Carry On

I left my old white guitar at school, locked up. I was taking my new one with me, too afraid to let it out of my sight. Although I felt like it was my guitar, I still felt a piece of Zacky with it, and I wanted to keep it safe. I already broke it once, and I didn't need to break it again. Zack would probably have my head if I ever did anything of the sort.

I put it in my case, locking it before standing up, "That was certainly different from the Beethoven we had rehearsed earlier," Doug stated from behind me. I turned around, shrugging.

"I blanked. I couldn't remember anything, so I just started to play," I stated.

"It was wonderful. Original and creative as always, Liza. You have always been an innovator. I'll truly miss having you cause mayhem in my class," He joked and I laughed, "Congratulations. I'll see you monday in class," He said before walking off. I sent a smile to Amanda and Alicia, who were getting ready to leave. The seniors were still going to meet up, and it seemed so tempting.

If I went, then I could prolong my inevitable meeting with Dad even further, "Hey!" A voice shouted as I debated making a run for it or not and I turned around. I groaned, Dad rapidly approaching me. He had taken his jacket coat off, leaving him in just his shirt and tie. Zack and the guys were following in a jog, trying to keep up with my angry father.

"Hey, Dad," I smiled sheepishly and he grasped my wrist firmly.

"I can't believe you fucking did that," He hissed, "Your last concert of high school and you pull that shit? Don't you know that your fucking family is here watching you?"

"Dude, it was fucking awesome. Don't get mad at her for playing something that wasn't expected," Zack cut in.

"No offense, Zack, but stay out of my fucking business. She's my kid, not yours. When you have a kid of your own, they can go an play whatever the fuck they want. But my kid should know better," Dad growled. He was almost angrier than when we had fought before I left with Zacky.

Zack backed off, sending me an apologetic smile before walking away. I could see his fists clenched as he was walking to his car with an extremely pissed off look on his face. "Let's go," Dad growled, grabbing hold of my upper arm and yanking me towards my car. Leaving the rest of the Avenged gang standing there, unsure what to do. Even Matt knew to stay out of this one.

"Dad, all of the seniors are going out. Why can't I go?" I protested, attempting to rip my wrist out of his grasp as he grabbed my guitar case, setting it in the trunk.

"Because you don't know how to fucking listen to directions, Liza. You think you can do what ever the fuck you want, and you can't. You're coming home and we're going to talk about this. Besides, your wrist was angled the wrong way the whole night. Even if you did play the right piece, you still got that wrong," He snapped, slamming the trunk.

I couldn't understand why my heart had a certain pain in it. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest, disappointment and hate filling the pit of my stomach. "I'll see you at home. And I swear to God if you go out with your friends I'll take away that car and you won't ever get it back," He threatened and I nodded.

I got into the car, ignoring the looks from the other members of the band. Jimmy and Johnny watched as I sped off. I didn't care if they were watching. I floored it, not bothering to check my gas milage. Tires squealing as I peeled out of the parking lot.

One thing I had been proud of these past few months was that whenever Dad had yelled at me, I had managed to hold back my tears. I couldn't this time, though. My vision blurred as I whizzed through yellow lights, not caring if I could possibly get pulled over. I went well over eighty, almost ninety, down PCH, zooming in and out of cars as I attempted to get home before Dad. I just wanted to scream.

I parked half-hazardly in the driveway. Another thing Dad could get mad about. I grabbed my guitar and zoomed inside, slamming the door behind me, not bothering to lock it. I choked back a sob as I ran upstairs. I set my guitar in the corner before starting to breath in and out. In and out. My breathing wheezed as I attempted to calm down.

Do it.

I stopped, listening to the smooth cooing voice inside my head. Not my own voice. I didn't care whose voice it was. My breathing changed. It was weak, unsupportive. I was wheezing as I began to pace the floor.

Do it before he comes home.

I stopped, putting my hands over my head and letting out a long and terrifying raspy scream. I could almost feel the walls shake.

"Liza?" A voice called. I wasn't in the right mind to know who it was, but I just knew it wasn't Dad. I ran to my door, slamming it shut and locking it before heading over to my desk. I yanked open a drawer, all of the things spilling out onto the floor, "Liza? Are you okay!?" It called again. I didn't even know who it was. I didn't care and I wasn't paying attention long enough. All I cared about was knowing it wasn't Dad.

