I passed out whilst writing yesterday. I didn't go to school either. I couldn't face you. You'd give me the same smirk you always did when you wanted to remind me of something you said or did.
I lay on the bed, blood seeping beneath my skin, ribs fractured. There would be no doctor, no evidence. I listened to my parents arguing saying I was doing it to myself because they thought they weren't giving me enough attention and not asking about me more often. I heard my mothers heels click along the floor getting more closer to my door. I faced my wall and closed my eyes, trying to act asleep. She came in and called my name a few times. She sat on the edge of the bed, lifting the blanket off me. She flinched as she lifted my shirt so she had a view of my ribs. There were purple 'flowers' blooming under the surface of my skin. There were roses in other places. The blood under my skin hurt as she ran her fingers over it. She told me she was sorry. She kissed my temple and left.
Tears flew down my face I put my hand over my mouth as I sobbed. Sobbed because of the pain, the burden I've given to my parents, the burden I've given myself. I can't do this anymore.
Why couldn't you leave me alone?
You're hurting me.
Stop.
Please.
