“i never wanted you in the first place.” he stated like he wanted those words to drill into my brain, to make me go away. “well then next time use a condom.”
i say back with just as much anger and hate as the man who im supposed to call my father. “no wonder you have no friends,” he says “you’re a bitch.” “well what do you want me to do about that?” i retort. “well you cant die, so nothing.” he says, with a grin. that’s it, i think. if thats what he wants, he’ll get it. i go into my room, go into the drawer on the jewlery box i never use that my mom gave me when i was her little princess. grab the razors i use to get back at myself for every little thing. i calmly walk back into the family room, lift up my sleeve, bare my scars, the skin that never sees light. i slice the flesh so deep i can feel the friction. “is this what you want?” i practically scream at him. cut more, frantically, at my wrist, blood pours on the carpet. “will this take back your ‘accident’?” i ask. he barely looks over his shoulder, he doesnt see. so i go back into my room, lay on my bed. i let the crimson pain flow out of my wrist into a puddle on my bed. he’ll see, it hink as i lay there. i smile, just thinking about how he’ll be arrested when the cops find my suicide note, blaming him, as i fall into the eternal slumber of death.