A Beast Like Me - Prelude

Fiction structured around a true story…

   I stared up at the ceiling in my bedroom, silent, shaken, and pitiful. My eyes drifted across each spot on my ceiling, connecting them like dots in a coloring book. In my mind I am escaping to a world of peace as I close my eyes – I am free. Cool, clean air surrounds me; I take a deep breath in then open my eyes to see my ceiling above me, once again. My arms were folded across my stomach, when suddenly, “Zoe!! Get down here right now,” my mother yelled to me angrily from the bottom of the stairs that led to my bedroom. I hopped down the stairs and, to my dismay, my mother was standing there with her arms folded across her chest.

   “Yeah,” I said with a shaky and uncertain voice.

   “How many times have I told you to never leave dishes in the sink?!” She tapped her foot and glared at me with eyes like daggers pressing through my cheeks.

   “Oh, sorry, I-“

   “You’re not sorry! Otherwise you wouldn’t do it! You know what this is? White trash behavior, just like your piece-of-shit, drug-addicted mother. You’re a worthless inconsiderate brat.”

   “I’m sorry, I’ll take care of it. I- I’m sorry……” I trailed off and tears started to well in my eyes; my cheeks started to burn and my eyebrows were pulled tight against each other. I swallowed my tears, however, because that only makes her angrier, and she sees it as weak and meaningless.

   She came back out, screaming at my four year old sister, Abielle. “WHY DON’T YOU EVER LISTEN??” I knew that when she walked away I would have to take leave from doing the dishes and comfort Abielle, tell her that Mommy didn’t mean it and that she was just angry. For now, however, I kept my back to her and Abielle, who I knew was cowering on the floor. She stomped up behind me and turned me to her by yanking me by my hair, “You wanna know why I have such a problem with them?! BECAUSE YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING CUNT TO ME THAT BY THE TIME THEY DO ANYTHING WRONG, I’M ALREADY FURIOUS. This is your fault. See what you did,” she ferociously pointed her finger at Abielle.

   After finishing the dishes and comforting Abielle enough to stop crying, I retreated back to my room. I got ready to take a shower and ran downstairs and into the bathroom. After getting undressed, I stood there for a second, naked and staring into the mirror. My eyes scanned by entire body, disgusted by my atrocious outward appearance. I rested my hand on the sink beside me, still staring into the mirror, and ran my fingers across the blade I had left there, because no one comes into my bathroom. I pressed my thumb against the edge just hard enough to prick my finger and make the smallest drop of blood trickle down the silvery metal, and looked away from the mirror to the blade. Maybe I deserve to be hurt, to be bruised and bleeding. What is wrong with me?

   A tear crept down my cheek as I looked back at the mirror, then quickly spun around, slammed my back against it, and slid to the floor. Without hesitation, I took my blade in hand and made three bright red lines across my ribs, as the blood beaded through the wound then flowed down my stomach. Then the other side – three more across my ribs; the blood flowed down my stomach until it was caught where my stomach meets my legs, seeing as I had pulled them against my chest. After about six or seven minutes, I stood and stepped into the shower, turning it on and standing in the freezing water until it got warm. I stood there with beads of water bouncing against and away from my back, as bright red beads of blood raced down my stomach, then my legs until it met the floor. I watched ad the water on the shower floor diluted the pure, peaceful solution pouring out from within me. It looked so peaceful there, despite the pain shooting through me. I watched as the blood and water dance around one another, and I stayed until the bleeding slowed down. Silently crying to myself the entire time.

I wrapped my wounds in bandages and cleaned the floor before returning to my room. Hours passed, and I just sat with my back against my bedroom wall listening to music. At 11:36 P.M., there was a tapping on my window. I opened it to see Vanessa standing on the ground far below me, so I stepped down the ladder I had set against my window, then I hopped to the ground and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around me and when she squeezed I let out a soft whimper.

“Zoe! Have you-“

“Vee, stop. I’m okay. What’s up? Why are you here?” I dropped my hands to my sides and slid them into my pockets.

She pulled a paper bag out of her pocket and handed it to me, “Here. It’s time to get out of here. You’re 18. With your money and mine we can find a place of our own in London.”