Author: Skytate17

Title: Pressure

Summary: They say high school changes everyone..

Note: here is the second story…… Here's come Z. Enjoy!

Chapter 3 - And I'm Sorry, But This Is My Fate

Why is life worth living?

It's not, in my mind.

I haven't sleeped in weeks. I haven't left my house in nearly a month. I don't answer my phone. I don't reply to emails. I'm very awared that people are worried about me; I don't care. If they were in my position, they'd be in the same state of mind. If they experienced what I experienced, they'd feel the same way.

They don't know what I'm going through right now.

All my friends want me to do is go shopping with them. Talk about boys. Go to parties.

I'm not into that stuff anymore. I never will be again.

At school, I'm popular. A prep. People want to be me, but moreso, people hate me. Half of them don't even know who I am inside. My friends don't even know the real me. I don't even know why I call them my friends. They use me. None of them are real. They're all fake; inside and out. I can't stand half of them. Why did they chose me to be their leader? I don't know. I never will know.

Starting now, I'll never hang out with them again. When school starts tomorrow, I'm ignoring them all. They won't be able to recognize me anyways.

Half of them probably don't even give a shit of what happened to me this summer. They probably don't even know what happened. They won't even care. They'll pretend they do; then they'll forget about it.

I can imagine the situation now. They'll ask me how my trip to Mexico was. I'll tell them I never made it there. They'll brush it off, and just continue talking about their fantastic summer break. They won't even ask why.

I hope they enjoyed theirs, because I didn't.

Seeing your mother kill herself isn't exactly what I call a vacation.

3 months ago..

Z sat in the front seat of her mother's car, next to her in the passenger's seat. She was currently on her way to the movies, where'd she be meeting her best friends. It would be the last time in 3 months she would see them, since she was going to Mexico the next day.

Her mother pulled in front of the movie theatre, and stopped the car. Z turned her head toward her mom, and smiled at her. Her mom placed her hand on her shoulder, and kissed her on the cheek.

"Mom, don't," Z pushed her mom's face away.

"I love you sweetheart. Don't ever forget that."

Z shot her mom a weird look. "Uh, okay." She opened the car door, and slammed it shut, slightly waving as she walked into the theatre. Her arms were hooked onto two of her other best friend's arms, as they walked in unison to the movie they were going to.

Hours later, Z flipped open her cell phone, and called her mother outside the theatre, to come and pick her up. For countless minutes, she tried and tried to call, but she got no answer. She tried her mom's cell; no answer. Z gripped onto her coat, standing in the cold. She could even see her breath.

Finally, she gave up. She started on her way home, alone, in the city. She passed by her friend's houses, but didn't even bother to ask for a ride home, since she was almost there. When she reached her house, she noticed that there were only two lights on in the house: the living room light, and the upstairs bathroom light in her mother's room. Z climbed the stairs into her house, and threw her stuff onto the ground beside the ground. Her dad wasn't home yet, she could see that from his car still missing from the driveway.

"Mom?," Z called up the stairs. She got no reply. Z didn't make anything of it. She was probably in the shower. She plopped herself onto the couch, and turned on the TV. When she laid back, getting comfortable on the couch, she noticed that there was no noise coming from upstairs.

She now becamed worried.

She shot her body from off the couch, and quickly ran up the stairs, directly into her mother's room. She was instantly alarmed when she saw that her mother's bathroom door was locked shut. Running to the door, she realized that she couldn't unlock it from outside the door. It was only able to be unlocked from inside. Z rammed her shoulder into the door, not making it budge at all.

"Fuck," she said under her breath. She banged her fists on the door, screaming for her mom to let her in.

No reply.

Z looked beside her, to see a hammer lying on her father's dresser. He worked at a contruction site, and he always had tools lying around everywhere. She grabbed it, and immediately broke the door down with it.

When she finally made a hole big enough for her to crawl through, she stopped in her tracks.

