7 Years of Bad Luck

Chapter 1

As much as I hated my life, I wouldn't have traded it with anyone else's. He always told me that my problem is I hold on to things that drag me down. He said I was always scared to let go. But I am never letting go of what he taught me. Even if it is the death of me, everything he taught me is what made me into the person I am today.

"If you want to leave, then leave. I'm done with you. You are dismissed," he turned away from me and looked back at his computer screen. I stood there for a moment, staring at his profile. He angrily pushed his glasses up his nose, and I caught a glimmer of pain in his eyes. As much as he denied it, I knew I had hurt him, and I felt so guilty. Why did I keep lying? Why couldn't I be a perfect daughter like my sister, getting good grades, making friends, and keeping up with chores at home? Why did I cause trouble everywhere I went? The house was painfully silent. I could even hear the dogs barking down the street. 

"Yes, sir," I said softly and trudged up the stairs to my room. My mom and my sister were out for the afternoon, and my brother was reading downstairs in the living room. 

I was alone.

 I slowly walked to my bed and sat down by the window. It was a beautiful summer day in New England. I always loved New England. Hell, I lived there for half of my life. The neighbor's trees towered over their house, the dark green leaves dancing in the wind. The bright blue sky was decorated with an occasional cotton-white cloud. I rested my chin on the window pane and darted my eyes to the ground. The neighbor's house was so pretty. It was new, I remembered watching the city tear down the old house that used to be there. They had removed all of the weeds and the tall grass, and that old shack of a house. Now, the property had fake grass the perfect shade of green, and a three story home that made ours look old and sad. 

I turned away from the window and looked at my dresser. I didn't think as I did it. I was so emotional, I wasn't thinking about anything except the huge well in my throat.

 Don't cry, I told myself. You can't cry.

 I grabbed it, and silently walked to the bathroom across the hall from my bedroom. I was careful not to step on the parts of the floor that made a squeak, or else he would hear and ask what I was doing. I had lived there for three years, and had memorized every inch of floor in that house. I knew exactly which spots in the floor beds that made a squeak when you stepped on them.

 I quietly shut the bathroom door, holding my breath so I could hear the soft click of the lock on the door. I sat down in the front of the sink and took a deep breath. I knew some of my friends did this. Jackie would tell me about how she used to have no one to talk to, and how alone she felt. Now I knew how she felt. I looked down at my skin.

 It wasn't my fault. 

It was my dad's fault. 

If he hadn't left all those years, if he was just a little bit responsible, then maybe we would still be a happy family. Maybe I wouldn't be feeling this way. I guess we'll never know.

I couldn't breathe here. They didn't let me breathe. I felt so trapped, I felt like a caged animal. There was no room for me to make mistakes, because every time I did, I got bitch slapped for it. How was I supposed to learn if I constantly lived in fear? I couldn't even be myself. I had to call him "sir" and my mother "ma'am". They never bought junk food, so we were fairly healthy. I suppose that was good, although we were hardly like any of the other kids. We didn't have phones. We had restricted Internet access, my sister and I weren't allowed to wear makeup like the other girls, we were constantly doing chores around the house, and we had to be in bed by 9:00 PM. 

The floor was cold.

In one swift motion, I swept the blade across my skin.

I know.