Just Know That I Will Remember You
Blood
CAITLIN'S POV
Blood. Without it I die. Seems like a simple fucking concept, but as I drag the razor down my arm, that's not what I'm thinking. I think about the fact that's it's only my second semester at SEHS (my highschool) and I'm already fucking flunking out. I think of my parents. They seperated when i was 5. After they did, my dad gained a lot of weight and whenever I went to his house to visit him, all he did was take me to the movies and feed me fucking junk food. My mom acted differently. She started having a bunch of different boyfriends. I hated that I could always hear what they were doing in her bedroom. I hated her. She always talked shit to me. Making fun of my weight, my appearence, and the fact that I only had one friend, Gina. What I hated the most was that everytime she got really drunk she beat me. After she'd always pass out and I'd call Gina and we'd talk for hours. We had always been best friends. We had gotten even closer in highschool, since it was full of preps and jocks that liked to beat the shit out of us because we were emo. Yeah, it hurt like hell getting the shit beat out of us, and it didn't help that I sometimes went home only to get beat again. But those bastards at our school had gone too fucking far. Gina was walking home from my house one day since she lived only a block away, and they attacked her. They fucking beat her to death. I hated them so much. It's been one week since it happened, and I haven't gone to school. I haven't even left my house. My mom thinks I'm sick. Yeah, I'm sick. God, she was so fucking clueless of what my life was really like, i wanted to kill her. We lived in Chicago. I liked Chicago, I just hated the people that lived here. i hated everything, especially myself. I lhad lost all meaning in life. I no longer have hopes, dreams, or wishes. I am rejected by everyone. Even my family. My parents, kids at school, society, even random people would glare at me on the street just because of the way I dressed. I no longer had control of anything in my life. All I could control was the pain. And that was why I kept the razor in the bottom drawer of my desk.
Blood. Without it I die. Seems like a simple fucking concept, but as I drag the razor down my arm, that's not what I'm thinking. I think about the fact that's it's only my second semester at SEHS (my highschool) and I'm already fucking flunking out. I think of my parents. They seperated when i was 5. After they did, my dad gained a lot of weight and whenever I went to his house to visit him, all he did was take me to the movies and feed me fucking junk food. My mom acted differently. She started having a bunch of different boyfriends. I hated that I could always hear what they were doing in her bedroom. I hated her. She always talked shit to me. Making fun of my weight, my appearence, and the fact that I only had one friend, Gina. What I hated the most was that everytime she got really drunk she beat me. After she'd always pass out and I'd call Gina and we'd talk for hours. We had always been best friends. We had gotten even closer in highschool, since it was full of preps and jocks that liked to beat the shit out of us because we were emo. Yeah, it hurt like hell getting the shit beat out of us, and it didn't help that I sometimes went home only to get beat again. But those bastards at our school had gone too fucking far. Gina was walking home from my house one day since she lived only a block away, and they attacked her. They fucking beat her to death. I hated them so much. It's been one week since it happened, and I haven't gone to school. I haven't even left my house. My mom thinks I'm sick. Yeah, I'm sick. God, she was so fucking clueless of what my life was really like, i wanted to kill her. We lived in Chicago. I liked Chicago, I just hated the people that lived here. i hated everything, especially myself. I lhad lost all meaning in life. I no longer have hopes, dreams, or wishes. I am rejected by everyone. Even my family. My parents, kids at school, society, even random people would glare at me on the street just because of the way I dressed. I no longer had control of anything in my life. All I could control was the pain. And that was why I kept the razor in the bottom drawer of my desk.