Why Me?

Prologue

My name is Zoey Cawthorn. I am sixteen years old tomorrow. Yay . . . (note sarcasm) I am definetaly not looking forward to my sweet sixteen because:

#1 I don't have any friends to celebrate with.

#2 My Mum is too 'busy' to spend it with me.

#3 I would much rather spend it in my room with a ciggie and a bottle of whiskey.

My taste-buds died when I was fourteen, from all of the vodka and alcohole I'd had at my step-fathers 74th birthday party. Best party ever! Three of my step-dads friends had their way with me that night. But I'm not really bothered. I lost my virginity when I was six to my real Dad. Boy, he sure was a dickhead! He used to beat my Mum bloody right infront of my eyes. He used to strap me to a chair and get his pocket knife out of his draws and-- well, lets just say that my screams could be heard three blocks away.

It took four months for me to get one minute alone in the only room that had a phone; the master bedroom. My Dad never let me or my Mum in there before. That was where he used to take all of his girls that he used to bring home. Dad was being really mean to me that night. He stabbed me twice and slit my wrists. My mother came crawling in on all fours when she heard me screaming. Passed out for a bit after that and woke up terribly weak about fifteen minutes later. luckinl for me, my Dad didn't slit my wrists deep enough for me to die too quickly. Trembiling and afraid, I got up off of the bed and fell onto the floor. My  knees thumping on the wooden floor was mufled by my Mums screams. I rang the police and my Dad was taken to jail, while me and my mother were taken to hospital. I never saw what my father had done to Mum, because I had passed out again from blood loss before I could hang up the phone. Mum and i were in the hospital recovering for about two months. My Mum saved my life that day, and I'll never forgive her for it. She could have died that day trying to save me. I couldn't see her, but I remember she had seven-hundred and sixty-four stitches all together, fourteen fractures, two brakes and a punctured lung. We've both fully recovered from that little escapade physically. but I know we will never be able to fully recover mentally. I, for one, know that we both wake up screeming from nightmare that we have of that night. Dad is still in jail. He'll be in there forever, or until death. Whichever comes last. Mum doesn't know what my step-dad does to me. I don't want to tell her because he loves her as much as she loves him. Too much. She hardly notices me anymore. Never talks to me. Never even looks at me. It's like shes in a constant trance or something. But I don't mind. I've learned to become fully indipendent and need her as much as-- well, I don't.

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HEY! THANKS FOR READING! AND I DID CHANGE THE WHOLE STORY LINE BUT I ASSURE YOU, THIS ONE IS BETTER! AND I MADE THE COVER MYSELF SO NO HATE OK? THANKS MY DARLINGS! BYE <3>