Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders.
Warning: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, emotional/physical abuse, depressing thoughts
I'm born again to apathy, and the world looks brilliant in dull gray. That's my melodramatic way of saying I'm numb inside after my car accident.
First day back from the hospital, and Dad is in the kitchen. He's sitting at our small, mostly unused table, somehow reminiscent of a judge from some ancient civilization. It doesn't frighten me as much as it should.
"It wasn't an accident," Dad says, getting straight to the point.
I'm not even scared as I admit, "No, sir, it wasn't."
Dad's never hit me. He's never had to. I've always been disgustingly obedient, somehow still always falling short of his standards, and yet there's never been any cause for violence. But he backhands me then.
I crack up, because honestly, it's about damn time.
"Why are you laughing?" he snaps.
I'm unable to put into words why I'm so happy that he's finally slapped me. I can already tell it's gonna bruise, and I laugh harder.
He's never seen it, how much it hurts to hear the verbal pain he dishes out. No one ever sees it. I know I'm worthless, but I think people should have a visible measure of the damage they do to others, even those who don't matter.
"Shut up," Dad croaks, afraid. "Just shut the hell up."
I do, but my smile is branded on my face as I leave the room. This new attitude could work out fine.
Dad doesn't visit me at the hospital, not that I can remember anyway. The nurses say he was there until I woke up, and I can tell they're confused about why he hasn't shown up since. I get it. He's busy, and now that I'm out of the woods, he doesn't need to check in.
At least my best friend, Dean, drops by.
"It was an accident," I tell him, repeating the same lie I've been telling everyone who will listen. "I was pretty messed up from…"
Dean knows, because Jay's already been spreading the news all over school. "Yeah."
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Me too."
I think we're still friends, but it's hard to tell for sure. All I know is, we're not okay, and we never will be again. But I don't care about that anymore. I don't care about anything.
Dean tries to warn me about Jason Brice, saying how he's only using me. I take offense, because I'm sixteen and wanna believe that the most popular guy in school is actually into me.
"So what, I'm not pretty enough for him to be interested?"
Dean tries to backpedal. "What? No! That's not what I mean at all, Meg, but you know he's a sneaky bastard."
Sneaky bastard is right. See, it turns out the whole dating me thing was a con for him to win a bet. Yeah, I just gave it up to a boy who laughed in my face and thanked me for being the easiest fifteen dollars he ever made, while I'm stuck wondering how someone could be so cruel.
Yeah, 'cause you were worth at least twenty, says a voice in my head that sounds a lot like Courtney. Boys these days bid low.
It makes me giggle hysterically. It's not funny, but what else can I do when I'm driving home at one in the morning, tears streaming down my face while I contemplate how much of a loser I am?
Did I even get all my clothes? No, I forgot my bra at Jay's, but hey, I remembered my underwear. That's gotta count for something, right?
Except it doesn't count for much at all, and I look for other people to lay the blame on. The guilt weighs down on me, too much for one person to carry.
I try to blame my dad, because he's such an asshole. Maybe if he cared about me, I wouldn't be so desperate to be loved. I would've been confident enough to not sleep with someone just because they lie and say nice things.
Next, I try blaming Dean, but like I said, he warned me. He could've tried harder, though, right? He could've made me listen instead of storming away from me because I was being stubborn. Not much a friend, is he? Except, he is.
Even blaming Jay doesn't work. Sure, what he did was awful, but I was willing. It's not a crime to humiliate someone.
The truth is, I'm just an idiot. Yes, I'm messed up and broken, but that excuse can only stretch so far. I'm the one who chose to ignore all the warning signs. It's on my head.
It's a heavy burden, being the only one at fault, and it hurts so damn bad. It hurts, and I can't breathe, and I want it to stop. I want the world to stop turning. I wanna be something other than pathetic. I wanna die.
The thought stops me cold. I wanna die. I think I have for a while, and I realize I could. If I did, it'd mean no having to tell dad where I've been all night, no having apologize to Dean, no having to face Jay. The thought calms me, and the tears slow down while I plan it out in my mind.
I'm in a car, so it'll be easy. All I have to do is swerve off the road. Hell, maybe they'll even call it an accident, so my family won't know I offed myself. I wanna die.
I take a sharp turn.
"Are you okay?" Emma, my younger half-sister, asks from the hallway.
"Fine," I say, meaning it for once.
Nothing matters. Isn't that amazing?
Her eyes are wide and worried as she sticks her head further in my room, but she's careful to not step inside fully. She knows better. Privacy is highly valued in our house.
"Dad hit you."
I nod. "Yeah, he did. So what?"
"He shouldn't have," she whispers, looking behind her to make sure the coast is clear, like she's telling me some horrible secret.
My hands shake as I reach for my door. "Go away."
The apathy is wearing off, my throat is closing up, and my stomach turns. I'm gonna be sick, and it's all Emma's fault for putting ideas in my head. She's wrong. I had it coming, but it doesn't have to matter to me anymore, because I don't care. I don't. I swear.
No quote this time either. I've had this on reserve for a while and kept editing over and over again. This one has been particularly stressful, because I wanted to make sure the hurt Meg felt was conveyed without romanticizing suicide. Please let me know if I've missed the mark.
