Better Off Alone✔

€hapter 1:

   ~Paris~

   The loud and angry voices of my parents,only made me press harder against my ears.

  I hugged my knees tighter, pushing myself farther into the dark corner.

   I wish I was good enough for them, but deep down I know, I'll always be the accidental, the mistake.

  "You know we barely have enough money to pay the bills, let alone feed ourselves, yet here you stand spending what few we do have on alcohol. What is it going to take for you to grow up JAMIE!" My father yelled.

  I peaked through the crack, light aluminating my eye.

  My dad was angry, but I knew under those eyes he was crying.

  Mother was crying, but a smirk played across her lips.

  "I don't need you." She slurred, laughing,  " You're not the one who sets at home with these immature children, you don't have to deal with PARIS. Honestly you learn to just ignore her and she''ll leave you alone."

  At this I only cried louder. I know I'm a mistake, but I wish they wouldn't point it out. I try my best and I know my best isn't good enough and even at 9 years old I wish it would all just end. My life and all.

  Mother must have heard me, for she came and started to pound on the door furiously, prying it open.  

   God only knows what happens next...

  I awoke with a scream. Yet, another nightmare to keep me lying awake in thought.

  For as long as I can remember, I always had nightmares of things that I didn't want to remember. My past childhood,mom and dad, they never went away and I don't expect them to anytime soon.

  Me? My name is Paris Sophia, or PS, but I never really liked sharing the same last name as my parents, so I go by Rebel.

  My life has always been screwed up, ever since mom had me.

  She always told me that everything was perfect, until I came along. She said Dad always payed more attention to me than her. I didn't think that was true, I was erased from EVERYONE'S life.

  My dream? That was the first night I cut myslef and I've been addicted since.

  In ways, I wish I could go back to my little 9 year old self, and break the razor before it left a scar, but in other ways, it's my only escape. I probably would have broke If I hadn't picked up that razor. I would most likely be dead by now.

  I looked over at the clock and realized it was 3:33. Rolling over I caressed my scars as if those were my life support.

  In ways, I guess they were.