Hi. First off, I want to start off by saying I'm very impressed with the compliements on the first story. You're the best. I love you. I'm Erika by the way. I hope you like this one.
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I've never felt this way in my 17 years of living. It's not a good feeling; definitely not a good feeling.
I'm that accident, as my parents tell me. I'm that useless piece of crap that wouldn't make a difference if I were here or not. That's exactly how everyone feels about me; that's how I feel about myself, too.
In my entire life, I don't think I've ever heard my parents compliment me on anything I do. Never have I heard a "thank you" come out of their mouths directed toward me. I'm not complaining though, usually when my mother or father speak to me, they're far passed drunk and intoxication.
My mother-she doesn't even deserve to be called a mother-usually abuses me for no reason. My father-again, shouldn't be called a father-abuses me as well, sexually though. It's horrible.
One time, I tried to fight him away and run out of the house but he cut me. He grabbed a knife and cut my arm. Blood gushed from the deep cut. The bloody knife remained in his hands as he smirked, and then saying, "you should think before you do."
Luckily the cut wasn't too deep that needed it stitches, though it needed care for. It hurt like a bitch; it hurt like when you stub your toe on the corner of a wall, times ten.
I try to avoid him as much as I possibly can. Same goes for my mother.
Currently, my mother was yelling at me to get out of the house because I forgot to run to the store and buy some liquor for her and Father when they got home from work: she gave me a fake ID to use. That's when you know she's a great mother!!
I am so done with living like this. No one deserves this.
As I was leaving the house, I thankfully grabbed my phone and my wallet, which had a whooping of $35 dollars. I started walking two blocks down the neighborhood until I reached the community's playground.
I took out my phone and called a taxi to take me to Michael's. Michael's is a cliff where you can drive up to and look at the view of the whole city; it's extremely pretty at night with all the stars out. Michael's isn't Michael's home, just to clarify.
The name of the actual cliff isn't called Michael's; I just call it Michael's because that's where Michael, my best friend and really only friend, lost his virginity last year to Suzie Kingston, the class slut of our junior year.
The taxi was already on its way to the cliff. It isn't that far from my neighborhood, only around three miles. But let's be honest, who wants to walk three miles. Thanking God for taxis.
I paid the driver the amount it was, thanked him generously, and hopped out of the car.
The only light there is at the cliff are the stars. I'm okay with that, it's nice. There are pebbles, clay and dust, and rocks on the ground. Even though it is extremely dark out, it's a great feeling to be alone and away from that horrid place I call my home.
I sit on the ledge of the cliff, thinking. My thoughts are going wild and thinking of a variety of things. Like why my parents hate me so much, how I found this place, and even how the sex was for Michael here.
But the one thought I can't get out of my mind is, how far the fall is from the top and if it's enough to seal the deal for sure.
There is only one way to find out.
I've only attempted suicide four times. Most people would think, "only four time?!" Well if you have a life like mine and go through the same pain as I do everyday, four times in 17 years isn't much. Two of them, I tried overdosing, but it didn't work, sadly. Since that wasn't working, I tried getting deep into my skin, but obviously the cut wasn't deep enough. The fourth and final attempt was drowning myself in the bathtub. I tried and tried to hold it, but when the water got in me, I couldn't function and my brain took over. My brain's immediate response was to rise above water and that's what happened.
So here I am, sitting on rocks and dusts, thinking about it for the fifth time. I stand to my feet and look down at the city. It's a beautiful view and I will forever thank Michael for showing it to me.
I'm not thinking anymore, just doing. I guess my father was right: I do without thinking. I'm drowning, but without the water. I'm drowning in the words of hatred that were ever said to me, but my brain isn't going to save me this time without the water. The only water around me right now is the tears of pain falling from my eyes.
I say my last final words, "I guess this is good-bye. I would like to thank my best friend for sticking around when no one else would. I love you a whole lot. Good-bye Micha-"
"STOP!" I hear someone yell from behind me. I thought I was out here alone.
"Please don't go," I hear the person breath out. "I love you, (Y/N), please listen to me," I hear the same voice, now sounding very familiar.
I spin around. I knew who it was, but I just couldn't believe it. I had to see it with my own eyes.
"Michael? What are you doing here?" I cry out, half from joy and half from relief. I couldn't believe what I was about to do.
"Yeah, (Y/N), it's me. Now listen, you are-"I cut Michael off.
"What are you doing here? How did you get here? How did you know I was here?" I spam Michael with the millions of questions that turn in my head like a tornado.
"I came to see if you were okay. You weren't answering your phone and the only place I thought about was here. So I drove up here and I found you about to...you know."
"Michael, I-I," I can't even speak. "Thank you," I finally let out.
Michael runs up to me and embraces me in a hug, slowly pulling me away from the edge. The hug is warm and caring. I bury my head into his chest. He was wearing a pull-over sweatshirt that was creamy white, one of my favorites on him. He pulls away for a minute and looks at me in the eyes.
"Promise me you will never try this again?" He says as he places his hands on my face and wipes away the tears with his thumbs.
"Michael-,"
"Promise?"
It takes me a few seconds to steady my breath and answer him. But finally, I do.
"I promise."
