I gritted my teeth against the pain and horror of what I was about to do.
I had to do this. I had to. I hurt so much inside, I just couldn't bare
to keep on living. Maybe if I was a little bit closer to eighteen, a
little bit closer to being able to move away to college, away from
everything in this damn house...but two years seemed so far away...there
would be no way in hell I would be able to survive two more years of this
torture, two more years of this abuse.
Tears ran freely down my face. I didn't even bother to rub them away. I had to do this. It would end it all. I could finally be happy...that word seemed so out of place in my world. Non existant, a myth, a faerie tale...
I locked the door to my room and dumped my "treasures" onto my bed.
Treasures.
The things I could commit suicide with. Anything and everything I could think of that could end my life I grabbed and smuggled into my room. Now it was just a matter of chosing my end. I looked at the several poisons I had collected. Bleache, dishwasher soap, glass cleaner, one of those little packets of preservatives you find inside leather purses and such...a strong possiblilty.
I pushed the bucket of water and the matches aside. I had considered drowning myself or burning myself alive, but...those seemed rather painful, and I'm not that great with pain...the plastic shopping bag would work though. Suffocating in carbon dioxide was a lot different than drowning in water. You'd pass out from lack of oxygen long before you'd actually die. Yes, the plastic bag was definantly an option.
I picked up the large butcher knife by its wooden handle. A quick jab in the heart or the neck and I'd be free. A little bit of pain, but after all I've been through, tolerable.
Then my eyes fell upon the small yet deadly razor blade. Yes, the razor, with it's dangerously sharp edge...I couldn't help but smile as I carefully picked it up...this could be it, the one thing that could make me happy for the rest of time. I gently ran my index finger over the paper-thin edge of the blade. It was so sharp it cut my skin painlessly. I just had to laugh. This was it, this was the thing I had been looking for. A nice painless end of bleeding to death. I squeezed my finger, watching in awe as dark crimson red blood began oozing out in a small but steady trickle. It dripped off my finger and onto my off-white carpet, leaving a nice round stain. I continued squeezing it until I had extracted enough blood to write "fuck you all" in small letters on my floor. I giggled in delight, yes, my final words to those bitches. Let them find me, let them find my bloody dead body with my message.
Fuck you all.
I sighed, serious again, and looked closely at the razor blade, its edge sticky and red from my blood. Was it really worth it? Was it really worth killing myself just to get away from all this?
A fresh wave of tears hit me and I couldn't help my body from shaking violently with each heart-wrenching sob. Yes, it was worth everything. I had to do it. I rolled up the sleeve of my left arm, exposing the countless wounds. Looking down at the swollen black bruises and infected cuts and scrapes emboldened me, streingthened me. Wherever I ended up, Heaven or Hell, I knew I wouldn't have any of these hiddeous scars anymore.
My mother. So nice, so cheerful around everyone else...who would ever think she could be so cruel, so violent...? She had come at me with knives, sticks, glass, even her own fists, she had struck me, had beaten me so many times I hardly felt it anymore. Well she wouldn't be able to torture me any longer. No sir. Fuck you bitch.
I thought of all my teachers at school. All snobbish, all egotistical. They needed someone to pick on, to make some unlucky student's life a living hell...
And I happened to be the "different" one.
Our school is full of the usual preps, jocks, and teeny-boppers, several punks and rebels who don't give a damn about school and who don't give a damn about their grades.
But I was the only different one. The only Goth. The only Goth who actually tried in school, who actually applied herself, who actually tried to get good grades...
The perfect victim.
There wasn't a single adult in my high school who didn't trash my make-up or the way I dress. When I knew the answer to a question, they wouldn't call on me, or would say it was incorrect and make something up. When I didn't know the answer, it didn't matter who had their hands up, they would always call on me, and when I would answer wrongly, they would make a public announcement of it. They were constantly trying so hard to embarass me.
Well not anymore. Fuck you all.
