A Heart With A Million Scars (ON HOLD... Sorry)

Nothing is good enough for them

***

“Kate, c'mon dinners ready.” I call. I walk up the stairs to bring her down. Maybe she didn't hear me. I walk to her bedroom door and knock.

“Kate. . .” I walk into her room “Did you hear me? Dinners ready. . .” My voice fades as I look around her room. She's nowhere in sight. I walk to er bathroom door. She's probably in there having a shower I tell myself. 'But you would've herd the water running' a voice screams in my head. I grab the door handle and turn it. It's unlocked. I push the door open.

She lies in the bathtub but no water fills the tub. She is fully clothed but is covered in a sticky red substance. The room is filled with a, well its a rusty smell. Kate's wrists are exposed . Big, deep cover her forearms. I look at her beautiful face. Her eyes are closed and the corners of her mouth are pulled up into a small smile. Her flaming red hair frames her beautiful but pale face. She is so pale. Like a goast, like a corpse. Tears stream down my face as lean down and press two of my fingers to her neck. There is nothing. The beating that should be under my fingers has vanished.

My mother walked into the room then, she saw us straight away.

“What have you done?” She screams at me. She came over and pushed me to the floor so she could be with Kate. My mother started to sob. She pulled the lifeless body of my sister out of the tub and into her arms. She got covered in blood but she didn't care. She held her daughter in her arms begged her to come back. “Katie, please don't do this to me. Please, please.” I walked out of the room, passing my father on the way out. He was on the phone. As I pasted he glared at me. My mothers pointless begging still filled my ears and the image of my sister's dead body, covered in her own blood filled my every thought. I walked to my room, lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. Excepting that when I do, I will forever more, see my beloved sister's lifeless body behind my eyelids. My mothers last words to me fill my ears and cut my heart like the blade of a sword. . . What have you done?. . . What has she done. . . She left me. . . She didn't love me. . . Why Kate, why did you leave me?

***

I woke, sticky with sweat. Wow that's shocking because that's not what been happening every morning for years now. I look over at the alarm clock on my bedside table, 4:30am. Well to early to go for a run then. Oh well I have that maths homework due tomorrow. YAY, maths!!!

Half an hour later.

Maths done, that may keep my parents relativity happy for awhile. Oh who am I kidding nothing I ever do is good enough for them. Oh well I can still try to get a smile on there faces. I haven't seem either of them smile for years. I don't think I can even remember what their smiles look like. Is that normal? No probably not. Now to go do the one of only thing that gives me a little peace. Running. When you run, you can forget all your pain. All your dark thoughts. Just for a little while. You can focus on your breathing or what your arms are doing. Its its own form of escape. Even just for a few minutes, half an hour. When you life with as much pain as I do. Even just a minute of peace is more than you could ever dared hope for. As I run the pain in my crest went away, on for as long as I was running but it was enough. For now.

I run for an hour. Never stopping, even when I run out of breath I don't stop. Not till I run the whole lop and find myself back at my parents house. It's not my home, it hasn't been for a long time now. I'm not welcome here, I know it my parents know it but they never say anything. They just don't know how to get rid of me, yet. They're working on it. I hear them talking late at night, but they just don't know what to do. And neither do I. I don't want to be around people that don't love me. Maybe they never loved me, but they had the energy to hide it in the past but since she died, they found a way to blame me. They haven't talked to me since. They've yelled at me but that's about all. Yelled at me because I'm not trying hard enough at school. Yelled at me because I'm not popular. They yell at me because I'm not her. They want her, not me. Why would they want me? I'm nothing. I'm not good at school, I'm ok. I never get higher then a B, but I never her lower than a C. I'm not pretty. I'm not popular, I had a few friends a few years ago but I cut myself off from them. I hated that when I looked into their eyes and all I saw was pity. I don't want their pity. I walked into the house and went to my room. I went into my bathroom, grabbed the knife under the sink and cut the skin on my bicep. I always cut there or on my inner thighs or on my hips. Anywhere that is easily hidden. I never cut my wrists unlike. . . Only places that clothing hides. No ones every going to see them anyway. And I try not to look in the fell length mirror as much as possible. I put the blade up to my arm and cut again. As the dark red substance runs down my arm I let out a big sigh.