16 year old Alyne Montgomery's life is far from perfect. With her playing the role of a perfect family, even with her mother dead and perfect brother at collage. Leaving her with an angry father. Whose abuse is getting harder to handle. She wants to...
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"She wasn't sad anymore, she was numb, and numb, she knew, was somehow worse." - Atticus
~Lina~
The hot water stings my skin as it falls. I'm hoping the water will wash off the nightmare. So far it's not doing a good job at it. The pictures play on repeat in my mind.
I'm running. Running. Running. Running. I hear something following me, but I don't know what it is. All I know is that I have to get away. My feet hit are hitting the ground with loud thuds. It's cold. I wonder why it's so cold. As it always been this cold in San Diego? No. Not this cold.
All the sudden my feet are no longer on the ground, instead I'm falling. Down. Down. Down. The next minute I'm in a car. It's going fast. Faster than it should. I look down to see me holding the wheel. Tears are streaming down my face. I heard cries in the distance. I turn and see my mom in the passengers seat. No. No, that's not how it was. She's yelling at me to stop the car. I'm trying, but it keeps going faster.
Suddenly, a truck comes into view. No, no, no. I watch, horrified, as my hands on the wheel turn it so it's in the wrong lane straight towards the truck. My moms yelling my name in the background. But I don't hear anything but the sound of metal scrape against each other.
I close my eyes, and reopen them. Why won't this fucking water wash them away. I turn the shower knob all the way to the right. The water gets hotter. Then hotter. Then hot to the point where it's burning my skin. I stand under it until I can't feel anything, then lower the temperature down.
Tears I didn't even notice were there start running down my face, mixing with the water. I lean my forehead against the wall. The water hitting my back. The silent tears start to grow louder, and then into sobs. I hold onto the wall and let them come. The sound of water drowning them out.
When all the tears in me die out, I turn the water off and wrap myself in a towel. I stand in front of the mirror and look back at my foggy face. Long, dark brown hair, and pale green eyes. I have a few freckles on my nose, and a scar that's at the base of my hair line. People used to call me pretty, but honestly I don't know if they would say the same now. I look empty. Bags under my red eyes, and my skin to pale.
I open the mirror up, which is actually a cabinet, and reach to the top shelf. My finger rap around my razor blade. I bring it down and close the mirror.
I take a seat on the edge of the bathtub, with the towel still secured around me. I place my right arm in front of me. Scars go clear up to my forearm. New and old. I find a somewhat empty spot, and bring the razor down.
Some people might wonder why I do this to myself if I already get hurt on a daily basis. It's the sense of control, I think. The sense that I chose where and how much hurt I bring against myself. I get to chose how far I go with it. It's a pain I can control.
