Chapter 1

I've Decided

I TURN THE CORNER a sad smile playing on my lips as I reach The Crypt, a Goth hang out. My usual hyper mood not so hyper anymore. Partially from sugar withdrawal because I stopped eating my precious Pixi Stix this morning. The other reason being that I'm going to tell my friends what my life is like at home. They always ask but I never tell them. They don't realize what the hell called my life is like. They don't know that yesterday my dad beat the hell out of me because I didn't get him more Vodka- his poison of choice- the day before. I know that once they see my face they will think I got in a fight with Bill and Tom, some bullies that mess with me and someone a year older than me; some Vladimir Tod person. The problem is that I would always say that they beat me up instead of telling the truth. The only reason I'm going to tell my friends is because I've decided to off myself. I want them to stop me not physically because I'm not going to tell them what I've chosen, but I want them to at least give me a hint that they care about me. That I'm not alone in this world. I don't want to die. I just know that I would like to be in control of some part of my life and if that control comes with killing myself then so be it. As I think this I slip my hand into the front pocket of my baggy jeans feeling the cool metal of the razor I placed there just before I left the house. Shaking my head of my thoughts I step through the door and down the red hall full of empty photo frames. The color of the walls reminding me of the color of blood. The music getting louder with every step I take until I walk into the club where it feels almost like my ears will start bleeding. The whole room is pretty dark save for the couches across the room. There are strobe lights and colored spotlights all over. There are even those laser things that move making all kinds of different designs across the dance floor. I see a big group of people out on the dance floor dancing while others are by the small snack bar sitting at tables reading or talking to friends. I look through the crowd of dancers not seeing any of my friends so I turn towards the couches and see them all talking and looking around the room nervously. In our group there are five of us. We are as close as family. In age order there is Kristoff who is 14 then October who is a month younger then Kristoff. After October there is Andrew a couple days younger- who happens to be gay- then there is Snow who is 13 almost 14 and is 3 months younger than Andrew. Last but not least there is me. I'm Sprat says so on my birth certificate. I'm 12 almost 13 and a year younger then Snow. Kristoff is like the big brother and I'm the baby.

I start to walk over to them when October sees me so she runs to me not seeing my face until she is right in front of me. She gasps at how bad it is, "Oh My God Sprat! What the hell happened to you? Did you get in another fight with Bill and Tom?" she asks going into big sister mode. She sounds so worried about me it hurts knowing that I will probably be dead by the morning.

All I can reply is, "No it wasn't them." My eyes prickling as tears threaten to come. I force the tears back as she pulls me to the couches to see my face better. I sit down and let everyone get a good look at my face, covered in black, blue, and purple splotches. Red welts and my normal pale skin. A lot of people would probably say I looked like the gothic rainbow. I hear a collective gasp going into older sibling mode. They bombard me with questions. With all of them talking at once I can't tell who's saying what. Cutting them all off I say, "My dad." My voice is still more like a kids because I haven't quite reached puberty yet.

They all go quiet until Snow asks, "What did you say?"

"I said my dad. He did this." Forcing my voice louder.

All of their eyes widen in surprise and I hear yet another collective gasp. They slowly sit back down next to me and finally Kristoff says, "How long?"

"How long has my dad been beating the hell out of me?" He manages a nod. "Well as long as I can remember really. My mom is worse than my dad though. Remember when you guys asked me about the scars on my hands?" They nod. "I lied, my mom was high and she thought it was funny to take my hands and put them on the hot stove just to hear me scream. At least from what I remember. I was only two at the time. "

All of their eyes widen again then furrow in confusion. Then Kristoff asks, "What do you mean high?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes reminding myself that this is serious. "High as in doing drugs high. What other kind of high is there? My mom's an addict, right now her poison of choice is coke and heroine but a few years ago it was speed and pain pills. Then she did meth and weed but she never does more than two at a time. My dad on the other hand is just a drunk. He needs to stay drunk or he can get a little violent-"

October cuts me off, "A little? Are you crazy! Look at you! He turned your face into hamburger! Sprat he's going to kill you!"

After she finishes her rant I hear Snow mumble, "Not if his mom gets to him first."

At that October walks out. I call after her. "October! Wait!" but it's too late she was already out the door. I then turn to Snow and say, "Great job Snow now she hates you."

Snow glares at me yelling, "Shut up sprat!" as she too runs out the door. Now I have my answer: they don't care. I excuse myself to the bathroom where I sit down on the cold tile floor leaning against the wall. I pull the razor out of my pocket placing the corner of it in the spot where my palm ends and my wrist begins. I slowly drag the blade down my arm the corner cutting through the flesh like a hot knife through butter. A long line of blood starts falling down my arm and slowly almost painfully so drips to the tile floor at my elbow. The bite of the blade making me forget everything around me and all I see, think, and feel is the blood and the pain. I smile a little feeling more in control than I have ever felt in my entire life. I look at the cut taking the corner of the razor to pull apart where the flesh is cut and I see that I split the vein right in two. Feeling the need to do it again my body craving the pain I slice through the flesh over and over moving faster and faster each time. I am quickly out of room on my arm the flesh looking like it was mangled by some kind of animal so I switch arms cutting through my left arm now starting out slow then each slice being faster and faster. I am out of room even sooner and my body craving more but being too weak to even lift my arm. I look around the floor feeling the hot sticky blood clinging my pants to my legs and my shirt to my chest. The whole floor is covered with red. I lay my head back against the wall and slowly go in and out of consciousness. When I'm finally too weak to stay awake I think my last thoughts. Too bad no one cares. Then my world goes black and I embrace death.