FicWad

"Your father..." she began.
"What about my father?" I went cold, and I could already feel the claws of despair and depression scratching lightly at my face.
"He isn't coming back. I'm sorry Isabelle, he passed away," she said softly.
What she said changed my life forever. I fell, I fell back to where I was before. All the happiness I had found, it was all gone. Useless. Was it even truly there in the first place? Right at that moment I forgot what happiness was. I still felt love, but death was hacking at it, trying to rip it apart and take it away from me, like it had taken my father.
"No, you're lying," I heard myself whisper. "YOU'RE LYING, YOU BITCH!"
"Isabelle, I'm sorry, he's gone," she said.
I don't know what made me do it, but I slapped her across the cheek. Hard.
As soon as I realised what I had done I backed away from her, absolutely horrified at what I had done. Tears were rolling down my face, my throat was aching, and Jason's arms were around me.
"NO!" I screamed. "GET OFF ME, YOU'RE ALL LYING, I HATE YOU, GO AWAY!"
"Izzy, calm down, it's okay," Jason said, trying to comfort me. He could try, but he couldn't accomplish.
"GO AWAY, I WANT MY DADDY! GET ME MY DADDY! I WANT MY DADDY!" I screamed.
"Isabelle, I can't get him, I would if I could, but he's gone," Jason said firmly, yet gently.
"OUT! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!"
"Isa-"
"GO AWAY!" I screamed, tearing my vocal chords apart, louder than I ever had before. It was the scream of a broken woman, not a teenage girl.
"Jason, I think we should leave her alone for a while," Jayne said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you fucking mad? Her father's just died and you want to leave her by herself?!"
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE."
"For a few minutes, Jason, please," Jayne said.
He gave me a short, uneasy, reproachful look, and let Jayne lead him out of the room.
As soon as they left I shut the door and locked it, so they couldn't come back in.
I sank down on to the bed, still sobbing. I lay down, and just closed my eyes and cried. My heart was broken beyond repair. I would never heal. The scars and cuts on my arms will never heal.
Disgusted with myself, I opened the drawer beside the bed, and rummaged through it until I found my blade. 'Not too deep,' I told myself. 'Don't cut a vein!' 'Only one!'
So I pushed and dragged.
And again.
Deeper.
Relief and drowsiness coursed through me.
Again.
One more time.
Just one more.

I forced myself to stop. I knew I hadn't cut too deep, I wasn't in need of medical attention. It was enough. It would temporarily console me. Temporarily I could just forget, bleed and lie down and stare at the ceiling.
"I want my daddy," I whispered, a single tear rolling down my cheek before I fell asleep.