Denial's Not Just a Feeling

A Different Kind of Addict

"Say it again and I'll beat you."

He spoke after she tried to get him to quiet his speech towards his video games.

For the passed few days since he's been home he has kept her up until ungodly hours in the morning before she found refuge in the living room where she has been calling the couch her bed since. She knew addicts of drugs and alcohol were crazy but never would she think those actions would resume to a video gamer. How could they become addicts? Would they really resort to violence to get their ways?

"Come at me. I'd like I see you try."

Of course, she never thought he would. That he'd just ignore her, but he wasn't normal like that. Her brother was insane, sickly so with his video games. He has no life outside of them.

He advanced.

Her eyes widened, frozen in place.

He got up from his bed, a death glare killing her slowly.

She fled to the bathroom, slamming the door shut, pushing all her weight against it so he wouldn't advance further.

He pounded and beat the door, trying to will it open that way. As he was doing so, she yearned for their mother to wake up and put him straight but she was out cold from the sleeping pills she takes and she's too much of a wimp and lazy to do anything.

Through thought, her mind escaped the door until she was knocked to the ground and the door opened. She looked up into the eyes of the devil. He snarled like the deranged animal he was (only eating, drinking, sleeping when needed and playing video games. When he would converse with anyone the language from his mouth was that of a sailor.). He drew close, bent down and through the first punch at her torso.

She gasped as the punches kept coming from all angles.

She tried calling out to their mother but of course she wouldn't awaken from her comatose state. She wouldn't do anything even if her senses were heightened. She just didn't care for the well being of her child over herself and that was a fact like her older brother had no respect for others, though he expected the whole nine yards.

After god knows how long the beating lasted, he stood, left and slammed the bathroom door and his door. She was left on the floor to cry in her own misery.

Whatever strength she could muster, she propped herself into a sitting position against the counter, reached up and felt around for her razor.

Found it.

She lifted the nightgown she was wearing, lowered the band of her underwear and slid the razor across her hipbone. She did this repeatedly until she saw enough blood and made enough marks where she could just go numb.

She knew she hadn't cut enough or deep enough to die. That wasn't her plan. Her plan was to go numb and she succeeded.

She didn't cry after that.

She gently placed the bloody razor atop the counter, leaned her head against the counter and closed her eyes.

She knew she wouldn't be sleeping then or probably ever again.