Cutting It

A story about Violet, a young girl who faces problems with her family and at school. She turns to self-harm, hoping it will clear her of some of her troubles.

I hate my hair. It’s straight, brown, and dead. I hate my eyes. They’re dark and lifeless. I hate my nose. It’s crooked and red. I hate my skin. It’s pale as could be, with red ink blots mistaken for freckles. I hate my lips. They’re torn and chapped. I hate my face. It’s round and ugly. I hate my arms. They’re long and skinny. I hate my legs. They’re chicken legs with knobby knees. But above all I hate my stomach and thighs. They’re covered with the burn marks.

                I pulled open the drawer slowly. Every day I tell myself to stop. Every day I continue. I reached for the metal clip and the lighter. I looked into the mirror once more, tears already welling up in my eyes. Still clutching the clip and lighter, I fell to the cold, hard floor. My grip was so tight, my skin started to tear and bleed. Forget about this. Now is the time of forgetting.

                I held the clip in the flame. I could feel the heat immediately. Pressing the clip to my already scarred stomach, I stifled a cry. The heat was more intense this time. Every other burn tingled. My hands were shaking, my face wet with silent tears. Despite lying on the freezing floor, I was sweating.

                For another half hour I continued this. The pain didn’t last too long. I checked the time. The lights on the digital clock given to me for my last birthday seemed to be staring me down, judging me. Judging. Always being judged. At school. At home. On the bus. Along the street. Judgments flying everywhere. “She lost her dad.” “Give her some sympathy!” “She is pathetic.” “Why does she isolate herself?” “She should do something about her appearance.”

                “What a freak.”

                All these sneers and comments do not just drift by unnoticed. I hear every single one. But what does go unnoticed are my screams. Screams of pain. Screams of solitude. Screams of sadness. Raspy, desperate screams for help.  Help. Help! No one ever hears. No one ever cares. No one knows. Mother pays no attention to me anymore. Too worried about my little whiny sister. James hides in his room, keeping himself away from our torn family. Why? “Why?” is always the question. Why did my dad have to  leave us and die? Why did I have to be cursed with these hideous features? Why is my family falling apart? Why doesn’t anyone care?

                If my dad hadn’t died, my family wouldn’t have fallen apart. If I didn’t look like this, I might have friends. Friends who care. But that is not the case. There is nothing that could have been done about any of this. I have a problem, and I am alone.

                That’s why I’m still doing this. To forget. Focus on myself and my physical pain. But it is not lasting as long as when I started. It’s harder to forget. Burning isn’t cutting it.

                Cutting it. I’ve been dreading this for months. Cutting scares me. Burning didn’t seem as bad. But it doesn’t take everything away. It still leaves all my fear and torture. This may be the time to start cutting instead.

                I looked down at my hand. My fingers were still bleeding a little from earlier. Red, warm beads of blood. Do I really want this? Do I really want to open my skin, let the blood flow out, allow my mind to go blank, forget everything, and have more ugly scars?

                Yes. I need to escape.

                I put the lighter and clip back in the drawer. No more would I use these. After one last look, I closed the drawer, hiding the burning materials. I opened the cupboard. I took a razor blade into my hand. I filled the tub with cold water and sat down. I started sweating and shivering. My hands were shaking and clammy. Am I even able to do this? Yes, I have to. I pressed the blade into my hip and pulled a little. Instant pain. I began to start breathing shallowly. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it was enough for my brain to start going fuzzy.

* * * * *

Knock, knock!

“Violet? Violet you home?” My mother’s voice rang out from the front door. What was she doing home now? It’s only six o’clock! She was supposed to come home after picking Chrissie up from ballet at eight! Shoot. What do I do?

“Yeah mom! I’m just taking a hot bath!” She must be able to tell. My voice is shaking too much for her not to suspect something. Panic added to my already fuzzy brain was not good. I started hyperventilating. I had gone four months cutting without being caught. It can’t end now, not like this.

“Alright. I just wanted to drop off some ice cream before going back to work. I may not be home until nine though. I’ll see you then!” My mother called back. Ice cream? Why was my mom buying ice cream? Is there something special going on? Is it someone’s birthday? Let’s see…today is April eighteenth. Wait, April eighteenth. Today is…oh my gosh. That was when I blacked out.

I regained consciousness ten minutes later. April eighteenth. The day kept ringing in my head. This day last year, we went out for dinner to celebrate my dad’s birthday. I completely broke down in tears. My entire body shook and hurt from the violence of my crying and the fresh cuts along my torso. The cuts that had just began to heal broke open again and blood trickled out. Still holding my blade, I looked at my hand. The salt water from my eyes fell into the cuts along my fingers. Stinging adding to my pain, I threw the blade across the bathroom. I screamed. I screamed louder than I thought I could. How could this exact day last year have been so wonderful? I had gotten home from school that day, after delivering a fantastic speech in English class. My dad greeted me right away with a giant hug. After James got home from rugby practice, we went to a small Italian restaurant. Chrissie sat next to my mom. I sat next to James. My dad was in between me and Chrissie. We all ordered something different so we could all share. We got the waiter to bring out some gelato and pastries with a candle while everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to my dad. Then he opened his present. We got him a tie that was covered with little smiley faces and a macaroni picture frame with a great family picture. We purposely picked the cheesiest thing to give him. I noticed his eyes got a little watery when he looked at the picture. That night, we sat around at home, playing random board games. Everyone was smiling, happy, and getting along.  

