Don't You Ever Forget About Me

WARNING: CHAPTER CONTAINS ABUSE AND SELF-HARM. MAY BE TRIGGERING. CONTAINS A FEW VULGAR WORDS.
Skip forward to the middle of the year and I was still all alone. Christian and I had talked a few times after he forgot the video camera chat. From the beginning of the year to then I had gotten worse. Way worse. I was seriously considering self harm a lot, and I was lost in life. I felt as if Christian and I were drifting apart, had drifted apart, and it was too over whelming. The void that had opened the day Christian left for Boston was still gaping and I was coming to terms that it would never close, that it would always hurt and that Christian was living an amazing life and forgetting about the blonde girl with green eyes that he had left behind.

I couldn't really bring myself to do anything. My homework was almost always late, my grades were slipping, and my parents and I had began fighting daily. I couldn't stand to look in the mirror every morning and I cried myself to sleep every night. I had no idea that Christian would ever have that affect on me. I had no idea why I ever let him.

It was January 13th when my mother passed away. She was rushed to the hospital when she began to seizure violently, but by the time she had gotten there she was gone. After the autopsy was completed we found out she had cancer in her brain. The news hit me and my dad hard, neither of us knew or suspected anything.

Soon after my mom's death my dad took up an addiction to alcohol, but managed to keep his job. I figured out soon enough that my father was an angry drunk, and that with grief plus alcohol equals abuse. The worst equation I'll ever have to solve, no matter what anyone says.

He knew to never hit me where it could be visible, so I was always getting punched in the gut and kicked in the back. Since I had no friends I had no one to go hang out with after school or slip away to when I was too afraid.

As I always thought of, I began to self harm. Cuts and burns scattered my arms and bruises from my dad's abuse colored my abdomen and lined my spine. Winter and spring gave me excuses for jackets and long sleeved shirts, but at the rate summer was coming I had to think of ways to cover up my arms. I didn't have enough bracelets to cover all the scars and fresh wounds. I ended up just deciding I'd wear sweatshirts and long sleeves no matter what.

I wanted nothing more than to talk to Christian and hear his lovely voice and have him tell me everything would be alright, but every time I called he was out with his friends. Every time that happened I would cut or burn myself. I couldn't think straight the most of the time.

I called Christian more and more praying he'd talk to me. I ended up calling every night until the start of 7th grade when I finally realized that he didn't care about me anymore and that I was annoying his family by calling.

By mid-7th grade I began to take swigs of my dad's alcohol so I wouldn't just feel numb anymore. I didn't care what I got my hands on, just as long as it was alcohol and it gave me a warm fuzzy feeling in my stomach. I never drank too much, never let my dad catch on to what I was doing. I knew that if he found out then I'd end up with even more punches and kicks.

By the end of seventh grade I knew that I was addicted to alcohol and self harm. I still had no friends and everyone ignored me. Anyone who had been put in a group with me let me do my own thing. I basically stared into space during all of my classes.

During the summer between seventh and eighth grade I began to call Christian again. It shocked me when he finally answered about one third into the summer.

"Hello?" A voice I didn't recognize answered the phone. I hoped that they hadn't changed their number.

"Um, hi. It's Victoria. Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could talk to Christian?" I anxiously asked, my anxiety had began around the beginning of seventh grade when the abuse got really bad. I thought I knew what the answer would be. Either 'Oh, I'm sorry, Chris isn't available right now,' or 'I'm sorry, there's no Christian here.'

"You're talking to him." He said. My breath caught and my heart had to have skipped a beat.

"Christian?" I asked, tears flooding my eyes. My voice cracked on his name.

"Hey, Victoria. What's up?" He said casually.

"That's it? 'Hey Victoria, what's up?' That's all you have to say? No 'I'm sorry I never answered your calls?'" It broke my heart how nonchalant he was acting. Tears streamed down my face as I spoke and I made no move to hide the hurt in my voice. "Christian, I called every night last summer, and a handful of times during sixth grade. Why wouldn't you ever talk to me?"

"Victoria, please don't cry. Please. I'm sorry. I just, I don't know why. We're talking now, why don't we focus on that?" He offered softly. The void in my chest stretched and warped at the sound of his voice.

"I just really missed the sound of your voice and your friendship." I replied, trying to stop crying. I flashed back to the summer between fifth and sixth grade, the day he left and we were sitting on the stairs. Except now here wasn't here to wipe away my tears.

"I missed you too, Victoria. Believe me when I say that. I just couldn't take the distance and talking to you... I thought talking would make it hurt worse. Forgive me?"

"You know I have to forgive you. I mean, you're Christian. You're the only friend I've ever had." I told him, my voice quiet.

"Ever?" I could hear the disbelief over the phone. "You mean, you never tried to make friends after I left?"

"Never. I thought that if I made any more friends I'd just be setting myself up to get hurt more." I voiced a nervous laugh.

"Victor-"

"Ow!" I cried, accidentally cutting him off as I felt a fist slam into my back.

"Victoria! What happened? Are you alright?" He sounded worried. I fought to get my breath back before I answered.

"I- I gotta go. I- I'll try to call you later. Pick up next time please." I yelled worriedly as my father took the phone from me and pressed 'end'.

"What, your stupid efforts finally work? Did he finally pick up?" My dad jeered drunkenly. "You stupid little bitch."

I cried out as he pulled me up from the stool I was sitting on by my hair and threw me on the ground, literally kicking me while I was down.

He continued to kick me in the ribs until he got tired and stumbled out of the office. I curled up in a ball and cried from the pain, reaching for the lighter I had in my pocked. I flicked the wheel until a flame sprung free and waited for it to heat the metal. I placed the hot tip of the lighter to the inside of my arm, shrieking at the additional pain.

I looked around for the phone, knowing already that he'd most likely taken it with him. I turned out to be right and I just lay there curled up waiting for what seemed like months, knowing it was only an hour before I managed to get on my hands and knees and shakily make my way out of the office and began my search for the home phone. I tried to be as quiet as possible as I heard my dad snoring in the room him and my mom shared before she passed. I had no idea how he did it in the beginning, then I realized the alcohol subdued the pain. It may have strengthened the memories but the alcohol made it so I didn't know what to make of them.

When I finally located the phone I crawled as fast as I could to the office and locked it before I tried calling Christian again.

"Victoria! What happened? Are you okay? Tell me you're okay." He begged.

"Help." Was I all managed to weakly say before I passed out from the pain.