-Goodnight- her mother said as she closed the door behind her, then she drifted away while little girl shaked in fear and coldness.
The darkness was pure and impenetrable, the kind of darkness your eyes don’t get used to after a while.
As she was there screaming her mother was away, so far away that she just couldn’t listen to her shrieks.
Little girl broke down crying in a corner in the cold floor. I held her as tight as I could, but she didn’t see me.
Her shivers became worse as she took a little bag covered with dust from under her bed. It had white powder inside which could be mistaken for snowflakes, but these ones would make you smile for a different reason.
With a razor she made three long lines on the desk. I knew it wouldn’t work but at the top of my lungs I shouted: -No!-
She didn’t even blink at the sight of my voice and just proceed to snort up the white dust through her nose.
After a couple of seconds she fell down to the ground with her arms wide open towards the sky and a dismal smile on her face. Her pupils were dilated and her lips had a faded blue shade over them.
After a couple of hours or so she started crying again without noticing I had been stroking her head the whole time.
She looked at the sleeping pills that where at her bathroom, right next to the sink. They were plenty, at least sixty of them; they were all inside that horrid orange jar.
She took twenty pills in her palm and with half of a beer her mother had left around she drank and swallowed one after one as in horror I stared feeling as worthless as I could have.
After taking the pill number seventeen she fell hardly to the floor hitting her precious head and starting to have what they call a seizure.
I screamed and screamed for help filled with despair, but no one heard me.
Her eyes started to turn white and her nose started to bleed. I cleaned the blood with a dirty cloth that was under her mattress. Oh but it wasn’t just a cloth, it was an old blanket, a security blanket she used to have when she was just a little kid. Back then when that white powder or those sleeping pills with half a beer can weren’t around, because she simply didn’t need them.
She didn’t needed them at all, because the only thing she needed was her daddy to lift her up and call her his princess, call her pretty and beautiful. But those were old times which faded away when he decided to take away his life with a rope and a scotch.
She was only nine when all of that went down and even though it was a long time ago she wouldn’t forget the feeling that sank her heart. The same feeling I’m having right now as I stare at her body contracting in shivers and her fingers closing and opening as she is biting to pieces her tongue while she chokes in her own blood. It reminds me of an electric shock.
I yell in fear because I can’t touch her, because I can’t stop it, because I have spent every single night here since the last ten years, but I can’t talk to her or hug her. All I can do is watch night after night as she desperately cries while I can’t be holding her hand. Watch night after night the way she is killing herself.
I regret my decision because I knew it will eventually come to this, one way or another, because even though I’m here she wouldn’t know.
She wouldn’t be able to hear me as I gave every night my girl, my princess, her goodnight kiss.
