She woke up late. It had been a long night. As she walked out of her room she was met by her father. "Oh shit" she whispered, hoping he hadn't heard her. She tried to get around, but he kept getting in the way. "Why weren't you up earlier?" He asked. "I had to get up and make my own breakfast this morning because you weren't up!" He started yelling at her. She was used to it by now. "You worthless piece of shit! You never do anything around this house!" He slapped her across the face leaving a handprint. It stung a little at first, but the pain quickly went away. It was only 9:15. It was also Saturday. Everybody loved the weekends but she hated them. It gave her father more time to abuse her. She wasn't even a bad kid. She did her homework, had good grades, lots of friends. She seemed happy all the time. No one knew what she was going through. Not even her closest friends. No one would ever know...
YOU ARE READING
The Life of a Suicidal Teen
Non-FictionShe was only 13. How could anything be wrong? She smiled everyday. No one could tell that anything was wrong. She looked normal and happy, but was she really?
