“YOU’RE WORTHLESS, IT’S YOUR FAULT YOUR PARENTS DIED, THEY PROBABLY KILLED THEMSELVES BECAUSE THEY WANTED TO GET AWAY FROM YOU!” My foster mom Stefanie yelled at me. I just bowed my head. She did this daily. Yet, every time it felt like a little bit of my heart was being ripped out, at the thought of my parents killing themselves because of me. “Are you listening to me?” she bellowed in my ear slapping me across my face. I winced but nodded in agreement “Go to your room now” she roared. I quickly obeyed and raced to my room. I flung myself onto my air mattress of a bed and smacked my head against my pillow. ‘Breathe in breath out’ I thought to myself. After I recomposed, I dragged myself down the hall towards the bathroom. I slammed the door, locking it in the process. Looking through the drawers I finally found my objective… a razor. I pressed the sharp blade against my wrist scraping ‘worthless’ into my arm. The pain barely hurt anymore, but it did help numb up the pain of what my foster “parents” brought onto me. After I finished I observed my handy work, I sighed, now I have to go to the hell hole called school. Seven crappy hours of our life, except for me, it’s 8.
Once I arrived at school, I ran into the ‘populars’ the second worst thing in my life. The ‘populars’ seemed to get a sick twisted pleasure from teasing me. “OH look it the emo cutter” sneered the head cheerleader Ashley “Go get lipo you snobby little bitch” I retorted, anger leaking into my voice. Ashley eyes widened in shock, she’s been making fun of me for the last 3 years and not once did I say anything back. But I’m tired, I am tired of being teased, being abused, tired of my hell hole of a life. All of a sudden I felt a sharp sting, burning my cheek. SHE SLAPPED ME, that little spoiled princess, slapped me! I raised my fist, and lunged towards her perfect plastic face.
“I want to know who started this and I want to know now” boomed our principal Mr. Newman. Ashley and I were sitting in his office covered in scrapes and bruises from our fight. “Do you have anything to say for yourself Ms. Franco” he directed towards me. “Nooo” Ms. Gonzalez “That little brat hit me first, I had no choice but to fight back. It all her fault” she whispered fake tears running down her faultless face. “Really” Mr. Newman questioned. “Actually I have something to say” I spoke out. “This fight was not my fault, sure I might have thrown the first punch. But Little Ms. Perfect over here has been picking on me since the 9th grade and I never did anything about it but now I’m sick and tired of it.” And with that I ran out of the office.
I ran and ran and soon enough I found an abandoned factory. I ran through the building trying to find a door that lead to the roof. I found the door and hurled myself through it. I walked to the edge of the building, tears weld my eyes but I knew this was what I had to do. No one cared about me, no one would even care if I died. “Don’t jump” a little voice shouted in my head. I shook my head, nothing was going to stop me now. Moving closer to the edge, I heard the voice again, this time louder.
“Don’t jump” it whispered softly.
“You don’t get it! My parents are dead, my foster parents abuse me, I have no friends and I get bashed every single day.” I chocked, as tears raced down my face.
“You don’t have to, there are other ways, suicide is not the answer.” The voice said again. This time it felt like it was right behind me. I turned around in the process losing my balance and falling of the building. I quickly grabbed the ledge ‘Isn’t this what I wanted? To die? Or did this stranger give me some outlandish new found hope’ I thought to myself. I felt a warm hand engulf mine and hoist me up.
I straighten up, dusting myself off in the process. I looked up and found myself face to face with the stranger that saved my life. “Whhhhy dddid you savvve me” I stuttered still shocked from the sudden brush of death. “Because suicide is not the answer, sure your parents are dead, mine are too. But come on do you think that your parents would want you trying to kill your self.” He remarked “Even if I don’t, where would I go if I go home I’ll get beaten to death, I have no friends so staying at their house is out of the question, what other choices do I have, to live on the streets?!” I screeched “Simple, live with me and my foster parents and I promise, I promise you I’ll be your friend.”
