What's The Worst That I Could Say?

Chapter 15- The forth flashback

I WARN YOU NOW- this chapter may affect quite a few of you, 'cause there are some deep, possibly disturbing things throughout. I can't exactly not put this in, because this is an important part to the story, to show you all what happened to Helena and why she did it. These things happen every day, to people just like you and I...possibly, some of you who are reading this have been in a similar situation where something has happened and the only thing you think you can do is try to end it. 

I'm asking you if you've dealt with this, or feeling depressed for whatever reason not to end it. These people who may have fucked you over, smashed you into pieces...taken something from you: are not worth your tears. They're not worth your pain, or your anger or sadness. Screw them, okay? You don't deserve to feel this way or want to end it, you're so much better than that. They've already made you feel like this...don't let them make you want to take your own life. 

Four years ago...

I couldn't stop shaking and crying. I felt so cold, so alone, so empty. Only two minutes ago he got up and pulled up his pants, disappearing out the closet and out of the basement. He didn't bother to say goodbye, he was way too drunk and didn't particularly care anyway. I was just a piece of dirt to him.

I'd screamed. I'd sobbed, cried, begged, and screamed for somebody. Nobody came, and he just kept punching me across the face when I opened my mouth to beg him to stop. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled on it, thrusting into me. It was so painful, one of the worst pains I'd ever had in my entire life. Quite close to breaking my arm, probably joint first. He ignored my screams, my protests and just carried on what he was doing to me, thinking I was enjoying every single second of it. My sobs turned into silent tears, and I just began to feel numb.

He raped me. 

I sat up and dragged myself out of the closet, shaking and wiping my smudged makeup. My pants had been pulled down to my knees, and I pulled them and my underwear up shakily. I felt sick as I caught a glance at the dry blood on my thighs, pulling up my pants too. I wanted my mom, I wanted Gerard...where were they? I glanced around for my cell, but it was nowhere to be seen. I had to find it, I had to call for help, to call for somebody, anybody. I brought my hands to my head and tugged slowly at my messed up hair, sobs erupting from me as I looked around. Maybe it was upstairs. I quickly hurried up the steps of the basement and then away up the staircase towards my bedroom, my thoughts becoming more wild and erratic.

I'd practically let it happen. I should've ran after Gee and the guys, but I didn't, and in result of it, he did it to me. I let him do the things he did, I...I felt sick. When I reached the top of the stairs I headed straight for the bathroom, staggering towards the toilet and puking into it. 

Minutes later, I flushed the toilet, weakly wiping my mouth with some toilet paper and turning to the mirror. Words couldn't describe how much I hated myself right now. I looked so ugly, so sick. I felt it too. I could've fought Dean off, but I let him do what he did. I let him treat me like nothing, I let him rape me. In fact, it was hardly rape if I'd basically let him.

I felt sick again, but not exaclty in the same way as before. I didn't want to look at myself, I felt...disguested, knowing I was what I was. Nothing, useless...

Tears dripped down my cheeks. I hated this feeling, I hated all of this. I open up the cabinet behind the mirror and take out some of mom's sleeping pills. She struggles to get to sleep sometimes, because her sleeping pattern is so fucked up due to work. I just want to sleep, to get over the pain. I shut the cabinet and stare at myself once more. Nothing.

I cry quietly as I make my way down the steps of the basement, thinking over my life. My mom thinks I'm probably a brat- I ask for a lot of things and make out my life is bad and everything and complain when I don't get my own way. My fake friends used me to do their assignments, made me be their little lap dog. They never really liked me, did they? And what about my real friends? Oh yeah, I treated them like crap, running off to be with the fake ones because I was so desperate to be popular. 

And Gerard? Well, he's always been there for me, hasn't he? Always putting me first, letting me walk over him. I hated myself for that, for doing that to Gee.

I just hated myself in general. I got down the steps, and flopped onto the old couch close by, and freeze when I feel a muffled glass clatter against the button of my pants. I turn around to see the half full bottle of vodka, lying on the seat next to me. I stare at it silently for a few minutes, hesitating. 

I'm a burden to everyone. They'd be better off without me. They'd hate me for what I let happen, they'd blame me...

I pick up the vodka bottle, unscrew the lid and take an uneasy swig from the bottle. I wanted to spit it out, but instead gulped the burning liquid. I then unscrewed the bottle of pills, shaking several of the tablets into my hand. I stare down at them, biting my lip.I wanted to feel the same as I truly was. I wanted to feel numb, to feel nothing...

About forty minutes later, that is exactly how I am. Completely numb, completely floating on air and oblivious to the world. I loved it, I enjoyed the feeling. It was so easy to feel, so, so much better too. It was nice to just forget.

Forget? What was I saying? It was still there, lingering in my mind, like a stain. Permanent, there forever. I could never forget that, forget the horrible feeling and pain I'd endured. No matter how many pills or bottles of alcohol I'd drink, I would never be able to get rid of it. 

And that's when it dawned on me. I didn't have to remember, I didn't have to feel the pain anymore. I didn't have to be alone, or a burden, a brat or an absolute worthless piece of nothing. I could leave, go forever. It'd be so easy, and soon I'd be floating off, away from all of this. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the kitchen knife sitting over on the table, next to my uncut birthday cake. I slowly stood from my place on the couch and trailed over towards the glimmering object, a small smile on my face. Nobody would miss me, I'd be doing them all a favour. I took the knife, and trailed back towards the couch, perching on the edge of it and staring down at my wrist quietly.

I just didn't want to remember anymore. I didn't want the pain. So, I pressed the edge of the knife to my wrists and slowly sliced it across the pale skin. I bit down on my lip hard, still feeling the horrible, stinging pain despite feeling numb. I brought the knife away from my wrist, staring down at the wound as the blood poured slowly down it. I watched for a few more seconds, before doing it again and starting on the other arm.

I slumped down off of the couch and onto the cold floor, feeling weak and badly light headed. I dropped the knife, beside me, slowly laying down onto the ground and pressing my face to the close to freezing concrete. I gazed at my arm as it poured the blood slowly across the basement floor, oozing out into a dark pool. I smiled. I felt happy again.

Footsteps coming down the stairs to the basement, and I heard a horrified gasp.

"Helena!" Somebody cried, but I continued to smile into space, the world beginning to fade from around me. I felt the person take my wrist, beginning to sob. A sweaty hand slapped gently across my cheek as the person cried at me. "Helena, please, please don't leave me! Please, I need you!"