Drowning

Chapter 7

I get home and it's 5:47. I open the door and set my board on the rickety stairs. I see her. Asleep on the counter. Dead on the counter. I don't know. I walk over quietly and check her pulse. There's a bottle of whiskey laying to the side of her. Empty again of course. I start trying to clean up, putting dishes in the sink and bottles and cans in the garbage. And I start washing the counter top when I feel a hand grab my hair a rip me back. I stumble and try to make it let go. She finally lets go and looks me dead in the eyes and starts screaming." YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN JUST USE ME? LEAVE THE FUCKING HOUSE WHEN EVER YOU WANT? NOT COME BACK FOR HOURS AT A TIME AND THEN COME HOME WHEN ITS DARK? DO NOTHING TO HELP SUPPORT ME? THIS FAMILY? YOU SHOULD START DOING SOME SHIT AROUND THE HOUSE" she screams, slurring her words, and wiping smeared barbie pink lipstick off her check. " WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN DO NOTHING? IM THE FUCKING ONE WHO DOES EVERYTHING. HOW DO YOU THINK EVERYTHING GETS CLEANED? THE ONLY FUCKING THING YOU DO IS DRIVE TO THE GAS STATION FOR THE SHIT YOU THINK YOU NEED TO LIVE" I scream back. Tears start streaming down my face. She slaps me. "Don't ever... fucking say that to me again." She raises her hand again and I flinch in fear of getting hit again.  I grab my board and run upstairs. I lock the door and break down. I fall to my knees and start ripping my hair out. I sit there. Silently screaming. Not being able to catch my breath. I crawl over to the chair against my wall and put my fingers under the rim. Searching for the only friend I know won't let me down. I find it. The razor blade that gives me hope. Maybe that hope comes from wanting enough courage to just press down as hard I can horizontally. Maybe it comes from a "it will get better" thought. I don't know. I find my sleeve and slowly drag it up. I put my pointer finger on the top and close my eyes and push down. I open my eyes 30 seconds later to find blood dripping down my arm like water. It stains my carpet. It stains my clothes; my body. I wrap gauze around my arm and pull my sleeves down, I'm still on the ground. I crawl over to the wall with the light switches. I pull them down and go back to the other side of the room. I clench my knees to my chest and fall back into the wall. Im crying but I'm not sad. I'm not that tired, yet I want to sleep forever. Not wake up. Suicide starts creeping through out my head, pulling other thoughts down and out of the way. She's always like this, she's done this a lot, but it feels like the first time everytime. Her sharp nails clicking against a glass. With her hair tied up in a knot, thrift store clothes tailored to look nicer than they are. Her drugstore makeup and goodwill heels. She wears something you would see a crackwhore wear. And if she was snorting drugs I wouldn't be surprised. She's too drunk to noticed she's not here anymore. She's gone. Dead. Not coming back.  A part of me will always love her, missing all the memories of when my dad was still around, and she had a good job, and didn't drink. When she had time for me. When I would be lifted up on to her shoulders on the 4th of July. When she would push me on a swing. When we had family dinner. Together. But that's all gone. My dad left when I was 7. My mom fell apart not to long after he left. I haven't seen him since. He lives in Nevada the last time I heard. But I found that out awhile ago. I'm sure he's left by now. I use think he was coming back. Funny right? We hear about story's in the news or from people talking in the checkout line about how they know someone who had a parent leave And return in a body bag. I wish I could silence those thoughts. Sleep helps that. Not thinking to hard. Not thinking at all. I use the walls to help myself up. I can feel my wrist rip apart from the gauze.a quiver runs through my body.  I find my way to my bed and sit on the edge. It's to dark to see but I know where everything is. I open my bottom drawer of my desk. Finding night quill. I crack it open and drink at least a qaurter of it. It makes me tired, helps me sleep. I know it's wrong but I need something to look forwards too. And that's sleep. I close it and feel it's bitter taste leave my mouth to my stomach. Shitty flavoring. I throw it back in my desk. I turn my lamp on, find my way to the door and open it. I have to make sure she at least gets to the couch. As much as I hate her, she's all I have sometimes. I'm all she has. No one talks to her anymore. Let alone knows she still exists. I peak around the stair bend to see her finishing up cleaning. I smile to myself and look down at my wrist. I drag my fingers over my sleeve. I start walking down. I pass her and go to our old pull out couch. "I'm sorry Trinity" she's says in the saddest crying voice I've ever heard and seen from her..  "god I wish our lives weren't like this, I wish you had a better life. Better mom" she says hitting her fists to her temples. I walk over and grab her arms to prevent her from hurting herself. " it's okay, I'm okay, let's get you some water, you need to hydrate". She nods and wipes her tears. I get her a solo cup of water and take her hand leading her up to my room. "You can sleep with me tonight, okay?" I tell her. She  looks relieved, "thank you" I grab her a pillow and set us up, side my side with me on the inside so she can get access to her cup. I have school tomorrow so I set an alarm. I pull the covers over her and tell her I love you. "I love you too". I feel the night quill start kicking in and I rest my head on my pillow where I find white clouds and sleep. No interruptions. No conversations or real thoughts. Just sleep.