First Step: Cut The Stem Short

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JOY

To be able to keep a rose healthy you have to cut it at the bottom of the stem. But the more I think about it, the more I feel you're cutting part of it away. If I were a rose, I'd wish to be cut off from the beginning, that or be thrown back in the dirt where I belong. Under the ground, preferably six feet under.

To those who don't know me, I'm Joy Fletcher. Pretty ironic name for a depressed teenage girl isn't it? Well anyway, lots has happened to lead me into the life of depression and suicidal thoughts. Firstly, when I was just seven my father died. Just two years after my father's death, my mother got a new husband. I woke up one night to hearing my mom's crying. Turns out, my stepfather abuses my mom. When I confronted him about it, he hit me too. I was too frightened to call the police, so I let him hurt my mom and I.

Six years later when I was in my freshman year of high school, I met Emmett. Emmett and I fell in love as quickly as a raindrop falls. In my sophomore year, Emmett died in a car accident. I was driving the car to prove I got my license, then the passengers side was hit by a car going over eighty miles per hour. I know it's wrong to blame myself for his death, but I do.

Emmett looks at me with this adorable, dorky grin as I show him my drivers license. "Fake," he states bluntly, I might add, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. I shake my head. "Prove it," he challenges, stepping closer to me.

I return his challenge by stepping closer. "Get in the damn car then." Emmett begins to laugh as he enters my moms car. Well, her old car.

That car is now completely wrecked. But today, I'm starting my senior year. I decide to go big. Go big meaning that I'll wear the darkest thing I can. The most death I can put in one place. On my body. Then again, I have a small, disgusting body that no one would want. I don't even want it. My body has bruises, cuts, and too many scars to count. Maybe if I didn't have these damn scars I'd be prettier; I wouldn't have to hide my body.

I sigh and move on from my depressing thoughts for a moment. What to wear? What to wear? I grab a simple black shirt, ripped black jeans, and my hoodie. "Joy! Time to go to school!" my stepdad yells from downstairs. "Don't make me come up there!"

I put my old Converse on and run downstairs. "Good morning mom. Good morning Robert."

"Call me dad," Robert requests, forcefully.

"You're not my dad. You're not even my family," I state, turning away from him.

Robert grabs my wrist but my mom stops him. "She'll be late if you don't let her go."

Robert groans, letting my wrist out of his grip. He moves to me and whispers, "You're free to go, but make sure you know that this isn't over. I'm not finished with you."

I nod, walking slowly to the door. I'm not coming home tonight. I refuse to let him touch me. Robert deserves to be in jail. He's not there so I have to do something to make him stop. I know this sounds wrong, but I'd rather my mom be the victim of his abuse. I already abuse myself enough, physically and emotionally.

I look back on my house, sighing. Before I start to cry, I walk to school, refusing to slow down. Everything passes by me in a blur although I'm walking rather slowly. I can't look at the world in a positive manor anymore. It's sad to say but it's all so true. My life has become a living hell.

As people walk by me, I sense their happiness. The couples holding hands should cherish what they have. It may go away in the snap of fingers. Life is completely unpredictable. If someone could predict the flaws in life, there would be no flaws. But of course, nothing is ever that simple. Ever.

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: Jun 04, 2017 ⏰

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