Beloved in the river

*trigger warning* Sad Betty Cooper

Betty's POV:

They look at me with scrunched noses and hate-filled eyes, walking past me and spitting words at me like I'm nothing but filth.

"Look at her." they say in disgust, lifting their chins and 'accidently' bump into me to knock my books from my hands. I sigh, kneeling down and picking up what books remain after they step on them. "So gross." they say loudly, sauntering off. My life is nothing in the light of theirs. I'm trash and dirt and nothing more than a mere splatter on their life that is necessary to remove. I walk down the side walk, dreading the entrance to my home. Mum is a dead and Dad is an alcoholic. I sigh, looking up at the dark brown house that waits to pull me into its eternal Hell.

"Lord, take me away." I whisper as I reach for the shiny brass door knob that leads into my home. I'm dull to pain, but the slap that I received as I tried to walk past my father burned my cheek severely. I held in my tears, for it only showed weakness and intrigued him more. "Daddy, please." I begged, holding my hands up in the air. He scoffed, throwing a metal pan at my head. I ducked in time and dashed up the stairs to my room, slamming my door and locking it. I slid a box out from under my bed – a green cot with two thin blankets and blood-covered pillows – and opened the lid. I smiled weakly at a picture of my mother – short blonde hair and glowing blue eyes, ruby red lips and smooth tan skin, long blue dress and black strappy heels – holding a blonde-haired, green eyed smiling little girl – me. "I love you, Mum." I said. I pulled out a razor, but I knew it wouldn't do the job. I searched around in my drawers, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. I needed something more – something to cause me unbearable pain and suffering. I stretched up on my toes to reach a basket from the top shelf in my closet, squinting my eyes as dust fell off the wooden shelf. I coughed and pulled the basket off, unwrapping a black hand-gun from a white satin napkin.

"Elizabeth! Open this door!" my father yelled. I ignored him and sat against the wall, staring down at the gun in my shaking hands. His fists pounded against the door as swears rolled out of his mouth. "Elizabeth! Elizabeth, girl, what are you doing?!" he yelled. I swallowed hard and lifted the gun to my forehead.

No. I said to myself. More. Push them more. Let them see what they've done. I thought, reaching for the tape recording on my desk. I made sure there was a clean tape in the latch and pressed the red button down, closing my eyes. "August 22nd. My name is Betty Cooper. I'm 17, and this is a suicide that you're about to hear. I'm tired of the pain that everyone puts on me. I can't take it any longer. You, the school kids. You never realize what pain you put me into. You don't care. None of you do. I've been abused and raped by my father, Hal Cooper, since my mother, Alice Cooper, died when I was 9. You think it's nothing when you hear about girls getting raped, but to me. It's life. I've learned to accept it and just cut or try to kill myself. I've never had a single friend because I'm disgusting. Don't you see what you've done to me?! But wait, you don't care. This is my last goodbye..." I said into the recorder, pressing the gray 'stop' button and replaying the recording to make sure it sounded alright. I knew it didn't, but I was too upset to care. I stared at the gun for a few minutes, tracing the narrow barrel and arch of the metal bar that curve below the trigger. I sighed, knowing my time was over. I took a breath and counted to three, pulling my index finger back on the trigger as I put it to my forehead. 1 for the one day I was finally at peace. 2 for the too many things I seemed to do wrong. 3, and the bullet races down the barrel and makes contact with my skin, barreling through my skull...

This is the story of Betty Cooper.