Her mother was sitting on the toilet, with the seat down, with a piece of glass in her hands. It was from a broken beer bottle, that sat beside her on the bathroom sink. Beside the bottle, was a bottle of her mother's painkillers.

The bottle was empty. Pills laid out scattered on the floor beside the bathtub.

Z watched as her mother pierced her skin with the glass. She ran the glass up and down her arm, screaming out in pain as she did so. Blood ran down her arm, as she continuously did this. Her mother's eyes filled with tears, as her body finally began to give out.

The piece of glass fell from her hand as Z's mom hunched over in her seat, sending a bing throughout the room. Z pushed her body through the hole she had made in the door, even though it was much smaller than she was. She ran to her mother, and grabbed her wrist, placing her two fingers on the main vein that ran through her arm.

Her pulse wasn't there.

Her mother was gone.

Z had watched with her very own eyes as her mother committited suicide. She didn't even try to stop her. She let her mother kill herself. She grabbed onto her mother's hand, and cried into her shoulder. Her father arrived home soon afterwars, to find his wife dead in his very own bathroom.

At the funeral, Z was asked to speak, but she didn't. She hadn't said a word in days, not even to her own dad. Some of her friends were even at the funeral, but she didn't talk to them either. She didn't even shead a single tear. She just watched as the service went on, sitting next to her grandpa and grandma. After being hugged by every person at the service afterwards, Z scrambled into her room.

She hasn't left since.

Now..

Life is just not worth living anymore. Why did god want my mom to die? Why did he want her to take her very own life? Some things I just don't understand. I didn't want to see her die. But I did. I didn't want to say goodbye to her, so I didn't.

The last thing she said to me was that she loved me. She never told me she loved me randomly like that, she'd never done that before. That should have sent me a signal, to realize that something was wrong. Why did I have to be so selfish, and stupid?

The real question is, why didn't I say I love you back to her?

I'm full of unanswered questions. I need them answered. But you know what? I'm never going to get them answered. This is all my fault. I have never felt so fucking guilty for something in my life.

Why didn't god want me to take my life? I would have died for her. I would have done anything to save her, even if it meant taking my own life. Life isn't worth living anymore, anyways. I feel betrayed by everyone. No one likes me. Everyone is fake. No one cares about who I really am inside, and if they did, they'd just be pretending.

Why should I even live anymore?

As I stand in front of my bathroom sink, with sharp scissors in my hands, I think about everything that has happened to me in the past 3 months. I think about why I'm going to do this to myself, why I am going to self-harm myself. I know it's not good for you, but right now, quite frankly, I don't care.

Z carefully shut her bathroom door, and turned on her CD player. She blasted it at full volume, which she prayed would soon overpower her screams. She replaced the scissors in her hand, and slowly opened them, placing one of the sharp blades on her forearm. Squinching her eyes shut, she pierced her skin, instantly forcing blood out. She bit on her bottom lip hard, making it bleed as well. She ran the blade across the rest of her arm, dropping the scissors into the sink as soon as she was done. She looked down, to see blood oozing down her arm, onto her sweatpants. Z grabbed the towel on the latchet next to the shower, and pressed it against the cut.

The towel soon turned from white, to bright red.

Z leaned against the sink, her vision becoming blurry. She let go of the towel, and ran her fingers across the incision. She turned on the bathroom sink, and splashed water onto her face. Her vision was a little better now. She grabbed the scissors from in the sink, bent down, and picked up the towel as well.

She opened up her bathroom door, and ran toward her dresser. She threw the towel into it, hiding it as best as she could. Z looked into her mirror, and immediately shot her eyes toward down the cut, that was still bleeding slightly.

As wrong as it seemed, and as wrong as it was, Z felt better now. Doing that to herself, actually made herself feel better. She felt in control now.

With the scissors still in her hand, she placed them into her bookbag, and quickly climbed into bed. She needed to get some sleep for tomorrow. School started tomorrow.

She was now a completely different person.