Addiction

Your my living nightmare

Cold. That's all I felt. My eyes were almost completely closed. The blood poured out of my limp body and onto the floor below me. My breathing started to slow down and it felt like someone was sitting on my chest. My fingers twitched in front of me. From the skin that I could see, I was turning a horrible grey colour. Most of the limb I could see was covered in crimson. My blood. Black spots started to appear in my sight. I was starting to feel dizzy and I knew I was about to fall out of
consciousness. I heard a door bang against a surface, multiple voices yell and foot steps all around me.

Darkness.

That's all I could see. I couldn't feel anything. No cold, no warmth, not even some sort of ground that I could be laying on.

I heard faint beeping and sobs.

I jolted up in tears. Not another nightmare. I slowly turned my head to my bedside clock. How many hours would I have to wait today? I was shocked. Usually it was five or six hours I would have to wait before trailing downstairs and painting a smile on. Today it wasn't even an hour. My 'alarm' was scheduled to go off in about half an hour.

'Waking up' about half an hour early wouldn't be too bad, right? I mean my mother would be so deep in sleep even if I threw water on her she wouldn't wake up. My father. That's just a joke now. If he's not at work he's at the bar. If I'm unlucky I'll see him for about thirty seconds a week? That sounds about right.

Usually Thurs- oh wait. Today's Thursday.. He usually throws insults my way 'fag', 'Mins', 'skank'.

I ran my bony fingers through my hair and cried. I didn't make noise anymore. An endless amount of tears fell down my face and onto my knees. No noise dared leave my mouth. He might be sober. He might hear.

I glanced over at the stains on my carpet. The stains that will be permanently there. The crimson marks that left black marks in my mind. It's always the same nightmare, always the same sobs, always the same sad faces and always the same fist colliding with my face the second the door closes six days later.

I swung my legs over my bed and walked over to my closet. I pulled out clean underware, jeans and a black pullover hoodie. I drowned myself in deodorant, grabbed a note book out of my school bag and sketched the same image I have of my arm almost every night. Maybe that would help get the image out of my mind.

My phone rang after I had finished. It was a message from Lizzy to come outside. I smiled to myself, shoved my things into my bag, slung it over my shoulder and made a run for the front door.

I couldn't escape my hell without hearing and 'skank' from my Father before I left the front door. Just before I slammed it behind me I yelled "Darling, your my own personal, living nightmare!"

That's the first time I spoke back and I knew for a fact I was gonna regret it.