Inside the drawer was an X-acto knife. I used it a couple times for art projects, but nothing more. My hands shook as I yanked the blade out, reaching for a new one from the box. Suddenly there was rapid knocking on my door as I started to sob, "Liza, this isn't funny. C'mon, Sweetie. Come out and we can talk. He's not that mad, I promise."

I continued to sob as I dropped the new shaper razor, my hands shaking too much. I bent down as I continued to cry, and the knocking became more persistent, "Liza!" Their voice more urgent. I started to feel that numb feeling again. I grabbed the blade, securely placing it on the knife.

I turned to face the window, pausing to take everything in.

Do it.

The knocking turned to banging and I held the knife to my wrist. I placed it at the end of my wrist closer to my thumb. My skin looked so pale underneath the shining blade. It was somewhat beautiful. I hissed and dug the knife in, slicing through my wrist horizontally. I pulled the knife up again. I needed deeper cuts or this wouldn't work. I once again place the knife to my wrist, just above the fresh cut. But I pulled it up quickly, bringing it down to jab it into my wrist, yanking it to try and get a deep enough cut. I let out a cry at the pain. I didn't get too far deep before the door broke open, "Liza!" He yelled and I screamed as their arms were around me. Large tattooed arms wrapped around while knuckles attempted to grab the knife. It's all I could make out through my blurred vision.

"No!" I kicked and screamed, thrashing around. I kicked my legs up and I was off the floor. Whoever was holding me had me around my waist, trying to keep me up as I fought. Blood smeared on his arm, but I didn't care. It was dripping onto the beige carpet now. If I didn't die now, then Dad would certainly kill me for staining his carpet.

"Liza, stop! Stop doing this!" They demanded. He finally got a hold of the knife, and I heard it drop somewhere as he threw it aside like trash. I continued to kick and scream, unable to control myself anymore. I felt one of his hands around my wrist, pressing down to stop the bleeding.

"No!" I sobbed, hunched over their arm, "No I want to die!" I screamed, "I want to die!" My voice cracked as I sobbed, my blonde hair pressed against my face.

I was getting more and more tired as the arms tightened around me. My sobs started to muffle to weak pathetic cried, "I got you," The voice whispered. Whoever it was still held me, and I couldn't comprehend much around me. I slumped in their arms, and they attempted to keep me up. His hand didn't leave my wrist, applying pressure to my wound.

"Just let me die," I whimpered, head hanging low.

Looking down through my vision of tears I could see blood stains on the carpet. My left side of my dress was in blood, and I could feel it sticking to my skin. The black fabric somehow even darker than the rest of the dress, a gruesome reminder of what I had just attempted to do.

You're weak.
"I know," I sobbed.

"Brian!" The voice yelled and I just realized that they had been calling for my father for a while. I was just too zoned out to pay attention, "Brian get your ass in here!"

You're pathetic.
"I know!" I growled. "I already know!"

"Liza, what the hell are you yelling about?"

You couldn't even do this right.
"Shut up!" I screamed pulling my hands up to my ears, shaking my head rapidly. I could feel the blood starting to rub onto my face, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

I could feel him getting closer. My father. I could hear his frantic heavy footsteps leading up our luxurious rosewood staircase. I could feel him with me. I could almost feel his anger too, "What the hell is she yelling about?" He yelled out as he came up the stairs, too far away to notice anything truly wrong, a tone of annoyance and anger pouring from him. I finally slumped to the ground, and my dead weight too much for the person holding me to handle, or they were sick of carrying me. I wouldn't doubt it.

They've been tired of carrying me for a long time.

They set me down gently on the ground and I could feel the hot moist carpet surrounding me. Their hand was firmly on my wrist, not at such an awkward angle as before. The blood I had drawn in a pathetic attempt to end my life. It wasn't enough. How stupid was I? Couldn't I have just jumped out the window? In a fit of fury I wanted to destroy something. I wanted to destroy myself. I was stupid.

He was around the corner now and I heard his footsteps stop. My last vision of him was blurred because I couldn't see anything past my tears.

"L-Liza?"

Weak.