Just read it

Safe

Think of the four most devastating thoughts you can. I bet you five dollars I feel at least one of them within the course of you reading this story, my story. Before I begin, let me spoil the entire plot; it ends worst then it begins. If you are looking for a happy story where Prince Charming carries me into the sunset, shut this book right now, do not pass go, do not turn the page. Just shut it. I can promise you it will save you time and tears. If you're looking for the girl who lived, I'm not her-go find Lizzie's book; she will tell you everything I will, only she lives, she survives this hell. I don't, so get that thought out of your head. My story will leave scars. It's your choice if you continue, don't say I didn't warn you.

If you are continuing, however, I would recommend you go get your pipe and weed or the bottle of scotch in the door of your freezer, or perhaps, if you're extreme, your straw and cocaine. Take a hit, pour a shot, or snort up a little of that white, powdery heaven. Then settle in; it's gonna be a long night for you and hopefully, I'll finally break this stupid gun safe, and it will be an even shorter one for me.

Let's start with chronological order. So, I suppose I'm supposed to tell you my name, but I don't like doing things I'm supposed to, so I won't tell you my name until later. So I guess I'll just jump right into where I think all the hurt seems to stem from. My dead sister. She died about a year ago due to cancer in her brain, lungs, and legs. By the time she was diagnosed, it was already too late; the doctor told her over the phone to get her "affairs in order". How was that supposed to help? Please be my guest, give me a freaking clue, something, anything-I just want to know why God or whoever the hell is up there took her, not me, not the one who wasn't meant to be here in the first place, not the one who wanted to die. He took her, my sweet, innocent, beautiful, big sister, how dare he. How dare he.

I know I'm supposed to be absolutely devastated I'm not. At least I don't think so. I'm more mad than anything. I told her to get help, I told her she needed it, she needed to see the doctor, she was sick. Everyone could see it. But her and her stupid pride had to leave, had to give up and go away willingly. She did just that, no treatment, nothing to ease the pain, she did just what the doctor said to do; she wrote out her will, leaving everything to me the day I turn eighteen, including her stupid giant house. She moved in with our parents. Then she spent the rest of her days drinking tea and reading books that made her cry on the red chair in the corner of the living room next to the fireplace. That's where she stayed day in and day out. That's where she died, right there on that chair. On May 23, in the red one we are no longer allowed to sit on, the one that is going to be burnt tomorrow, hopefully after I'm dead. I don't want to be the ungrateful little brat, but they all knew I was suicidal. Why won't they let me get it over with? Don't they understand I can't stay in this world? I don't belong here and to be completely honest, I never did. I can't do this anymore. They have run into my room exactly 36 times to stop me from hanging myself, from cutting deep enough to kill. I even tried overdosing once with prescription pills; I didn't have alcohol on hand or believe me I would have tried that, too. They keep cameras in my room now; they thought it was a worthy investment. I think they think I'm all better now-they are wrong of course. I'm more careful now, and I think after the last year we've had, they wouldn't believe I would do that, that I wouldn't kill myself, and I know that I'm gonna hurt them so bad, but...I can't think about that. This is for my own good. I'm doing what I know will be best for me; if this safe doesn't start working soon I may go crazy. They will not keep me here forever-I won't allow it. I wanted my sister to live-she promised me. She promised me she would live, that even if I didn't stay, she would. But she lied to me about it all. She didn't stay. She left me alone in the cold world without light, with weapons lying on the floor, like a toddler running with a knife. It was careless. She threw me away like...like I was nothing. Maybe that's why I don't belong because I'm nothing. Maybe that's why she chose to leave me. I'm getting emotional-I promised myself I wouldn't. Let me rewind a little, just a year or so, back to when I was more okay than right now, back before my world came crashing down.

I was just 16. I'm almost 18 now. February 17th is my birthday. I hope I don't make it. I don't know when it all honestly began. I was a happy child-I used to be at least. I used to run out back in the meadow while Tiffany sang and sang and sang. She had a beautiful voice before, you know. We used to be best friends. I told her everything and when her boyfriends would dump her, I would go to their houses and egg their cars not their parent's cars-their cars. You don't even understand how truly pissed they were. They deserved it though. She was too sweet and didn't deserve it. None of it. After 18 years of her being just across the hall, her room blue like the sky. It was impossible for me when she left for college; I missed her so much. The night she left, she cried. She was so scared to leave her childhood sanctuary. But she did and she made it to the university safely after 7 hours of driving.

Not like it would have helped her later on, two weeks later the doctor diagnosed her. I believe in God. I was raised, Christian. But no matter how hard I try and try to understand why he would put her through that. Why he would bring her home when it was I who was done. Was it some sort of test? Or is he just that heartless