Words That Cut Too Deep

Chapter 5

Natalie

The nightmare was terrifying. The pain was so excruciating, yet alluring. I shook from head to toe and a cold sweet sheened my face. The black windows told me it was the middle of the night. I unsteadily got out of bed and went to the shower. As always, the water was luke warm and smelled funny, but this time I made it ice cold. It numbed my whole body. After a few minutes of standing there, I got out and wrapped myself in a thin towel. I was shivering as I got back into bed, still bundled in my towel, and fell back into a restless sleep.

I awoke with blinding sunlight pouring over my eyes. I sat up. My wrists seared with pain. Maybe that nightmare hadn't been all a dream, because there was  a little blood around the newest cut. It must've opened while I was tossing and turning. I re-bandaged the cut and went downstairs. It was a Saturday morning, my least favorite day. Weekends were terrible. I had nothing to do. At least at school I had things to occupy my mind. But here I was trapped by the walls of my isolation. The walls that shut out everything.

What was there to do on a weekend? Homework was futile. I was a lost cause at school. I had no friends to hang out with, no sports to play, no life to live.

The kitchen was empty, It was around noon, so my mom would be at work and my dad would be in bed for a few more hours. When he woke up, he would yell and scream until I brought him painkillers for his headache, which knocked him out for another five or six hours. When he awoke again, he would pop some more and probably down it with some whiskey. As if it wasn't bad enough he was abusing prescriptions, but now he was mixing them with alcohol, and that dangerous combination could kill him at any second.

It was only so long before some vital organ failed. I honestly would not've been sad my father died in his sleep. He deserves to, after letting himself go. When Cameron was alive, my father was the lifeline of the family. He kept us together. Now, he tore us apart with every pill he took, every glass he gulped down.

He was as selfish as I was. Every time he bougt a bottle of liqour, he gave up a little more. He let his weaknesses conquer him. He should be an example for me, a reminder that I needed to be strong for Mom and Cam. Instead, it drove me. It fed me. It gave me more to feel sorry for, more to be angry about, more to resent and to hate. I was the most selfish human being on the planet because I had an escape. Blood was my way to calm down, to function. My mother was not as lucky. She continued her life, knowing every day that her son was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. I could not imagine that torture, that ultimate suffering. The weight of that pressed on her shoulders every day. At least I found relief from that pain, of loosing a brother and a friend.

Now I glared in the bathroom mirror. I had thought of these things before, of course. These were reocurring nightmares when I was concious. I scorned myself. I despised every moment my heart beat, every time air entered my body. Cameron's heart did not beat. He could not breath anymore. I sometimes wonder why I, the sick, twisted cutter girl, has such luxuries as blood and breath when my brother has none.