And then my eyes fell upon a picture on my desk. The picture of one of my classmates, Jason Rendleman. I had always had a HUGE crush on him for as long as I could remember. I had always been completely obsessed with him, and have truely been in love with him forever.
And just today I had finally gained enough courage to tell him how I feel, to ask him out.
And he called me a whore. "Right, like I'd go out with a little whore like you? Fuck off, bitch."
Like I'd ever want to go out with a mother fucking jackass like you!! I don't know how I could have ever thought he was amazing! "You bastard!" I cursed at him, snatching his picture off my desk top and ripping it in half. "You selfish son of a bitch! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you, you mother fucking asshole...!" I collapsed sobbing on the floor.
I hated my parents. My dad for walking out on me a little bit before my third birthday, and my mom for being the heartless demonic bitch that she is now, always finding a way to make everything that went wrong my fault and then taking her anger out on me. I hated all the teachers and students at my school for always making fun of me, and most of all I hated Jason Rendleman, for judging me on my looks, not even giving me a chance, just like everyone else! I rolled over onto my back and felt my hand brush up against something. The box of matches. A grim smile made its way across my lips.
"Burn in hell, Jason," I whispered to myself, grabbing the box, striking the match on the side, and setting fire to the two halves of what was once my most prized posession. "Burn in hell, Jason!" I shrieked louder. I dropped the two burning pieces into my metal trash can and watched as they smouldered and crackled satasfyingly at the bottom.
"How, Jason?" I choked out as I started crying heavilly again. My tears blurred my vision so much, it almost completely blinded me. "How?! How can you call me a whore, me - who's still a virgin - while you go around necking with all the slutty cheerleaders and popular fags?! How?!" I threw the match box against the wall as hard as I could, but it only made a loud smack and fell harmlessly to the floor. It was time. I had to do it now. "I hate you! I hate every one of you! Fuck you all!" I yelled to the sky, picking up the razor blade again.
They would regret everything. All of them would regret everything they ever did to me when they found me dead. Oh yes, let it haunt their conciences for the rest of their lives. I took a deep breath and lightly ran the razor over the barely visible purple veins in the inside of my left wrist, making a shallow cut. It didn't hurt at all. C'mon, Caitie. It won't hurt a bit, and you'll be happy. Happy. I told myself. I bit my lip and pressed the blade deeper into my skin, breaking a blood vessil. Blood began to gush out in a constant stream and I almost threw up. I can barely stand the sight of blood; I have the weakest stomach anyone can have.
My tounge felt like it was swelling up, and I felt the back of it grow numb, a sure sign of vomiting, and I began taking slow, deep breaths to steady myself. In fact, I was concentrating so hard on my queasy stomach, that I almost didn't hear the small scratching noise at my window behind me. My ears picked up the sound of it, but I didn't give it much thought and continued on with my work, making an even deeper slash in my skin. It was probably just a stray branch, or a bird or bug of some kind.
But the tapping became louder, until it could be distinguished as a knock. I still didn't turn around. My window was locked, I had made sure of that before I had started my gruesome task. Whoever was there couldn't see what I was up to, as I had my back to them, and by the time they did realize what I was doing, it would be too late, and they would be sorry. Sorry for everything they had ever done to me.
But the knocking didn't stop, and then I could hear a muffled, but very familiar voice, call out, "Caitie! Caitie! Hey, your window's locked. Open up!"
Even without looking, I knew who was there. That voice belonged to my friend, Jamie Waite. One of the only friends I have ever had. One of the scarce few that I felt I could actually talk to, that liked me for me and didn't care what I looked like, or did. It would be sad leaving him, but it just wasn't worth staying on this earth any longer.
"Cai-tie!!!" He called again. I sighed and looked down at my bleeding wrists. Soon...but I should at least say good bye first. So, taking another deep breath, I turned around, my bloody arms and the razor blade clearly visible. "Good bye," I whispered, knowing he would be able to read my lips through the glass. "Thanks for everything."
