Miss Mayhem

i. young blood

i. young blood

     SIGHING, SHE SAT down and opened up her book, reading what was written on the first couple lines in her own handwriting: She was so young; full of hope and faith that the world was a good place.  She didn't know the dangers that lurked just around the corner of her bedroom.  She didn't know she couldn't trust him, because he had always been there for her . . . but he took her and shattered her world.

Before she knew it, she was shutting the book and shaking her head.  Her fingers caressed the sleek leather cover; she was just starting to write everything down inside of it.  The blackness resembled something within her and she knew she understood everything she'd already written in the pages, and would continue to write.  It was her life . . .  Her entire life story was going in those pages, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could take knowing that everyone in her life turned their backs on her, because that fact hurt more than anything else probably ever would.

Standing, she headed toward the window and looked outside, longing to jump from her bedroom to the ground below.  She no longer wanted to be here; she had no desire to live or breathe or keep her heart beating, anymore.  Her parents didn't care and the rest of her family was dead to her . . . so she wondered to herself idly while she watched the pitch black sky, Why am I still here?

At that moment, she knew she had to get out of there.

Spinning around, she headed towards her closet and swung it slowly open.  She grabbed out her medium sized satchel and set it down on her bed.  First, she slipped her little black book and three black pens.  She refused to use any other color, since they didn't mean anything to her.  The blackness of her soul and her heart was to be reflected through the ink, through the words written in the pages . . . and she wasn't about to let the idea of what she was doing die.

Secondly, she headed over to her dresser and opened the top drawer.  She pulled out a couple pairs of panties and thongs, along with two bras and stuff them into the bag before heading back over to her dresser.  Then, she leaned down and grabbed out a pair of yoga pants and a pair of skinny jeans.  She stuffed those into the bag, along with two tight fitting tank tops, a black sports bra and both her Jack Daniels t-shirt and tank top.

She slung it over her shoulder before slipping on her black and green vans.  She shoved four pairs of ankle socks into the bag before she dug out the money she'd saved from working.  She had a total of one thousand three hundred twenty-nine dollars rolled together with a rubber band wrapped around it.  Thanks to not spending a dime of her paychecks -- other than her cell phone bill or when she needed something that she knew her parents wouldn't be able to afford for her, simply because they didn't want to -- she had the money to do what she wanted to do tonight.

She crept out of her bedroom and toward the bathroom, slipping inside quickly and quietly.  She moved stealthily; it was something she learned to do in the years she was avoiding the people in her household.  The only reason she wanted to avoid them was because they were all dead to her, every single one of them.

As soon as the bathroom door was shut, she rushed over to the medicine cabinet and stuffed ever pill bottle into her bag.  She knew she would be able to make money off of them; she'd seen people do it all the time at school.  Besides, she had mostly prescription pain killers and those seemed to go faster and for a higher price than much else . . . excluding ecstasy, that is.

Stopping for a moment, she looked around.  Grabbing her hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste, she checked her wrist.  Her hair ties were all there but she realized she forgot one thing from her room that she had to go back for: her razor blades.  Shaking her head, she slipped out of the bathroom and quickly back into her bedroom.  Right when her door shut and she turned the lock, she heard her brother's bedroom door opening, making her stomach do flips with worry and fear.