?”
The girl flinched.
The man was sitting in his rocking chair, with his feet facing the fireplace.
“You, girl, thought you could be so late, huh?”
At that moment the man’s wife, whom he had only married because of her money, stumbled in with a bottle of white wine in her hand. Her face, once pretty, now was disfigured and awful to look at.
“Give her what she deserves! G-g-give her ALL OF IT! THAT FILTHY, STUPID BRAT!”
The woman had worked herself into a rage, and the man stepped out of his chair.
The girl backed up.
“P-Please, sir, I-I- I wasn’t planning to be late! I was held up, and-”
“EXCUSES!” Belted the man, his disgusting face stained with beer and scars, his balding head smeared with white hair.
“YOU DEFORMED DEVIL! I’LL KILL YOU!”
He took out a dull butcher knife.
The neighbors were way too drunk to hear the screams and sobs.
The girl missed two months of school.
No one cried at his funeral.
The girl stood there, unfeeling to the world.
Her bandaged hands were tightly clenched together.
No one put anything memorable on his headstone.
The girl stared at her always drunk stepmother's face.
She didn’t look depressed- She didn’t even look remotely sad.
“This woman is probably happy her damned husband died. Hell, she probably already took- stole all of his money already.”
No one gave a speech.
Her stepfather was shot.
Shot by the police after driving to a store, pulling out a gun, and shooting ten people and indirectly harming thirty-seven people by knocking down shelves.
Fifteen people died.
Her stepfather stole only money and beer. The police caught up to him after nine minutes.
He died in two.
The gun was recovered and given back to his widow, the girl’s stepmother.
No one cared. No one even really wanted to go to the funeral.
They went anyway, to get drunk.
The girl hated every single one of them. Every single one. They all were spoiled, stupid, simple adults. They didn’t care about her!
No one cared, after all.
The sky didn’t even care about the death! It was bright and sunny!
When they went home, the first thing her stepmother did was slap her, very hard.
“You. Girl. Go to your room. I have stuff to do.”
The girl silently went up the stairs.
“More like getting drunk on wine again and coming up to beat the crap outta me.”
She went to-not her room- but her step parents room.
And took out the gun that her step father used.
And also grabbed the knife.
The girl touched her finger on the knife.
Before she did anything, she decided on one last call.
She pressed the numbers on her emergency phone.
“... … …”
The call disconnected.
She slammed the phone on the creaky table. Of course they wouldn’t pick up. OF COURSE! She’s a half-baked idiot if she thinks her “Friend group” that’s “always there for her” would ACTUALLY help.
She picked up the knife, and in one smooth motion, sliced her neck open. Blood started flowing from the cut.
A single tear rolled down the girl’s face and dripped on the floor.
She died with a smile on her face, though.
Because she was finally free.
Hello, person who is reading this.
If you are reading this, you have found my body.
I did this because my life was torture. It was like a dream that I could never wake up from.
I wanted to live a better life, get a better dream to live in.
Please, take my last wish with you, the person that found my note, and live a better life than me, and give your kids a better life too.
Don’t end up like me.
Cecilia Desdemonda Akuji