Random Short Stories

Scars

I walked out of my room in my blue sweater with two bold white stripes on the sleeves and the big white letters that say "I CAN'T." My mom was going through her facebook and smirked as she seen a certain post. One my girlfriend posted. I was going to be in deep shit.

"What is it, mom?" I asked, taking a seat next to her though I knew exactly what was going to happen.

She read the post. "When a girl wears a sweater or hoodie, she's not wearing anything underneath. No shirt, no bra." She looked at me.

"That's not always true, mom." I pointed out through I was only wearing a thin see-through tank top under mine.

"Then show me, young lady. Prove me and her wrong." She smirked and I got angry.

"Why? So you can boast once more that I'm not good enough!?" I shouted, standing up. I took off my sweater to show her I was indeed wearing something under it, no matter how thin.

"Don't you dare yell at me!" She stood up as well and let me tell you... Anger doesn't look good on her. Her veins seem to strain and her face goes red, eyes wide and wild.

"Then stop trying to hurt me further!" I fired back, venom poisoning each syllable.

"You little slut. You're always showing off for her, arn't you? Stripping and wearing these things tank tops for her! That's the only reason she fucking loves you!!" She hissed. Though I knew, well hoped, that her words weren't true, tears pricked my eyes.

"She loves me! Unlike you!" I reached for my sweater that was lying on the couch but didn't grab it before she grabbed my wrist. Shit.

"What are these marks, Ali? Do you cut?" She asked, her voice softer now. But from the look of disgust in her eyes, it wasn't out of concern for me. It meant her anger was through the roof.

"Why do you care, mother? " I spit the last word out and ripped my arm from her grasp and prying eyes.

"You better put that damn sweater on and I better not catch you in anything but long sleeves, understand? You're pathetic, self harm is a cowards way of dealing with stress. As if you have any real stress. You're not depressed, you want attention. Out of my sight." She threw my sweater at me, hatred and disgust over powering any other emotion in her eyes.

I wish I could say I didn't care but I did. I do. I ran to my room and slammed and locked the door. I put y sweater back on and searched through my make up for my pocket knife. I was sat on my bed with the blade to my wrist when my girlfriend called. I smiled.

I answered the video call immediately and hid the knife. "Puppy, I missed you!" I used her nickname, the one only I know.

"Hey, Ali.. Look, I'm sorry I called but uhm.." She hesitated and looked away from the camera. Away from me. "We should see other people."

As soon as those words left her perfect, soft lips I went spiralling down, down, down into depression.

"Wh-why?" What was meant to be a strong voiced, demanded answer came out as a strangled whimper full of defeat.

"I'm tired of the same body. Especially hearing you cry about your depression. It's annoying, really." There was no love or endearment hidden anywhere on her face, in her eyes or in her voice. Only regret. Regret of being with me.

"Fine, go!" I cried and picked up my still open pocket knife.

She smiled. I slashed deeper than I ever have, blood immediately dripping a small pool onto my black bed sheets.

She laughed. Laughed. A victorious laugh. "Good girl." How dare she use that phrase from my littlespace and turn it to make me feel bad? 'Good girl's is -was- my favorite phrase when I'm little. It made me happy that I made her proud, but now it made me cut again. It made me feel useless, worthless, pointless.

"Bye, Ali!" I heard a familiar voice in the back before the call dropped. She had already moved on and I was falling into a deep, dark whole of pain and hurt.

I cut again. Deeper. Another, even deeper. Another, longer. Blood pooled in my lap. I was getting dizzy. Lightheaded. The pain in my heart subdsided then all at once, every bad thing came flooding back.

My first boyfriend cheating.
My dad leaving.
My now ex leaving me for a real whore.
Giving away my secrets to her.
The bullying.
Being locked outside.
The nightmares.
My mom hating me.
Too much to even list half.

I cried, hard and loud. My brothers heard and tried to break into my room. I smiled.

"Goodbye. I love you both." I said so they could hear before I passed out from the blood loss.

I didn't wake up again.
Instead I wander around, a spirit as invisible as my mortal self.
I watched my own funeral. The only ones who cried and meant it were my brothers. They always loved me and only them.
I watched her get married and get her dream job. The wedding was beautiful on her own land. Black and purple themed.
My first boyfriend became the football player he always wanted to be with a beautiful wife and a cute baby boy named Alexander.
My mom faked sadness and hurt and pain from my death and was given many things and gifts from relatives and friends.
My brothers both got amazing jobs, wifes and are now living on our family's land in Alaska with small families of their own. They both keep pictures of me and tell their families of me.
I was able to see my own future. The future I would have had if I had not let myself bleed out.
Married to a sweet guy with a good job. An artist I would have been. And had two sons. But the guy I would have married was abusive, apparently.
Everyone said things would get better. If I had stayed alive, I would have been left behind and abused by my husband. I would have brought two innocent little boys into this world to suffer the same fate and be beaten to death by their father.

It doesn't always get better.