Throne of the Fallen

The Weeping Girl (Emily POV)

*Trigger warning: suicide and implied abuse*

I trudged up the stairs to my apartment, my body feeling to heavy to bear. After several flights of stairs, I finally reached my apartment door. I put my ear against the door, listening intently. Sounds quiet. Too quiet. I hesitantly opened the door. Inside the dim apartment, I spotted my dad laying on the couch, passed out, beer still in his hand. I can't complain, it's better than when he's still sober enough to throw a few punches.

I carefully crept to my bedroom. I flung my book bag to the ground and threw myself down on the bed, mentally and emotionally exhausted. I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. Why put yourself through the pain of checking it? Even though I knew what awaits me, I pull it out of my satchel and unlock it. I already know where the notifications are coming from. I open my Instagram and check the comments on my latest post, an picture old picture of me and my mom. "If your mom really loved you, she wouldn't have killed herself", "You might as well take the easy way out, just like her", "Off yourself already, freak". These comments burned inside my mind. I threw my phone on the ground and ran into the bathroom, tears stinging my eyes.

I locked the bathroom door behind me. Over time, the bathroom had become my safe place. I stared at myself in the mirror, tears streaming down my face. Pathetic. They're all right about you. You really are worthless. I wiped the makeup off my face, revealing the raging bruises covering it, a birthday present from my dad. I crawled into the bath tub, unable to suppress my sobs anymore. Why do you even try anymore? No one cares about you, even your own father wishes you would just kill yourself already. Everyone would be happier if you were dead. That thought kept resonating within me. Everyone would be happier if you were dead. Everyone would be happier if you were dead. I knew that there was only one way out.

I quickly got up an opened the medicine cabinet. I shakily grabbed my dad's stash of Xanax. Suddenly there was banging on the door, followed by my dad's slurred yelling. I held the bottle in my hand. For something so small, it was so heavy. I went back to the mirror. This was the only choice. I opened the bottle and poured the pills into my mouth. I dropped the bottle and went back to the bath tub to lay down.

After a few minutes, the screaming and pounding began to fade away. I closed my eyes and lates my head back. I've never felt closer to you, mom.