Consume my broken heart

Chapter 1

I look at my phone. It's almost midnight. The time is right. I don't have second thoughts about my plan.

I've thought about it long and hard and my decision is final. Tonight I'm going to end my own life.

Life is precious, they say, and somehow that makes me laugh. Life isn't precious. Life is tough. Life is for the lucky ones. For the rich, who can buy their happiness and health. For the ones that get chances.

I have a chance, but I've decided otherwise with my life. The waiting has to stop now.

Once I was a lucky girl, living her life to the fullest. I was quite popular at school. Everyone wanted to hang out with me. I was beautiful and kind. But my naïve side would become the downside of my happy teenage years. After I got raped, I had shut myself out from everyone. I didn't want to go to school anymore, especially not the same school where I would face them again.

Ben, who was my best friend in school, was the only one that kept contact with me, even when I didn't want to meet him the first year I got raped. He was patient and understood my feelings, so he waited until I contacted him for a meeting in person.

Therapy didn't go great and the relationship with my family became unstable. Mom and dad have been so supportive and patient with me. However, they are careful in my presence, afraid I'm too fragile and mentally unstable to talk about things like school. They wish I would go back to school, to get my degree, but I just can't go to college.

I had finished my senior year elsewhere, but the thought of going to college is giving me a panic attack. I'm not ready, and I think I'll never be.

I'm glad my aunt Belinda gave me the chance to work at her bakery, to get away from the house. Away from my perfect sister. Away from my parents, who have become too protective of me. The bakery kept my mind off of negativity for long. This last year was definitely the hardest to bear.

There were moments I thought I was stronger than the memories and the physical damage nobody saw. Damage that became a part of my body. Nobody sees my broken soul. I can't even look at a man's face with some kind of interest, except my father's. My mom and dad went through hell because of me. My sister blamed me for drawing too much unwanted attention and I understand that must have been difficult for her as well. This isn't a life for them, nor for me. I've hurt them too much, and that's why I need to do this.

I need to seek salvation. If I can't look at myself in the mirror and love myself, there's nobody that can change that. I'm weak and damaged for good.

Silently, I take my small backpack with my ID and the letter I've written for my family. As silent as I can be, I open the drawer from dad's closet and take out his gun, knowing this device will be the end of me. Suddenly, I hear a door open and close upstairs. I jerk my head down and swallow hard. I hear Barbara whispering to her new boyfriend Rick and the door closes again.

Sighing out loud, I close my eyes for a moment. Keep going, I repeat inside my head. I open the zipper from my backpack and lay the gun at the bottom. "I'm so sorry, dad," I whisper. I've explained to him in the letter why I wanted to use his gun to kill myself. Better his gun than an ordinary gun I've bought in a store. Besides, dad taught me how to use it, so I'm sure it will feel a little more normal holding it in my hand.

On the kitchen counter, I grab my car keys and glance around me into the darkness, brushing my hand over the coffee machine that I bought for Mother's day. "Bye," I say with a weeping voice before vanishing out of the house.

I have planned this for an entire month. In my mind, I memorized everything to perfection. I would go a few blocks away from my parents' house, into an alley. It will be terrifying going outside all alone, but this was the only way my parents couldn't stop me.

I park my car in front of an old building, gazing out of my car window for weird people on the streets. Luckily, it was silent in the neighborhood. This was a sign for me to carry on with my plan. Carefully, I open the door and peek above the car window. Still no sign of movement.

"Good," I whisper to encourage myself. My legs are taking me to the nearest alley. I lower myself on the cold concrete floor. Adjusting to the darkness, my eyes and head went into overdrive. I breathe in and open my backpack. With tremorine hands, I clutch the gun in my right hand.

I rest my head against the wall and point the gun beside my head. My finger tremors and I curse myself for being this weak. I wanted this, right? Why is my body making things even more difficult for me? Am I having second thoughts?

Breath in, breath out. "Grace, you can do this," I assure myself. With one swift motion and I'm gone. This can be so easy. Click, and I'm gone. I won't feel a thing. I sigh and close my eyes for a moment. There won't come a right time to do this. I need to create the right time and now's a suitable moment. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I start counting from five to one. "Five, four, threeeee, ...."

Suddenly, I hear a loud bang not too far from where I was. After two seconds, another bang. The noise sounded like a gun. My breath caught in my throat, my nerves on high alert. They say when you can't see, your other senses take over and that was true. I couldn't see a thing, but my hearing was perfectly fine.

With trembling legs, I stand up, steadying myself against the wall. After a few seconds, I heard nothing, so the danger must have perished.

I sigh in relief. Now, I can continue with what I was doing or failing to do...The moment I'm bending my knees, I hear footsteps. My breathing stopped abruptly. My heart nearly pumping out of my chest, when I hear the footsteps near to the ally where I was standing.

In a reflex, I point the gun toward the street and take two steps backward. My foot lands on a bottle and I lose my balance in the darkness, falling backward on my ass.

Terrified, I seek for the gun, who must have fallen out of my hand during the fall. Finally, I found the gun and grab it firmly in my right hand, but I was too late. Someone already pointed a gun at me.