day1 love

Chapter 1* Day 1 Love

*1999

After Tristan hit me, yet again,  I felt something inside me snap, but I bided my time.

Tonight's beating had come because Tris was mad and jealous as usual.
Some guy at the store we were getting a cold beverage in was staring at me, and called me a pretty girl.

I hadn't responded in the least, didn't even glance in his direction.
"She is tho ain't she," Tris had said darkly, "but that there's my pretty girl!"

We got back to my apartment, and I had all but forgotten the innocuous comment.
Tris hadn't. "You're gonna stop disrespecting me bitch" was all I heard before he was on top of me, punching me in the eye.
I shrieked for him to stop and get off me but he hit me again, splitting my lip open.
I swung back at him, the first time I ever dared to, because I had grown tired of being this man's punching bag.
"Ohhh, you wanna act tough and swing back, oh ohkayyy" he intoned menacingly.
Then his hands were around my throat as I struggled to breathe.
I must've lost consciousness then, because that's the last thing I remember.

I sat up and looked around still a little woozy. He was sitting just to my right sniffing on some substance, his ever present liquor bottle on his left.

"You gonna make me fuck around and kill you one of these days you know that right?" He said this to me so matter of factly, that I knew he believed it.

He reached out a hand and touched my neck lightly, "OH damn shawty, you hurt yaself huh?"

Everything inside me recoiled, and I flinched away, knowing what he was going to do next.
I wanted no parts of his apologies.
I just wanted to die.

I waited for him to doze off, it really didn't take long after he finished his bottle, me refusing to move an inch,or say one word to him.

It was over.
I was going to die, tonight.

I went into the restroom, quite intent on ending my life.

The abuse I suffered, every bad word he used on me, everything I had been through in these last 6 hellish months, needed to end, now.

I removed straight edge razor from the pack in my medicine cabinet,
and held it directly over the veins in my wrist.

Just one deep biting slice, and it would all be over, for good.

It would hurt though, and I wasn't a cutter or someone who liked the sight of blood, at all.
Hell, I sometimes got dizzy seeing other peoples blood.

I reconsidered the razor, and replaced it back where it was.
I did still have leftover Vicodin I'd had to take a few months ago for the cracked rib I had sustained after the dickhead in the other room had flown into a jealous rage, and almost killed me.

Tonight had not been the first time he hit me .

They were hidden in a Midol bottle.

Tris was a pill popping, heroin and cocaine sniffing, trifling mess!
If he had known I had these, I wouldn't still have them.
He would have sold or used them.

I opened the bottle and poured 6 pills into my hand.

This would do it, right?
Six of these strong ass muscle relaxers and my existence would end.
I couldn't call what I was living, "life", that's for sure.
I was merely going through the motions, each day an almost exact replica of all the days before it.

I started to swallow them, but again I stopped.
What if this didn't kill me?
What if it made me a vegetable instead, and I would be subject to professional care for the rest of the life I wanted to end.
Fully cognizant, but unable to speak or move.
That would be a fate worse than death!