Dont close your eyes, dont fall asleep, ı gıve my all just to see you breathe. A story about a gırl wıth ıssues.
I shut my eyes and listened to the cool peaceful breeze. Just by doing this I was much calmer than before. Opened my eyes and reached for my phone. In this kind of situations, I always liked calling my mum. She always helped me out but lately she never answered my calls from the hard work at nights ad not having to live life normally. I mean I understand, I’m not on her first priorities now. I dialed my mother’s number and in a few second I was frowning from the voice mailbox. I chucked my phone on my bed and groaned. I started to wonder why I ended up in this hell hole aka my dad’s house.
Well it pretty much started when my mother’s work shift has changed because of her boss and she had to work at night instead of day meaning she couldn’t look after me. I even tried to persuade her that I was fine on my own but she thought that I would just get up to mischief. So she decided that I was better off living at my dad. I tried to beg her not to send me here, she knew I hated my dad but didn’t listen. I really wont forgive her for that. Ever.
There are many reasons as to why I hated my dad. The main one was that he abused my mother and I when I was younger. There really wasn’t a good enough reason as to why he abused us, maybe it was his hobby. I remember one time when I was about 9, my father was asking me basic maths questions and I had to solve the answer in my head alone. I had one answer incorrect and he bashed me for it. It was ridiculous really. But I had to put up with it for so many years until my mother decided that it was better off that they were separated. I was so unbelievably happy. To get away from dad was like a dream come true. Starting a new life with my mother seemed to be a great decision to do.
So here I am hugging my knees and not making a noise, just letting my tears fall down my cheeks without a sound. He bashed me the other day for not making him spaghetti. But it wasn’t my fault, there was no spaghetti in the house and seeing that I wasn’t allowed to leave the house unless accompanied by my dad, so I had to just make him chicken soup instead which he was not happy about.
I sighed and wished that I had a slightly more normal life, like a normal family and stuff. Before I could wish any further my door slammed open and in came my father, his face was so red and fierce. I let out a gasp and hugged myself tighter than before. This did not look good. I was too afraid to say anything so instead I watched him helplessly close the distance between us. I looked so vulnerable like a lamb and a big fierce lion.
“Elora,” he sang.
I felt myself shiver, “Yes?” I stuttered.
“you didn’t iron my clothes,” he grinned evilly.
“Y-y-you d-didn’t tell me to.”
Here’s the deal with my father, you only do as you’re told. If he doesn’t mention doing something you, then you don’t do it.
“what now? don’t you have common sense?!” he roared. “Wasn’t it obvious that my clothes needed to be ironed?”
“I-I didn’t know,” I slowly stood up to mach his height. “I’m sorry, I’ll do it now.”
“No I’m not done with you yet.”
“You are just a stupid child Elora, I know you agree with me. You don’t understand anything do you? Well judging from your hair and the way you dress which resembles you as a whore, you don’t. your mother hasn’t raised you properly.”
Well that did it. “It’s not concern as to how I dress and surely my mother did a better job than you!” I stood still, darn, I did it again.
“Don’t you talk back to me!” he pulled my hair and smacked my face.
“I’m sorry!” I squeaked and tried to move away but he handled my hair painfully and pushed me back to the wall.
“Too late for your sorry!” he yelled.
I don’t remember from there, just him bashing me really. Nothing new. It happens all the time.
I crawled next to my bed and sat against it. I ignored the pains shooting in my body and let myself catch my breath. I was going to bruise pretty badly. I’ve had enough of this. I needed out. I reached for my drawer and pulled out a dull colored piece of metal. I’ve tried almost everything to get out of this and simply no one wants to help me. Doing this has crossed my mind so often that I’ve considered it many times but never had the courage o go all the way. Well this time I was not being a chicken. I knew that doing this will get me out of here but also it provided me with sacrificing everything I had except my soul. Fair enough, I hated life anyway.
I placed the dull pieve of razor on my wrist and looked up to the pain colored ceiling. With a small movement I felt blood gushing out. I bit my bottom lip as the pain overwhelmed me but it actually felt good to just let out all the pain. After a few more movements I knew I have done enough already. I didn’t like the sight of blood but I brought up the courage to look down and see the damage that I’ve done to my wrist. My jaw dropped to the mess. Blood started staining my favourite jeans. I quickly used my free hand to pull out as small shopping bag from under my bed. In it I found a packet of painkillers that I’ve saved since I moved here in case of an emergency. Well this was an emergency.
I made sure I swallowed a handful of pills and then leaned back on my bed lazily. I felt my head get fuzzy from the loss of blood and I began to smile. I just sat limply there and waited for death to overcome me.
Thıs fıc ıs half true, as ın ıt happened to me
But really I got bored
So ıt doesnt matter ıf you revıew ıt or not