Suicide

Prologe

- Sakura's P.O.V -

I laid on my bed bringing the razor to my wrist, flinching at the sharp pain. I dropped the razor onto the floor, not caring where it'd land. Slowly, I made my way to the window of my room, admiring the night sky and all the stars.

Would anyone miss me if I jumped? Nobody would care right? My alcoholic father wouldn't care, he'd be happy, no one to look after. Since good ole mother ran away. "Great parents huh?" I've never been one to openly think about suicide.

I'm not suicidal, but if a car came while I was crossing the street, I don't think I'd move out of its way. And if someone held a gun to my head, I wouldn't exactly beg him for my life. In fact, I'd laugh and tell them to go for it. No I'm not exactly suicidal. But if I had an opportunity to die without having to kill myself, I'd probably take it.

Staring down at my arms all I see is jagged scars, bloodied by freshly made cuts, from a rusty box cutter. I used to be that perfect little girl you'd envy, perfect life, perfect parents, perfect everything. Until, my mother decided she couldn't handle it and ran off with some sleaze ball she met at a bar. After that dad started drinking, abusing me until he slowly forgot I was there. That was when I was 12, I'm 16 now.

Honestly I don't know when i became like this, it doesn't happen all at once you know? You lose a piece here another there. You slip, tumble, and adjust yourself. A few more pieces fall. It happens so slowly, you don't even realize your broken.....until you already are.

Maybe it's my fault I'm like this, I never reached out for help, forcing fake smiles when my Friends constantly asked if I was okay. Not wanting to burden anyone with my own problems I bottled them up and kept to myself, convincing everyone I was perfectly fine.

I stoped looking both ways before crossing the street; not wearing seat belts in the car and I stopped counting the amount of cuts I made. Now it may seem like I was trying to kill myself but, I wasn't, all I did do was stop caring about whether I lived or died.

After staring out the window for what seemed like hours, lost in my thoughts, I slowly made my way back to my bed picking up a journal and a pen. Before you jump to conclusions no this isn't where I'll end my life dramatically by writing a sloppy suicide note and fling my body out the window. At least, not yet.