The Cry of a Fallen Angel

Present~Write that on a Piece of Paper

Dedicated to Laura, for introducing me to Wattpad. I've been meaning to write this book for a while.

Present~

I hate this.

All of it. I want to run away, knock on someone's door and hope they will let me stay the night. Anywhere is better than here.

I feel alone, I have my friends but they can't help anymore. I use to hide my pain behind the canvas of a painted smile but I-I don't know how to describe it. I was 5 when I finally realised the problems in my family, that all this shouting, fighting was not normal. My mother always told me "it will be alright one day, one day it will all be over", all of this-this shit. I guess she only spoke for herself as 7 years later she commited suicide. I was 14 when i arrived home from school to find my mother dangling above her bed, room trahsed, shards of the vanity's mirror scattered on the floor. Speechless I slowly walk up to her and feel the coldness of her skin, the skin that kept not only my body warm but my hope. My eyes started to well and I reach for her hand only to feel the bumps of healing self inflicted wounds. Tears stream down my face as I beign to sob quietly. Usually at that moment my mother would have already wiped up my tears and hold me in a tight embrace, in fact my mother wouldn't even let me shed a tear. Turns out it's because she was doing all of the crying behind closed doors.

 I remember that moment like it was yesterday. The funeral of my mother was 2 entire weeks after her death, dad didn't even cry. I live with a poor excuse for a father and his "other wife". No, not my step mother, his other wife. He had an affair while he was with my mother; the sad thing is I found out myself. The blatant bastard had the nerve to bring her to my own mother's FUNERAL. I confronted him in the car where he then took me to his "other house". He said she's a nice lady, and that he never meant for any of this to happen. Write that on a piece of paper and shove it up your ass.