Dark Side |COMPLETED|

Chapter Three

13 PAGES

Air seemed to never refill my lungs as I reached the front door. I felt like crap. Two panic attacks in one day, weren't fun, but they never were. I felt as if it had happened all over again, the pain, desperation, everything crashing down on me at once. I avoid physically touch at all costs. Even a tap would send a memory my way. I opened the door, taking silent steps as I shut it behind me.
"Get my beer?" A raspy voice called. I mentally cursed myself for acting like an idiot this morning. I could never keep my mouth shut not even to save my own skin. What more do I have to lose? "No, I'm not your slave you can't just push around." He sneered as he walked over to my firm figure. I was shaking on the inside of course, never the outside.
He shoved me into the door, I winced at the pressure he forced. A hand drew back and met my face right on, I instantly felt light headed. My whole body locked in fear, but it never reached my face. I wouldn't allow the pleasure of him knowing he terrified the heck out of me. "You worthless, object!" He rammed my head into the door, my vision went blurry. He landed a solid punch on my side, I gasped from the sudden hit. I threw a weak punch at his chest, I had always tried to defend myself after all no one else would waste their time doing it.
I was bashed in the head by an iron fist, the door slammed into the back of me. Blood was plainly obvious over my face, I sucked in a breath as he began delivering punch after punch to my gut. I couldn't take much more of this, my vision went in and out of focus. "You're just a dumb, idiot, who can't shut up, you ain't worth a cent, not even anything," with one final powerful punch to the jaw, I was knocked backwards.
My body screamed in agony as I landed on the cold, hard, concrete just a foot from my house. I could barely make out the door, hinges still on, but lock broke. Had he really hit me that hard? My body was soaked in fresh blood, I was certainly a goner. It wouldn't be long before some mugger came up to have some more fun with me. By then, I hoped I would bleed out.
I couldn't move, every breath I took caused me more pain than I have ever felt. When my mother was alive, we were a happy family, the kind any father would send their daughters to meet. Now, I doubt even the toughest would want to meet Mike and I. We never got along, it was always my mother that kept the peace... when she passed, I was deemed a curse. After a while, I believe it. I know I wasn't the best person, but even Hell couldn't be much worse than this.
The door closed and Mike left me for dead. My once black jacket was wet with blood. Blood, it was all I smelt, all I felt, and all I could taste. This was how I was going to die and I accepted that. My vision was fading fast, my pols deadly weak, I knew I looked pale even in the cover of darkness. I cringed as headlights temporally blinded me, great a gang... just what I wanted to see before I left the world.
A man got out of the car, a woman hot on his heels as they walked over to me at an urgent pace. "Call 911!" The man gasped as he bent down next to me. The woman fumbled with the phone, she dialed the number, holding it to her ear. He turned my wrist, I let out a soft cry of protest. I was too beat to say or do a thing about it. He froze, "can you hear me?" I only winced in response, as he checked my pols. "Bethany, he's alive, but they need to hurry," he called to the woman who nodded at his every word.
"Oh my gawd, you're so cold," he gave me a soft sigh. He slowly slipped my jacket off, I gritted my teeth, "s-stop." Even when I was on my death bed my tone never faded from its hostile tongue. He pulled off his jacket and put it over my body, my arms burned from his previous action. I didn't like being helpless, not with this guy, not with anyone. I tested out my strength, my arms moved to support my upper body. The man had gone back to talk with his assumed wife. I could make a getaway in an instant, just had to get up. Sweat shined on my revealed skin, my shirt and jeans still wet. I clenched my jaw as I slightly rose to a sitting position.
My head spun, my torso felt as if it was covered in searing hot water. A hand pressed to my side as I fought to stand. Through every protest, every aching bone, every bruise, I somehow stood. My pride soaring higher than my brain, but I was okay with that. Both of which were damaged. Crap. Sirens sounded, lights flashed, I needed to get out of here. Scanning my surroundings, there was only one way out.
Through the house and out the back door. I was certainly asking to die, but on the up side I could and wouldn't have to be covered in pain right now. With my last escape route, I dashed in the house. Everything was just as it had been. Beer bottles everywhere, the stench of alcohol drowned the fresh air I once basked in. Every ounce of adrenaline intensified, I sprinted to the back door. My head was yanked back, Mike held my hair firm in his grasp. No, no, no, no, no! I squirmed, kicking, throwing my arms out, nothing worked!
"You little rat! The cops are outside because of you," I could almost feel his fist as he brought it back. Not tonight, one bad hit and I was a goner, I couldn't die by his hand, I refused too. I forced myself to spin around and brought a forceful fist to his face. His grip loosened as he stumbled, I pulled free, the back door was no longer an option. It was locked, I had no idea where the key was. If I stayed he'd kill me, I couldn't make it to the front door without that happening. I will not die by his hand.
I scurried into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. I pulled up the small rug that laid just outside of the shower's entrance, a sharp blade laid there. I grabbed it carefully, it was almost second nature how it sat in my palm. I held my wrist out, I couldn't waste any more time. It would be seconds before Mike found where I was. I blew a shaky stream of air through my lips.
I've been a cutter for the past five years, yet I had never cut myself to the point of death I only tempted it. Tonight was much different, I knew I had to kill myself or he would. I glared at the knife, he would never be the last thing I saw before death. I hated him, hated him with my whole heart. The very existence of him made my blood boil, the home I lived in wasn't my safe place, it never was. If home is where the heart is, than my home would be gone sooner than I would have wanted.
I pulled myself together as the cold blade touched my pale damaged skin. I looked at the many scars from nights like these, the new ones from just days ago, and the old from five years ago. My mood dampened when I thought of Heather, she had saw the scars, but I didn't think she needed to see them to know they were there. By her expression she made moments before she reached for my arm, she knew, then and there, who I was, and what I was doing.
I pressed the blade deep, deeper than I've ever dared to go. It took everything in me not to scream from the pain, but at the same time I felt peaceful. I wouldn't wake up to an abusive dad, I didn't have to worry about being mugged or jumped on my way to school, I didn't have to go to track, I could finally see my mother once more. Then, I frowned. I knew my life had been short, others had it shorter. My whole existence affected no one, at least, not in a positive way. The teachers I'm sure won't mind my absence, Coach Brown will get over it, Mike will smile but glower in the dread he didn't end it, I lived for no one. I had no one, and I was okay with that. Bad kids get bad things, good kids get the better end of the bargain.
I guess that's just how it goes, I had always been a rebellious child, it only serves me right I had a taste of my own medicine. I never once beat anyone up to the point they couldn't make it home... but I had been. I never picked on the school nerd or the good kids, yet I was. I couldn't save my mother, an angel sent down from Heaven. That's why. That's the very reason I was back handed by life. I couldn't cure my mother from cancer, I was the reason she died... if I had been a better son, our lives would have been different. Bad kids get bad things, good kids get good things.
With that thought, I sat down. Blood coated my wrist. My vision went in and out, this was it. The life of Ash Fault, the kid who did all the wrong things at all the right times. I leaned my head against the wall, closing my eyes, letting my last breath last.

A/N:

A bit of a sad chapter.

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