Forever The Good Girl

Chapter One

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I logged onto Facebook in the best mood I had been in for months. It was Friday night and I had absolutely nothing to do. No homework, no babysitting, nothing. Which means that for the first time in forever, I get to sleep in tomorrow.

Scrolling through my home page though, my smile faltered.  He was in a relationship. My stomach sunk and I turned off my laptop. I threw it at the end of my bed then I heard it crash. It had fallen to the ground; and I'm on the top bunk. Oops... but only part of me cared. Not enough of me.

I pulled the covers over my head - which I normally can't stand because I'm claustrophobic - and stared at the white fabric. Boys are such jerks. I should have seen it coming, I mean he's a player and we haven't made anything official, but still. Boys are such jerks!

I took deep breaths trying not to cry. he wasn't worth it. He really wasn't. He's a year younger and he's a total doofus. He's dated all my friends that know him and he's as hairy as bigfoot. Still, he's strong and funny and he loves country music.

I pulled the covers off of me and breathed. I probably would have passed out if I was under them much longer. Sitting up, I sighed. I looked at the wall and pulled out the red tac that I kept there. I traced it along my arm. I know how this must sound but I've never cut myself. Never broken skin. I've seriously thought about it though. Honestly, I've seriously thought about suicide.

I'd never do it though. I couldn't do that to myself. I wouldn't have the guts. I couldn't do that to my family. Even if they are terrible. Even if they are awful how could I hand that guilt to them with a smile? Let them think themselves responsible for the rest of their lives, never knowing that I really needed help they couldn't provide?

Maybe they wouldn't care. Maybe the only guilt they would feel would be so microscopic it wouldn't be noticed. I don't suppose I'll ever know. But I can guess.

I pressed the tac a little harder and sighed. I'd like to be in control of the pain but I don't really have that right. Besides, if I started, would I be able to stop? Would the tac turn into a knife? Or eventually a gun? I wasn't willing to take the chance. I put it back in the wall.

I had gone a little too far with Dean. In the heat of the moment I had given him control. I'll be frank, I'm still a virgin. but at that moment if it had been up to me, I wouldn't be.

Attempting at a laugh, I decided to stop thinking about him. Jumping off my bed - ignoring the ladder - I searched for my laptop. Suddenly I was worried. If it was broken I was screwed. My mom would never buy me a new one. Never.

I relaxed when I saw my laptop seemingly unharmed on the floor. It was the closest thing to a miracle I had ever experienced. Which might be why I was slipping from my faith. Not that I told anyone, but I was a Christian. God would keep my safe and He was the only one who knew me inside and out.

Since my - um - time with Dean however, I stopped talking to Him because even though He'd forgive me if I asked, I don't feel bad about what I did and worst of all I'd do it again. Forgiveness only works if your willing to change. And I'm not.

Anyways... suicide. It was so tempting after another fight with my mom, I fell off my top bunk and my brother told me to "stop being so dramatic." I seriously hurt my arm and ran out crying. I had nowhere else to run to other than outside. I share a room with my sister and honestly, not that this is something I tell everyone, but my mom is a hoarder. A full out, collect as much shit as she possibly can, hoarder. There's so much stuff and not enough room for us. For me.

I stopped walking when I was at the beginning of my small pine needle forest and sat down. I hate crying. It's no use feeling sorry for yourself. But I did and once you start crying about one thing, you remember everything that's wrong with your life. Why me? Why do guys have to hate the way I look? Why do I have such high "good christian girl" expectations? Why do I have to have such a dysfunctional family? I glanced at my house and saw my mom looking at me. She walked away not caring that I was crying. I'm sure I'm just being an emotional, obnoxious, wreck of a teenager.

I cried harder and hugged my legs. Why did I have to have a mom who didn't understand that all a child wants - all I want - is sympathy, comfort and someone to hug them?

Whatever. Why can't suicide be an answer?