Forgotten

Chap. 1 - Hurts Like Hell

     'I'm broken but not yet forgotten.' She thought to herself as she attempted to grasp onto any kind of motivation to climb out of bed, whether it be the smallest string of energy she could get, and survive through another day of hell.

     '1... 2... 3...'  Cam started counting the dents in her dark blue wall. 

     After cursing to herself and scratching at a healing cut on her thigh, she untangled herself from her black bed-sheets and dragged her tired body into the bathroom. The reopened wound on her thigh started trickling a trail of blood down her leg that she ended up smearing with her pale finger. Her dark, dead eyes stared at her thin figure in the mirror. Seeming to taunt and provoke her into swiping the blade across her flesh once again. The suffocating craving to feel the cold metal on her skin made it almost impossible for her to breathe.

     'Crap, please don't panic now. Not this early in the morning when my siblings haven't even woken up yet.'  She mentally scolded herself, trying to get her breathing to even out. 

     Her fingers gripped the edges of the blindingly white sink in an attempt to keep her swaying body upright. 'Don't let the negativity consume your thoughts. Lock them away.'  Which is what she did. She locked the dark thoughts and cruel words in the glass jar of her heart before sealing the lid. Her breathing finally eased up and her heart beat slower until it was back to the normal speed. The locking away technique helped for a while until something else caused her to freak out. 

     She blinked before releasing her death grip on the sink. Finally back to "normal." That is if she can even consider herself normal anymore. She shook her head, her black dyed hair swishing over her shoulders in a tangled mess. She turned the shower on, and the bathroom immediately started heating up from the steaming water pouring out of the shower head. She stripped herself of yesterday's clothes before stepping into the steamy shower. Her skin was burning but she didn't flinch like most people would've by now. She embraced the pain and sighed, her eyes closing and her sore muscles relaxing while her pale skin turned a bright red. 

     She rid herself of yesterday's filth, her long, skinny fingers brushing over all of the raised bumps along her scarred skin. Her stomach, her thighs, her arms, and her sides were all scattered with painful reminders from experiences two years ago to experiences just the other day. Scars that were faded and almost gone completely to fresh and deeper cuts that burned from the soap she scrubbed at them with. She finished in the shower, her skin scrubbed raw, and carefully stepped out into the somewhat colder air of the bathroom. The biting sensation that prickled reopened wounds satisfied her need to cut. 

     She heard screaming and crashing and immediately knew her little sister and brother were awake. Her eyes closed, trying to soak up the last bits of calm she could get, before she opened them once more. As she wrapped the towel around herself, she walked back into her room to find something to wear.

     She opened her closet door. Black, black, more black, and a little bit of color. So many decisions... Her hand touched many different blacks before her fingers clasped around a black denim mini-skirt. She pulled it out of her closet before tossing it onto her bed. Scavenging for some dark red leggings and a black halter top she tossed all of the items onto her bed before changing as slowly as possible so she wouldn't have to walk out into the dysfunctional circus she had to call her family. After she finally put on her clothes, she grabbed her favorite black jacket and slid it on to cover her arms before brushing her hair, putting on her too much makeup, and mastering the half smile that never quite reached her eyes.. She was ready.

     Taking a deep breath and tugging the sleeves on her jacket, she walked out and into the mess called the hallway. A family picture frame laid shattered on the hardwood floor and blood red marker ran sloppily down the wall like an unsteady heart rate. The shattered picture frame was probably caused by her brother and the marker was most likely by her sister. She clenched her fists until the pinching sensation of her fingernails barely breaking the flesh of her palms calmed her down. She heard screaming from her mother, a football program blaring loudly from the TV (most likely from her father trying to ignore everyone else like a very responsible dad), and thumping coming from her devious twin siblings. 

     She walked down the stairs, avoiding the broken glass that she'll have to clean up, and followed the trail of broken crayons until she found herself in the kitchen where her siblings were climbing all over the counters and jumping onto the poor table while her mom scolded them and gave them empty threats in hopes that they'd settle down. Unfortunately, her mother's words went through one ear and out of the other of her eight-year-old children. 

     Cameron's mom ignored her entire existence and screamed, "Justin Gray Tracey! Get off the table! You're going to hurt yourself! Julia Candice Tracey! I will not repeat myself again! Do not throw things in this house!" Her shaky hands went to shield her aged face as Julia threw yet another plastic bowl at her mother.

     Cameron felt guilt eating away at her as she witnessed the traumatic events happening right before her eyes. Her mother was too young for this stress. For being 36, her mother looked 50 with dark bags under her eyes and stressed wrinkles littering all over her face. Turning away from the chaos, she grabbed cleaning supplies and a broom and dustpan before taking off back up the stairs to clean up the mess her siblings left for her. 

     This was an average Sunday morning in the Tracey household. As Cameron started sweeping the broken pieces of her family up into the dustpan, she felt tears burning her makeup covered eyes.

      A picture of a happy family broken by destructive mistakes. 

     She cleaned up all of the glass and dumped the shattered pieces into the trash. The picture itself found its way into her skirt's back pocket. Her family would never notice its departure from their lives. She dropped to her knees and scrubbed the marker off the wall as best as she could, like she did to her own skin while she was in the shower. Tears blurred her eyes as the red faded off the tan walls in circular smudges and instead stained the wet rag and her hands with reddish pink. 

     The wall still had red marker bled and permanently etched into the house's interior. Just like the scars were forever etched into her heart and permanent reminders on her body. 

     She put everything away, noticing that her siblings quit fighting with their mom and were now sitting at the table with her, eating left-over boxed and lumped mac & cheese. She almost wanted to smile but didn't once she saw how tired her mom was, tears stained her cheeks like Cameron's did the night previously from last night, and the devious look in her brother's and sister's eyes. They would never let her rest. They will go back to tormenting her until she's a crying, broken mess. Those little disgusting brats.

     Cameron cringed and shook her head at her siblings as they winked at her in return. She couldn't help her mother at all. Her father definitely wouldn't after being holed up in the living room for the past week, alcohol bottles littered all over the coffee table and carpeted floor. She grabbed her worn out combat boots from the hall closet before slipping out the front door.

    She was definitely a forgotten thing in her parents lives.

She needed to get away as soon as possible.