Chapter Nine

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    It was quiet at last. I could feel Jace breathing, his chest rising up and down. My heart was beating slowly, my mind slow, slugish. I could feel the numbness take over, the unshakable acceptance that this is the life I'm set to live. It took a while to convince Jace not to go after Damien, a lot of lying on my part. Promises were bound to be broken soon enough. I could only hope Damien would stop the abuse. Of course I knew how unrealistic that was but I couldn't help but dream, right?

    It was becoming evident that I wasn't getting to sleep any time soon. Even the slow, steady rhythm of Jaces breathing couldn't lull me into a dream state. The lack of thoughts I had was making it eerily calm, strangely empty in my head. No amount of warm milk would put me to sleep.

    Carefully I unwrapped myself from Jace and climbed out of bed, tip toeing to the door and down the hall. I grabbed my tennis shoes and pulled them on, snatching my hoodie off the dresser. I needed to go for a run. Jogging down the stairs I grabbed a water from the kitchen and ran out into the cool afternoon sun. Birds flew around, calling songs to each other. The sun was setting, throwing rays of light around. 

    All the cars were parked so that meant the boys were home, surprisingly. I started down the drive, cutting off into the woods and racing down the trek. I picked up my pace, pushing myself harder, farther. This was the only time when my thoughts completely left me, gave way to complete serenity.  The only time when life was simple. Just me and the trees and speed. Simplicity.

   I came to a halt at the lake, my breathing shallow. My wrists always tingled when I stopped here, hinting at secrets of the past. Memories rushed through my head of worse times, times when all I wanted to do was give up. That's exactly what I did too, give up. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but I don't believe that. I was clinically dead for two hours. The only thing I saw was the inside of my eyelids. 

  I slit my wrists.

  I bled out.

  With four pints of blood left in my entire body I was a lost cause. Just like I wanted to be. It wasn't like I hated my life. I mean, I did. I absolutely despised everything and everyone. Hell, I hated myself. But that's not the reason I committed suicide. No, the real reason is much deeper than that, much darker. We all know those movies the ones with little social skills, raging teenage angst. They hate their family, crave more attention but have no idea how to get it. That was me in a way.

   My family was picture perfect and it drove me insane. In some self-destructive way I wanted a broken home. Something that set me off from every other family in my perfect suburban neighborhood. It was strange, I know. When my parents died, I immediately blamed myself. If I hadn't wished so often for something to go wrong, they would still be alive. 

   When I finally got what I had wanted for so long, I realized that the saying "Be careful what you wish for." was beyond true. I was granted my wish, and the only thing I wanted to do was take it back. I can still remember every detail of that night, the night I met the moon.

   I was standing under the moonlight, bathed in its cool embrace. A pointed rock in my left hand, a pair of blue, hospital issued scissors in my right. The light bounced off the water, a faint trickling sounded as a frog hopped from lily pad to lily pad. The night was dead, much like I wanted to be. They died on a night like this. Thunder rumbled through the trees, wind swayed the leaves and lifted the grasses. I was having a hard time deciding on what to use. 

    Go for the more painful approach, or the clean one? Rip through my flesh or slice it gently? I might pass out before I have time to cut the other wrist if I use the rock. Scissors it is. 

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