I watched as the confused look in his eye changed to a shocked one as it finally dawned on him and he realized what my intent was. I watched as his face turned white, and I watched as he frantically began clawing at my window sill, trying vainly to open it, but I didn't move from my spot. Instead I only turned back around and tried to shut out the sounds of my former best friend as I took up the small wepon in my left hand and began shredding my right wrist.
"Oh...oh...oh, shit...oh, shit, Caitie! Caitie! Stop, Caitie! Stop! Stop! Let me in!" He was banging on my window with both fists now, trying to get my attention.
I'm sorry, Jamie, I thought to myself. But I can't...I just can't. I started doing the same to my right hand as I did to my left. I would start out with a shallow cut, and work deeper and deeper until I had severed several blood vessil and both arms were bleeding profusely. Then I would simply...wait. Wait for the end.
I inhaled sharply at the loud sound of shattering glass, and spun around just in time to see Jaime leap through the window and tackle me. "Jamie! Stop! Get off of me! I have to do this! Have to!"
"No! Caitie, why?!" he answered, his voice strained with all his efforts being put into trying to hold onto my thrashing form.
"Because!" I yelled back. I managed to slip out of his grasp and began crawling away on my hands and knees, but he easilly jumped me again. "Get...off!" I elbowed him in the stomach, which stunned him for a few precious seconds. Just enough time for me to get up and scramble to the door, still on my knees. If I could get out in the hall, I could get to the bathroom and finish this there. Ha! I managed to reach the door, and turned the knob...but it didn't turn. What? Oh! Stupid! I locked the door! Duh!
Jamie finally recovered from my sudden attack and started once again towards me.
No! He couldn't stop me! No one could! I had to unlock the door! But in my hurry, my fingers weren't working right. I fumbled with the lock, trying to unlock it, but I wasn't fast enough. Jamie grabbed my left arm, the one holding the razor, and tried to wrestle it away from me.
"Jamie! Let me go!" I shrieked. I tried to twist away from him, but I ended up creating a long slice in his arm. I froze for a moment; I hadn't meant to do that, but Jamie didn't seem to notice it and I soon forgot it. "Let go!" I slapped him several times with my free arm, but nothing I could do could phase him. It wasn't long before he succeded in tearing the razor from my grasp and chucking it across the room. It clinked off the wall and landed somewhere behind my nightstand.
Defeated and too weak to go on, I allowed Jamie to pin me down, sitting on my stomach and restraining my arms with his strong grip. I couldn't help it, tears started streaming from my eyes. I looked up and was surprised to see Jamie was crying as well. "Caitie, why?" he asked shakilly. "Why? Why do you feel like you have to kill yourself?"
"Because!" I sobbed stubbornly.
"Because isn't an answer! Why?! Why do you feel like you have to leave me?! And everyone else who cares about you?!"
"No one cares about me!"
"That's not true-"
"It is! No one loves me! I have no reson to live! Please...just let me do this..."
"No! No, Caitie! I won't, and none of that is true! I...I love you!"
My breath caught in my throught. Jamie...Jamie loves me? Jamie, the guy I could never have imagined being any more than a friend to me, really loves me? "J...Jamie?" I stammered, blinking in surprise and disbelief.
He got off me, allowing me to sit up, and fell back onto his knees, staring down at the floor, his ears a bright red. "Well, it's true," he muttered.
I still sat there frozen in place, looking down at my still bleeding wrists. Jamie...Jamie loves me...was he worth living for? Did I *really* have to do this?
He quickly regained his composure and hugged me for a moment before grabbing the blanket off my bed and using it to stop the blood flow. "Thank you, Jamie," I whispered. He glanced back up at me, flashed a smile, and continued applying pressure to my lacerations.
"It's times like these when I'm kinda glad I'm on that stupid EMT squad," he laughed bitterly.
