The Last Night

10

Later on in the day, I found something incredibly shocking.
Willow has been my favorite stuffed animal since I got her when I was eight. I've slept with her every night since, thinking she could chase away my nightmares. Who knows who killed her? Who knows how she died? But when I got home from school that Tuesday, I found her sandy colored fur surrounded by stuffing and two hazel eyes. Tears began to flood out of my eyes and everything became a blur. Then I realized who did it. Matt.
I rushed down the hallway to Matt's room just to find him lying on his bed like a vegetable, remote in hand, his eyes staring at the TV.
He chuckled nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes," I said steam clouding out of my nostrils. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."  We began a staring contest and when I blinked I screamed one magic word. "Mom!"
Mom came rushing upstairs. "Yes, hon," she sighed. "What is it?"
"He tore Willow apart!" I screeched.
Mom glared at Matt. "Matt..."
"What?" Matt said. "It was just a joke!"
"Say you're sorry right now!" Mom exclaimed.
I placed my hand on my hip. I had to see this.
"No," Matt said. "I will not apologize. She deserves it. She's such an immature bitch."
Mom looked at me. "Honey, excuse us."
I nodded and trotted to my room, slammed the door, and hugged the remains of Willow.
I didn't come out for dinner. I stayed in my room and looked out the window, thinking.
Maybe I should just die. I'm just an ugly, unlovable bitch.
I went to the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of pills. My hand trembled as I reached to turn the lid open to my death. Tears streaked my cheeks.
Because once I make this decision, there's no coming back.
No coming back to see your parents.
No coming back to say you're sorry.
No coming back. Period.
The bottle slipped out of my shaking hands. I crumpled to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and sobbed. Once I had gathered myself together, I returned to my room and ripped open the plastic wrapping of the diary I had gotten for Matt. I scavenged my room for a writing utensil and eventually settled for a highlighter under my bed.
Ten Things About Me:
I'm a bitch.
I'm a slut.
I'm a whore.
I'm ugly.
I'm stupid.
I'm ungrateful.
I'm depressing.
I'm pathetic.
I'm fat.
I'm
I stopped when I got to number 10 and looked over my list. They were basically the same things repeated over and over again. I rewrote my list.
Ten Things About Me:
I'm a bitch. loving
I'm a slut. self-conscious
I'm a whore. hopeful
I'm ugly. Internally beautiful
I'm stupid. Hard working
I'm ungrateful Jewish
I'm depressing. depressed
I'm pathetic. proud
I'm fat. unstoppable
I'm ME.