For all that Speak

It would always be the same way. Life would suck, and mine would suck more. For being the petite with tan skin and short brown hair, I always seemed to find my way into trouble. Sometimes even my mind would switch on me and I was no longer the delicate girl I was pictured to be. Don't judge a book by its cover, I would think, but I knew that somehow I wasn't me. I didn't deserve what I had gotten. The loving parents. The nice home, semi-wealth. What I had was not to much different than the average teenage girl. But I had low self-esteem. Looming thoughts of death and trying to focus on my school work. Naturally smart, it was easy to slip and just stare into space for a while. Try to simplify my so-called life.

I had imagined that my mother's wedding (she and my dad had been divorced since I was two) would be awful. My step-dad was a pest and nothing more. His son, was even more with his falling grades and rampages to pin me on his mistakes. But I couldn't do anything. Nothing. My mom just would not listen to what I had to say. Her only daughter. Life revolved around keeping food in the house after the pigs got home. I had trained myself to eat less and less, and eat as much as I could when dinner would come around. Which was hardly enough consitering they had "snacked" on everything before.

So, my mother got a "seperation" after Step-Dad had financial problems that he failed to tell her about. It was a big step that took months to move them out. All those days got better and better for me. When they finally got out the house for good to go live in an apartment, I was secretly smiling from the window. Finally.

The Demon came back after a while, not to move in, but to go on "dates" with my mom to sort things out. I hated him for trying to act his way into my moms heart. He really had pent-up anger problems and couldn't even disapline his own son. My mother did, and she was accused as being a bad mother. She isn't. My mother was wonderful and disaplined when she needed too, not because she was bored with her work.

One summer day, The Demon came to cook us dinner. I was starving since I had just got home from YMCA and didn't eat anything all day. I was now used to actually having food in the house, so I went to the fridge and got the ham to make me a ham sandwich. He looked at me straight and the eye and ordered for me to put it back. I didn't. I ignored him because I was brave and dinner was no where near ready. Countinuing to make my sandwich, he threatened, "Caitlin, put the God damn bread up..." The hissing that took in his words didn't scare me like they used too. Even though it was rare he would talk to me like that anyway.

"What if I don't want to Scott?" I put the ham down. Who knows what I was doing. But it was stupid.

"CAITLIN I SAID PUT THE FUCKIN' GOD DAMN BREAD UP!" His face closed into mine, and I swore he was going to slap me. He didn't and backed away. "NOW!" he ordered again. I refused. Instead, I ran to my room and balled. There was no way that man was what my mom married. He was a bastard and deserved to be jailed. I was afraid of him now, no longer brave. The way he had gotten in my face. He might have well had hit me. The shout could be heard around the block, I just knew it.

My mother's door opened and she came storming out. All I could hear was, "She's a mother fucker Kellison! She's an ass!" I knew The Demon was talking about me. Shouts that were stiffled by my protective comforter, had at least two cuss words in them. Every single sentence.

I hadn't seen him since. I kept telling my self, that he was a monster. A bastard, a lier, someone who needed to be put in Hell.

Then, my boyfriend of three months broke up with me. Richard was my first kiss, everything. I slowley felt myself slip away into oblivion. No one understood me. No one cared. Why should anyone anyway? For all that speak, the names they called me were harsh, even though they were only calling me that in my head. Everyone hated me it seems, even my best friend was growing apart from me.

It was an accident the first time. Niked myself with the shaving razor. But it didn't stop bleeding. Oh God...I thought. What have I done?! Then, something weird entered my mind. The blood felt good, almost as if it was a relief. I tried everything in my power for it to just keep bleed and let the world know I was hurt. Well, it didn't hurt anyway. I thought about Richard, and how he didn't care. All I was too him was a small little girl that he could kiss and have fun with while he never really loved me. My mother may have loved me, but she was growing distant.

I grabbed the razor and thrashed at it again. Gushing, the blood covered my ankle. It felt good. I didn't know what I was doing. Blood seemed like my only friend, only relise.

Soon, when words would fail me and breath was a burden, I took the razor, and let the blood rain.

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