The shattered glass felt like fire as it licked my skin. Would you kiss my lips, when you know a razor has kissed kissed my wrists? There was a stabbing feeling and I looked up through the swelling to see the words mouthed. You little..... you're not my daughter..... little shit. I would be crying, I was supposed to be crying but this was my life. I was abused almost daily now. It was like a game that I played with the world, I pretended I was ok, that my life was perfect or almost perfect. But at night it was hell.
I had picked the wrong night to go out. I had straightened my hair, put on makeup. Makeup that was pretty to my standards not just cover up to cover up what my parents marked on me. When the physical damage was done, I was left with not only the emotional damage, but the hair all over and what’s worse. The runny make up, the yelling, the words that took too soon to sink and destroy. And of course the memories, that would haunt me at night and follow me everywhere.
'Oh and Caroline,' my father sneered, 'be sure to clean up this mess that you made.' He left the room and it all started. What I had done, his reactions, her reactions when she left. I was done, the option lingered in my head all the time. So, why hadn't I done it, just given up in my tracks, died right there in my tracks? NO, it wasn’t that way. The blood flow continued no matter what I did but, only one really understood me. My good friend that turned into my best friend regardless of how my parents felt about her. I was so goddamn close to her but they never understood us.
