Depression Kills

Chapter 2

I woke up with the sun hitting my face from the window. I carefully unwrapped the towel from my arm. The cuts barley healed but stopped bleeding. I got down from my windowsill and headed towards my dresser. My eyes still burned from crying and my arm still stinging from the ripped skin. I put on a long sleeved grey shirt, black jeaned shorts, and my ruined converse. I then went to my mirror, applying my normal makeup and straightening ny re-dyed black hair. I slowly took the flat iron and began burning my ear. A shiver went down my body from the cruel sensation. I walked out of my room and walked down stairs. Suprisingly seeing my mother on the couch. I rarely see her, she is always in bed. She can't help it. She has  sicknesses all over the place, causing doctors to put her on bed rest.

   "Well good morning, Skylar. Ya know it's about 90°F today, why are you wearing long sleeves?" she asked in her normal curious tone.

   "I don't know, just in the mood for it I guess" I replied.

   I looked down the hall to see my father just woken up. He looks angry as usual. My father hates me. He abuses me when my mother isn't around, stares at me with nothing but disappointment in his eyes. He wished for a better child. I was not it.

    "What the hell are you still doing home?!" he yelled at me.

    "I'm... I'm sorry. I'll go to the bus stop now," I didn't know how to reply.

   "Have a good day," my mother told me.

   I quickly walked to the door. I walked out and so did my father. He curled his hands in to a fist. His knuckles were an off white. He shot back preparing to punch, then hitting me in my ribs.

   "I heard you walking through the hallway last night, WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU UP?!" he yelled at me once more.

    "I'm sorry," I held my side in pain, "I got cold... I needed another blanket."

   He could see in my eyes I was lying, but obviously he did not want to deal with me. I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't lift my sleeve and just show him my arm full of cuts. He'd beat me more.

  "Get your damn backpack from inside and leave, you're late," he commented sharply.

   "Yes sir," I replied quiet.

I walked back inside and grabbed my backpack. I swung in over my shoulder and left. I walked to the bus stop in total pain. I lifted the side of my shirt to see the damge he made. There was a purple and blue bruise right where his fist hit. I was five minutes early to the bus stop. Already in need to go somewhere, any where, and cry my eyes out. School, well, was never a place to help that. It's a river by the end of the day, and another scar to add to the list.