Change Me

The first hit is always the hardest.  The stinging, the shock, the emotional pain.  Even though I'm supposed to be used to it, its surprises me every time.  The first hit always hurts the most, it starts the tears, it starts the pain, it starts the screams.  It starts all the terror.  It starts all the questions?

        What did I do wrong?

        Will he hit me again?

        How long do I have to live with this for?

And eventually: How long until I'm dead?

        And this is why I'm doing what I'm doing.  I take the razor from under my pillow, where I've been hiding it since I was twelve.  I slice it slowly across my veins.  It stings at first, but I like the pain.  Its what i deserve.  I don't deserve to be here anymore.  My father has been abusing me since my mom died.  He abused her too, and she couldn't leave him.  She was a beautiful woman, my mother.  Her name was Annabelle.  She would always yell and scream at my father, I didn't understand what was happening until I was eight.  And I called the police as he beat her.  And thats when she died.  He thought that she called the police.  Annabelle didn't deserve that, she was a smart woman.

        They found my father innocent, though.  I don't know how he managed it.  The court is seriously getting worse and worse.  Now he takes everything out on me.  When he drinks, its worse.  He throws empty beer bottles at me.  I have and uncountable amount of scars on my body.  Today though, today was the day I would get out of this terrible place.

                                                                                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        I quickly grab my phone and a few dollars I got from my job at the library.  It is basically the only place I can go that gets me home early enough to not see John when I get home.  I run out the door, pretending to be going to school, and i take John's keys.  If I'm leaving, I might as well take his shitty car too.  The drive is all a blur, but as I enter the doors to the train station, I finally feel free from the place I call Hell.

        "One ticket to London, please." I say to the woman.  Her name tag says Annabelle.

        "Here you go love.  Sweetheart, you look like hell, are you alright?" Annabelle asks me.

        "Yes... Um... Y-yeah I'm fine," I stutter, "You remind me a lot of my mother... Her name was Annabelle too."

        She hands me my ticket and nods.  "Have a safe ride, love.  Be careful."

And holding that ticket, I can feel the freedom.