"Thank you Jamie...for loving me...as much as I hurt inside sometimes...all this doesn't seem as terrible anymore...just to know that one person cares...thanks so much."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Tears ran freely down my face. I didn't even bother to rub them away. I had to do this. It would end it all. I could finally be happy...that word seemed so out of place in my world. Non existant, a myth, a faerie tale...
I locked the door to my room and dumped my "treasures" onto my bed.
Treasures.
The things I could commit suicide with. Anything and everything I could think of that could end my life I grabbed and smuggled into my room. Now it was just a matter of chosing my end. I looked at the several poisons I had collected. Bleache, dishwasher soap, glass cleaner, one of those little packets of preservatives you find inside leather purses and such...a strong possiblilty.
I pushed the bucket of water and the matches aside. I had considered drowning myself or burning myself alive, but...those seemed rather painful, and I'm not that great with pain...the plastic shopping bag would work though. Suffocating in carbon dioxide was a lot different than drowning in water. You'd pass out from lack of oxygen long before you'd actually die. Yes, the plastic bag was definantly an option.
I picked up the large butcher knife by its wooden handle. A quick jab in the heart or the neck and I'd be free. A little bit of pain, but after all I've been through, tolerable.
Then my eyes fell upon the small yet deadly razor blade. Yes, the razor, with it's dangerously sharp edge...I couldn't help but smile as I carefully picked it up...this could be it, the one thing that could make me happy for the rest of time. I gently ran my index finger over the paper-thin edge of the blade. It was so sharp it cut my skin painlessly. I just had to laugh. This was it, this was the thing I had been looking for. A nice painless end of bleeding to death. I squeezed my finger, watching in awe as dark crimson red blood began oozing out in a small but steady trickle. It dripped off my finger and onto my off-white carpet, leaving a nice round stain. I continued squeezing it until I had extracted enough blood to write "fuck you all" in small letters on my floor. I giggled in delight, yes, my final words to those bitches. Let them find me, let them find my bloody dead body with my message.
Fuck you all.
I sighed, serious again, and looked closely at the razor blade, its edge sticky and red from my blood. Was it really worth it? Was it really worth killing myself just to get away from all this?
A fresh wave of tears hit me and I couldn't help my body from shaking violently with each heart-wrenching sob. Yes, it was worth everything. I had to do it. I rolled up the sleeve of my left arm, exposing the countless wounds. Looking down at the swollen black bruises and infected cuts and scrapes emboldened me, streingthened me. Wherever I ended up, Heaven or Hell, I knew I wouldn't have any of these hiddeous scars anymore.
My mother. So nice, so cheerful around everyone else...who would ever think she could be so cruel, so violent...? She had come at me with knives, sticks, glass, even her own fists, she had struck me, had beaten me so many times I hardly felt it anymore. Well she wouldn't be able to torture me any longer. No sir. Fuck you bitch.
I thought of all my teachers at school. All snobbish, all egotistical. They needed someone to pick on, to make some unlucky student's life a living hell...
And I happened to be the "different" one.
Our school is full of the usual preps, jocks, and teeny-boppers, several punks and rebels who don't give a damn about school and who don't give a damn about their grades.
But I was the only different one. The only Goth. The only Goth who actually tried in school, who actually applied herself, who actually tried to get good grades...
The perfect victim.
There wasn't a single adult in my high school who didn't trash my make-up or the way I dress. When I knew the answer to a question, they wouldn't call on me, or would say it was incorrect and make something up. When I didn't know the answer, it didn't matter who had their hands up, they would always call on me, and when I would answer wrongly, they would make a public announcement of it. They were constantly trying so hard to embarass me.
Well not anymore. Fuck you all.
And then my eyes fell upon a picture on my desk. The picture of one of my classmates, Jason Rendleman. I had always had a HUGE crush on him for as long as I could remember. I had always been completely obsessed with him, and have truely been in love with him forever.
