The Other Half of My Heart

Chapter Twenty-Three: I'm Suicidal

Chapter Twenty-Three:

I'm Suicidal

I knew immediately that the wound wasn't deadly. It went through my leg, off to the side. It didn't hit any bone, and the pain was minimal. Only one thing to say, I was extremely lucky. I took a deep breath in and out. I could see some blood, but luckily it wasn't coming out very quickly. Well, not yet at least.

I slowly began to try and stand up. Suddenly, he started to bang on the door downstairs. I had never felt so scared for my life. I got up as quickly as I could, and then headed for the door. No matter what, I had to get out of here. The house was so quiet except for the sound of his fists pounding. All I knew was I had to think, and I had to think quickly.

I heard gunshots, and fear clenched me. What if next time I was hit it was a direct hit, what if next time, I died? The picture of him laughing as he hit my heart, and shouted "BULLS-EYE!" didn't help subside my fear at all. I wouldn't marry, I wouldn't have kids. Nothing, because I would be dead. Just like my sister. Fear seeped through every pore of my body. I wasn't sure if I was going to die or not. What would my mom do if I did die?

I really hated my life. I had just gotten out of the hospital and I was going back, again. If I survived this. Soon, with this luck, I'd die of cancer.

I began to think, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. Where would be the least likely place he would look for me? It hit me, an idea so fast that it was quicker than light.

The washer. It would be cramped, but I would cram clothes into it and hide there. With luck the clothes would be wet.

First, I began to play music, loudly. I hoped that he would mistake it for me, and come into this room. I set pop rocks on the ground, that should startle him and give me a little more time. I smiled at myself nervously.

I quickly limped out of my room and took a left down the hallway. At the end, there was the laundry room. I stepped into it, knowing that I had better do this well and right, because my life was on the line.

I heard a sickening crack, and knew that he was almost in. My hair flew and I rushed to open the door into the washer. I was in luck. The door opened, and there, right before me, was wet clothing.

I crawled in, and I couldn't get one of my legs in. I moved clothing around, so i could fit. I shut the door just as I heard a growl, and the door break down. I hurriedly closed the door.

In the cramped, liquid like place, I could hardly move. With what space I had, I moved clothing around, blocking the clear, plastic circle on the door. It was cold, and very, very soaking. I shivered.

I didn't know what to do. I'd never felt so scared in my life. I heard him come up the stairs, and I heard loud firework-like sounds. There was only one thing to do.

I prayed.

"Dear God, it's me, Tasha. I know that I've been really bad, I've cursed your name. I've cut myself, and today I was going to commit suicide. But I need your help. I'm scared, and I'm wet, and I'm cold. Please help me out of this." But I felt no joy in it at all. No sudden lightening. No peace, nothing at all, instead, I felt closer to death than ever.

I heard sirens in the distance, and him open the door to my mom's room. He shot it, cackling, "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he laughed even more evilly, "I won't kill you, only hurt you. Come on, I know you can hear me. You're here somewhere."

I faintly could here someone barking orders. I smiled dizzily. Maybe they would take him away. Then my mind suddenly remembered my leg. My hand reached over and touched the wound. Looking down, I only saw blood. In the washer I had stained all of these clothes. I smelled blood, I saw blood, and my wound would not stop bleeding.

If my biological father didn't kill me, this shot would. I was so lost in my own thoughts, that when someone opened the door, I screamed.

A familiar face was there. A beard, kind eyes. "Nick!" I shouted. "Dad! You came to save me!" I started crying like there was no tomorrow.

He gently pulled me out; and, carrying me in bridal stance, he brought me downstairs. I clung to him desperately, not knowing what else to do. My leg was starting to really hurt, and my head pounded. I felt uneasy. Nothing was right.

In my blurred vision I could see a man being handcuffed. I saw police, and heard them shouting. I was scared.

"Don't worry baby girl, everything's gonna be alright. I got you. I got you."

But did he really? I felt my gut tugging. I felt like I was going to vomit. The feeling wasn't pleasant. I tried to hold it in, I honestly, truly, did. My lips parted and it spewed out, like a water fall, only going up. So a water-rise? I don't know, but the disgust I felt wasn't as horrid as the look of disgust a police officer threw at me.

I was shocked to get it from him. Today was just not my day, heck, who was I kidding, I thought, my life just wasn't great.

I was lifted onto some bed and strapped in. I didn't really know what, because my vision was blurry and my hearing wasn't all that great either. Actually, to be honest, I'm suprised I saw that look the officer gave me. I was pushed forward and into slight darkness. A mask was placed on my mouth and I heard people screaming at me.

My mind was foggy, and for what felt like the millionth time, I passed out.