Just Another Girl

Chapter 3

  I hesitated, my hand on the doorknob. Did I really want to go in? Oh, who was I kidding, I had no choice. 

  Before I could change my mind, I opened the door to my house. It was dark, nobody had opened the windows, and the place was a mess. 

  I tried to close the door silently, so nobody would know I was home, but failed. 

  "Whosit?" A drunk voice came from my mom's room. 

  "Nicole." I mumbled just loud enough for her to hear. 

  "Oh YOU! You didn't clean the house today, you idiot! Why do I even keep you? You expect me to care for you and you don't even do anything in return!" 

  I felt tears stinging my eyes. This happened every day, but it still hurt just the same. I was sick of this... Before I could stop myself, I yelled, "Well it's your fault for having me in the first place!"

  She stumbled to the door, pure rage on her face. She threw an empty bottle at me, which hit me on the side of my face. "Don't you talk to me that way, you ungrateful failure!" She screamed. 

  I started crying uncontrollably, blood and tears running down my face. I ran into my room, Mom's voice following me, and locked the door behind me. 

  I sat on my bed, crying until I felt numb, then made my way to the bathroom. I was happy I had one in my room, if I had to leave it... Not gonna happen. 

  I cleaned the cut I had, visibly noticable on my right cheek. Once it was ok looking I just sat down on the floor and rocked back and forth numbly. After crying I always felt numb and empty... 

  I liked the numb better, because once it was gone the thoughts came. Telling me everything bad, that all this was my fault, mom and the kids at school are right, I should just die. 

  The thoughts were right. 

  Now I was mad at myself, so full of hatred and pain, but only for myself. Everyone else was right, all they were doing was telling me the truth, I couldn't blame them for that. I should be punished for simply living. 

  So I pulled out my razor, I kept it in my pocket. Never knew when I might need it. 

  Without hesitation I pulled up my sleeve, revealing the countless scars and cuts of varying degrees of healed. 

  I put the blade up to my arm and pushed down, making another pretty line. The crimson blood dotted line, it hardly even hurt me anymore. Well, it did, but I liked it and it couldn't hurt enough. 

  After adding five more lines, I washed the blood off my arm and razor, and pulled my sleeve back over them. 

  Then I went to bed, or tried to. I was dead tired, but for some reason I just couldn't sleep. Maybe I didn't want to miss a second of the pain in my arm, or my mind was too busy telling me all sorts of bad things, or maybe sleep is too good of a thing for me to have. Either way, I reached over to my dresser and pulled out some sleep pills. More like drugs that knock me out, really. 

  I took two and lay back down, welcoming the blackness forced onto my mind and body.