And just today I had finally gained enough courage to tell him how I feel, to ask him out.
And he called me a whore. "Right, like I'd go out with a little whore like you? Fuck off, bitch."
Like I'd ever want to go out with a mother fucking jackass like you!! I don't know how I could have ever thought he was amazing! "You bastard!" I cursed at him, snatching his picture off my desk top and ripping it in half. "You selfish son of a bitch! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you, you mother fucking asshole...!" I collapsed sobbing on the floor.
I hated my parents. My dad for walking out on me a little bit before my third birthday, and my mom for being the heartless demonic bitch that she is now, always finding a way to make everything that went wrong my fault and then taking her anger out on me. I hated all the teachers and students at my school for always making fun of me, and most of all I hated Jason Rendleman, for judging me on my looks, not even giving me a chance, just like everyone else! I rolled over onto my back and felt my hand brush up against something. The box of matches. A grim smile made its way across my lips.
"Burn in hell, Jason," I whispered to myself, grabbing the box, striking the match on the side, and setting fire to the two halves of what was once my most prized posession. "Burn in hell, Jason!" I shrieked louder. I dropped the two burning pieces into my metal trash can and watched as they smouldered and crackled satasfyingly at the bottom.
"How, Jason?" I choked out as I started crying heavilly again. My tears blurred my vision so much, it almost completely blinded me. "How?! How can you call me a whore, me - who's still a virgin - while you go around necking with all the slutty cheerleaders and popular fags?! How?!" I threw the match box against the wall as hard as I could, but it only made a loud smack and fell harmlessly to the floor. It was time. I had to do it now. "I hate you! I hate every one of you! Fuck you all!" I yelled to the sky, picking up the razor blade again.
They would regret everything. All of them would regret everything they ever did to me when they found me dead. Oh yes, let it haunt their conciences for the rest of their lives. I took a deep breath and lightly ran the razor over the barely visible purple veins in the inside of my left wrist, making a shallow cut. It didn't hurt at all. C'mon, Caitie. It won't hurt a bit, and you'll be happy. Happy. I told myself. I bit my lip and pressed the blade deeper into my skin, breaking a blood vessil. Blood began to gush out in a constant stream and I almost threw up. I can barely stand the sight of blood; I have the weakest stomach anyone can have.
My tounge felt like it was swelling up, and I felt the back of it grow numb, a sure sign of vomiting, and I began taking slow, deep breaths to steady myself. In fact, I was concentrating so hard on my queasy stomach, that I almost didn't hear the small scratching noise at my window behind me. My ears picked up the sound of it, but I didn't give it much thought and continued on with my work, making an even deeper slash in my skin. It was probably just a stray branch, or a bird or bug of some kind.
But the tapping became louder, until it could be distinguished as a knock. I still didn't turn around. My window was locked, I had made sure of that before I had started my gruesome task. Whoever was there couldn't see what I was up to, as I had my back to them, and by the time they did realize what I was doing, it would be too late, and they would be sorry. Sorry for everything they had ever done to me.
But the knocking didn't stop, and then I could hear a muffled, but very familiar voice, call out, "Caitie! Caitie! Hey, your window's locked. Open up!"
Even without looking, I knew who was there. That voice belonged to my friend, Jamie Waite. One of the only friends I have ever had. One of the scarce few that I felt I could actually talk to, that liked me for me and didn't care what I looked like, or did. It would be sad leaving him, but it just wasn't worth staying on this earth any longer.
"Cai-tie!!!" He called again. I sighed and looked down at my bleeding wrists. Soon...but I should at least say good bye first. So, taking another deep breath, I turned around, my bloody arms and the razor blade clearly visible. "Good bye," I whispered, knowing he would be able to read my lips through the glass. "Thanks for everything."
