Erin [editing]

ZERO| be the woman you want to be

Welcome to ERIN
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This book has been fully edited (sorta) on Sunday,
20170106
[***NOTE 20201109 - this story is not  edited but I will try my hardest to edit this completely for you to enjoy!]
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Firstly, hello and welcome to a bland book. It's a different type of story with Famous!OneDirection. It's not any other "love story" book. It's not a love story. This story goes off the storyline of One Direction in general, but please enjoy it despite those factors. This story isn't like any other, unless it is (I suppose). It's depressing, highly illegal, and a little bit sadistic, enjoy.

Xxx, TS

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The razor crawled across my scarred wrist slowly. The blood trickling down my shaky, bruised hand and onto the dirty stained floor. The organismic blade allowed me to unwillingly feel again. A feeling where the unfathomable panic goes away. I come to my own sadistic world and out of this cruel, judgmental life that I am forced live. I face the tolerable physical pain because the mental pain can make a weak person like me go ballistic.

Not everyone is as fortunate as I am. Not everyone can jump from adoption center to adoption center, to home to home, to state to state and stay with their siblings. Not everyone can have that luxury, so I won't wholeheartedly complain about that. Not everyone can have the luxury of going from house to house; being spit on and slowly touched everywhere you go. Not everyone can have the luxury of having to face your two younger siblings, lying to their innocent, pure faces, telling them that everything is going to be alright. Having to lie to make someone else feel better is a new low. All the while facing deep, dark, wary depression and telling them that everything is fine. Telling them that their old sister isn't hurt, telling them that the bleeding wasn't from Mommy or Daddy, but from me carelessly falling.

And our birth parents are the ones to blame for that.

They lost us for years. Mommy, she always tried her best to provide and care for us. She always tried her best to protect us, but her best wasn't good enough. Her best nearly got us killed and it's killing us now. Daddy drinks too much. He gets so drunk sometimes that he smashes bottles on Mommy's head. She blacks out and then he turns to me and does the same. But that was then and this is now, and he's gotten much more creative. He's gotten much more touchy, he's gotten much more affectionate towards me, and I hate it so much.

Mommy always tells me to be strong. She tells me to always look after my brother and my sister. She tells me to always love and care for them. But how can I? How can I possibly do that if Daddy touches me, feels me, hits me, slaps me, burns me, and even kisses me? How can I be strong for my siblings when I can't even be strong for myself? Mommy always told me to be the woman I want to be. But I'm only thirteen years old, what kind of woman would I ever want to be?

"Shut the fuck up!"

The piercing screaming made my head hurt. I'm too afraid to go downstairs to see what devious idea has lurked into Daddy's head today. I looked at myself in the mirror. My dried out, burnt, tangled hair covers my face because I pull it too much. The noticeable scars lines on my body made me wish I had bigger clothes to hide them. I sliced once, twice, then a third time before hoping to feel all the pain, physically and mentally go away, but it didn't go away. All the pain came back to me just as it always does.

I heard that dreading scream of my innocent sister again. The scream where no matter how many times you've heard it, you'll never get used to it. It'll always send this chill down your spine that makes you want to kill yourself. Not the cutting type of killing yourself, or the pills, but the gun. The gun is quickest and most effective. The rope takes too long to set up, and the pills are too hard to swallow sometimes. These thoughts and analysis have been lingering in my head for as long as my memory will take me back. These thoughts of ending it all comforts and haunts me at the same time. The soft pleads of Mommy are barely audible for me to hear. They're barely believable. Mommy tries so hard to be brave for us, but she can't be brave for us when she's not even brave for herself. I threw the razor down and ran downstairs to see my little sister pressed in the corner against the wall. Daddy's fat knee held the young girl hostage.