Searching for Death

Chapter 1

A/N PLEASE READ: i wrote this book when i was 13 & im now 19. this "book" is incredibly cringey & does not accurately represent any of the issues disgusted in the book. it's honestly infuriating how ignorant it's written. so enjoy this time capsule of a "depressed" & idiotic 13 year old who copied all of her thoughts & assumptions on mental illness by reading fan fiction. thank you & i'm so sorry in advance

a/n: hey! thanks for reading my book :) but anywayssss this is my first book I ever wrote sooo it isn't my best work & it definitely was written in the process of me figuring out what I wanted to write & how & blah blah blah so it's not very good. sorry :) but if you like this (or don't idc lol) then thank you & I hope you read some of my other books :) love love love all you beautiful people bye!

"You are a disgrace! No one is ever going to love a whore like you!" shouted my drunken father.

I tuned him out. I was used to the abuse. Ever since my mother had died, my father hadn't been the same. He used to be the most amazing father ever. But my mother meant everything to him. He couldn't handle her being gone. But hell, I wasn't going to be on this earth for any longer so why cry about it.

"Hey slut, go get me a beer," my father slurred. His breath smelled of beer and cigarettes.

I handed him the beer and tuned out his lecture and how I was a prostitute who snuck out every night for money. He was always drunk. Alcohol was a coping method but it had made him cruel and depressed. And it made me hate him.

I never thought I could hate a person so much. Especially family. But he changed me. He made me just as depressed if not more than he was.

I walked out the house and slammed the door. I needed a break from him and his never ending "slut shame"
lectures. I went to the nearest gas station and picked up cigarettes and a bottle of vodka with my fake ID. I rarely smoked. But I felt like today I needed to. Then I got in my rusty ass car and drove to my sister, Margaret's, apartment. My sister hates her name.
So I call her Mara.

Mara was 24 years old and lived alone in an apartment in the the middle of nowhere. There was a lot of that it seemed in upstate New York. Her apartment was dirty, gross, and infested with cockroaches, but neither of us cared. It felt like home. I went to her apartment and knocked on the door.

"Hey Ana, how's it going," Mara smiled.

Mother's death had fucked us up pretty bad. But Mara had stayed positive through all of it. She really cared about my happiness and would do anything for me.

"How do you think it's going?" I said with a nasty tone.

"Look, I'd take you in if I could but I have a criminal record and if they find out that Father's an alcoholic, you'll be in an orphanage and you don't want that." she said calmly.

Mara had had a run in with the law about 3 years ago. Her boyfriend had been addicted to drugs and got her to be his accomplice a few times. Needless to say her boyfriend was caught and she was convicted of being an accessory to the crime. She was sentenced to five years but got out after a year and a half with good behavior.

So she was right. My only option was to stay at home and deal with it before I turn 18. I'm currently 16 and itching to get out of the hell hole I call home. But, I don't think I'll make it. 2 years is too many. And once your 18 the world gets crueler. It doesn't seem worth it to me.

But let me tell you, there was no way in hell I was going to an orphanage. No. Way.

"You're right, let's drink," I said and took a swig of the vodka I had picked up previously.

The feeling of the alcohol going down my throat was amazing. It was warm and it made me feel something I could never feel without it. Happiness. I loved it.

I offered Mar a cigarette. But she refused to take it. She claimed that she wasn't a fan of them. But I didn't buy it. I'd seen her smoke several times before. But I dismissed it. I was too happy (well, drunk) to care.

I spent a few hours at Mara's drinking and smoking. I admitted to her in my drunk state that I didn't want to live anymore. That I was through with everything and everyone.

She told me she loved me. She said that if I died she be heartbroken. But if I really, really wanted to die, that I could. She told me that she thought that everything gets better but she also told me that she knew that we were different. Mara was an optimist. I on the other hand was highly pessimistic. So she gave me the advice to do what ever the hell I wanted. And I planned on doing exactly so.

I spent the night at Mara's apartment because I didn't want to go home. I was terrified, yet not terrified of my father. I knew what he was capable of. But I didn't think he had the courage to kill me. Her couch felt safer than anything at this point.

When I woke up the next morning I had an awful hangover. My head was
pounding and the room felt like it was spinning. I quickly rushed to the toilet and spilled my guts out. I then composed myself and walked into the kitchen to get water and some Advil.

I turned on the television and started watching reruns of Friends while I waited for Mara to wake up.

After about 2 hours, I decided to check on her.

I walked into her room and was weirded out by what was in front of me. There were wigs and extensions scattered across the room. All the makeup you can imagine too. Especially fake eyelashes.

I shook of the oddness of the sight and went to wake Mara up.

"Wakey wakey Mara it's noon," I said in a baby voice.

Nothing.

"Mara I have food," I said.

Nothing.

"Maraaaaaa," I groaned.

Nothing.

When I checked her heartbeat, that's when I panicked.