Suicidal Tendencies
.oo1
Every night, Andrea stares up at the ceiling, asking herself the same question.
What is there to live for?
It's not for her father who won't look at his own daughter any more.
Ever since her mother died, he can't look at Andy the same. He sees the same clear blue eyes his sweet, innocent Suzanna had. He sees the same blue eyes that were left wide open, a noose around her neck, the chair from under her kicked away.
It is not for her boyfriend who leaves bruises across her body.
The memories hurt too much for Andrea; her wrists, pinned against the bed; the blood, staining her inner thighs; the tears and cries he ignored. And no matter how hard she tries to forget, the bruises are always there as a reminder.
Not even for the unborn baby she carries.
Every night, Andy prays her baby will never know his father. But more importantly, she prays to god he will never, ever meet his mother.
She leans over, opening the drawer to her nightstand and grabs the container of pills. There's only a handful of them left, not nearly enough for an overdose. But maybe just once, the pills will have react the way she wants. Maybe just once, she can close her eyes and never have to open them again.
She pops the remaining pills into her hand. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. She swallows the five pills dry, the familiar feeling of relief in her throat.
Andrea closes her eyes, waiting for her organs to shut down and her mind to disappear. She waits for the happiness that never comes. Instead she waits for the sun to rise the next morning. She waits for another day of torture.
What is there to live for?
It's not for her father who won't look at his own daughter any more.
Ever since her mother died, he can't look at Andy the same. He sees the same clear blue eyes his sweet, innocent Suzanna had. He sees the same blue eyes that were left wide open, a noose around her neck, the chair from under her kicked away.
It is not for her boyfriend who leaves bruises across her body.
The memories hurt too much for Andrea; her wrists, pinned against the bed; the blood, staining her inner thighs; the tears and cries he ignored. And no matter how hard she tries to forget, the bruises are always there as a reminder.
Not even for the unborn baby she carries.
Every night, Andy prays her baby will never know his father. But more importantly, she prays to god he will never, ever meet his mother.
She leans over, opening the drawer to her nightstand and grabs the container of pills. There's only a handful of them left, not nearly enough for an overdose. But maybe just once, the pills will have react the way she wants. Maybe just once, she can close her eyes and never have to open them again.
She pops the remaining pills into her hand. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. She swallows the five pills dry, the familiar feeling of relief in her throat.
Andrea closes her eyes, waiting for her organs to shut down and her mind to disappear. She waits for the happiness that never comes. Instead she waits for the sun to rise the next morning. She waits for another day of torture.
♠ ♠ ♠
So I was thinking of making this a one-shot but I'm not sure. I think I might make this chaptered. And I know, I write way too many stories to keep up with but this needed to be written. I just had to. More is to come on the way soon hopefully. Enjoy.