I watched as the confused look in his eye changed to a shocked one as it finally dawned on him and he realized what my intent was. I watched as his face turned white, and I watched as he frantically began clawing at my window sill, trying vainly to open it, but I didn't move from my spot. Instead I only turned back around and tried to shut out the sounds of my former best friend as I took up the small wepon in my left hand and began shredding my right wrist.
"Oh...oh...oh, shit...oh, shit, Caitie! Caitie! Stop, Caitie! Stop! Stop! Let me in!" He was banging on my window with both fists now, trying to get my attention.
I'm sorry, Jamie, I thought to myself. But I can't...I just can't. I started doing the same to my right hand as I did to my left. I would start out with a shallow cut, and work deeper and deeper until I had severed several blood vessil and both arms were bleeding profusely. Then I would simply...wait. Wait for the end.
I inhaled sharply at the loud sound of shattering glass, and spun around just in time to see Jaime leap through the window and tackle me. "Jamie! Stop! Get off of me! I have to do this! Have to!"
"No! Caitie, why?!" he answered, his voice strained with all his efforts being put into trying to hold onto my thrashing form.
"Because!" I yelled back. I managed to slip out of his grasp and began crawling away on my hands and knees, but he easilly jumped me again. "Get...off!" I elbowed him in the stomach, which stunned him for a few precious seconds. Just enough time for me to get up and scramble to the door, still on my knees. If I could get out in the hall, I could get to the bathroom and finish this there. Ha! I managed to reach the door, and turned the knob...but it didn't turn. What? Oh! Stupid! I locked the door! Duh!
Jamie finally recovered from my sudden attack and started once again towards me.
No! He couldn't stop me! No one could! I had to unlock the door! But in my hurry, my fingers weren't working right. I fumbled with the lock, trying to unlock it, but I wasn't fast enough. Jamie grabbed my left arm, the one holding the razor, and tried to wrestle it away from me.
"Jamie! Let me go!" I shrieked. I tried to twist away from him, but I ended up creating a long slice in his arm. I froze for a moment; I hadn't meant to do that, but Jamie didn't seem to notice it and I soon forgot it. "Let go!" I slapped him several times with my free arm, but nothing I could do could phase him. It wasn't long before he succeded in tearing the razor from my grasp and chucking it across the room. It clinked off the wall and landed somewhere behind my nightstand.
Defeated and too weak to go on, I allowed Jamie to pin me down, sitting on my stomach and restraining my arms with his strong grip. I couldn't help it, tears started streaming from my eyes. I looked up and was surprised to see Jamie was crying as well. "Caitie, why?" he asked shakilly. "Why? Why do you feel like you have to kill yourself?"
"Because!" I sobbed stubbornly.
"Because isn't an answer! Why?! Why do you feel like you have to leave me?! And everyone else who cares about you?!"
"No one cares about me!"
"That's not true-"
"It is! No one loves me! I have no reson to live! Please...just let me do this..."
"No! No, Caitie! I won't, and none of that is true! I...I love you!"
My breath caught in my throught. Jamie...Jamie loves me? Jamie, the guy I could never have imagined being any more than a friend to me, really loves me? "J...Jamie?" I stammered, blinking in surprise and disbelief.
He got off me, allowing me to sit up, and fell back onto his knees, staring down at the floor, his ears a bright red. "Well, it's true," he muttered.
I still sat there frozen in place, looking down at my still bleeding wrists. Jamie...Jamie loves me...was he worth living for? Did I *really* have to do this?
He quickly regained his composure and hugged me for a moment before grabbing the blanket off my bed and using it to stop the blood flow. "Thank you, Jamie," I whispered. He glanced back up at me, flashed a smile, and continued applying pressure to my lacerations.
"It's times like these when I'm kinda glad I'm on that stupid EMT squad," he laughed bitterly.
"Thank you Jamie...for loving me...as much as I hurt inside sometimes...all this doesn't seem as terrible anymore...just to know that one person cares...thanks so much."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*