Now everything tortures me. My throat was sore. I drained the tub and started a shower. I stood for about fifteen minutes, the hot water mixing with my tears. I got out into my warm black towel. I put comfy clothes on, and crawled under my covers. My safe, warm, covers.

* * * * *

It has been a week since my meltdown. A week since my last cut. A week of tears and sadness. A week of remembering. A week of torture.

I sat at my desk, trying to pay attention to this history lesson. History. Think about World War I, not about your own history. I was picking at my nails. Stop. Keep focus. Wilfred Laurier in 1917 started conscription. Forcing people to do something they didn’t want to do. People being forced into a situation without any preparation is wrong!

“Violet, what are your opinions? Do you think Laurier did the right thing?” Mr. Sherman stared me down. I could feel the entire class turn to look at me. Here it was again, the judging.

“Umm…well…I…” Come on, Violet! You were just collecting your thoughts! Say what you think! “Umm…Laurier was mean for, uh, forcing people to, um, do something they didn’t, um, want. But, he, uh, had to.” The last part came out more as a question. My face became hot as all the blood rushed to my cheeks. I felt faint since I hadn’t eaten today.

“Well, I guess you could say that. Does anyone else have any opinions?” He faced another student, Eric. I felt dizzy. I should have had something to eat.

“I agree with what Violet said. Men had families and lives they wanted to continue. Why should they stop because of problems that didn’t really involve them?” Eric turned to look at me after. He gave me a little awkward smile. A smile? Someone knows who I am? He must be making a joke about something. I gave him a bit of a half-smile and turned away. The rest of the class I spent in a daze.

* * * * *

                I moved my fish around my plate. It was nice that my mom tried to do something to act like a normal family again. We were just hiding the truth for one night.

                “Mommy! Can I have more fries?” Chrissie begged. I have never met a more annoying eleven year old. If I had asked for more of something, mother would just look at me and maybe give me the amount sufficient for a mouse. But of course, all Chrissie has to do is look at mother with her big, ocean blue eyes, brown ringlets surrounding her cute little face with rosy cheeks, and just pout a little to get anything and everything she wants. Anyone will give her anything if she puts on that face. She gets all the attention from everyone. It’s always: “Oh hi, Violet. Did you grow? Oh Chrissie! You look beautiful! You’re growing up so quickly!” Then a long conversation begins, asking gorgeous little Chrissie all about her perfect little life.

                I’m surprised James actually came upstairs. When he does come home in the ungodly hours of the night, he goes straight to his room in the basement. No one knows what he does when he’s not at home, or even when he is hiding in the basement. Whether or not it’s something good, he doesn’t tell anyone I would know. I’m not exactly sure if I want to know. He’s let his dark, almost black hair grow to cover his chocolate brown eyes. With his grand height and broad shoulders, he honestly looks quite scary. He’s been quiet all dinner. I did see him smile a couple times though. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him smile.

                Mother had just finished adding more fries to Chrissie’s plate. Despite the make-up, I could see she was very tired. Her light brown hair looked slightly greasy, tied back in a messy ponytail. Bags were spotted beneath her tired eyes, which looked slightly red and puffy. Perhaps crying. Her tight lips were pulled into a desperate smile. She slouched a little in her chair, but maintained good table etiquette. She must feel sorry. That’s why we’re having a genuine family dinner. I guess we feel bad for her. Otherwise, why would we want to be surrounded by the people we are torn from?

                I took the last bite of my fish and glanced to my left. The empty seat. This was a quiet, almost perfect dinner, but without him. Without my dad. Tears started to well up in my dry eyes. I think this is the first time James, Chrissie, mom and I have all eaten a full meal together without any fights. Now I feel terrible.

 My mom was trying to make an effort to save this broken family, and here I was; cutting myself almost every day, but pretending nothing is wrong with me. It stopped for a week, but I had to continue again.

This time I did something different. Yesterday, I took the familiar blade in my hand, and I carved a word into my thigh. I took the end of the blade, pierced the skin, and pulled. I took my time. Embracing every cut. Every drop of shinning blood that poured out of my skin. “FREAK” it read when I was done. I sat there and just stared at my leg. It felt better carving a word, rather than just making random cuts. It was like I was admitting to the truth and the rumours I heard flying around about how freaky I am.

Now it’s engraved in my skin. And my family has no idea how much of a freak I really am. I can’t take sitting here any longer. If I do, I’ll probably start crying and pour out the whole truth. I don’t want that.

I stood up abruptly, mumbling “thank you” to my mother. I ran up to my room. I couldn’t turn back to look at what their reaction would be. Although, I did hear a comment Chrissie made: “What’s her problem?”

What is my problem? My mom is making a huge effort to fix something, and I’m doing the opposite by torturing myself. I should stop. I know I should. I should get help. I know I should. But will I?

Probably not.

* * * * *

I woke up the next morning to someone shaking me. My face felt crusty from the tears that dried on my cheeks overnight. I lifted my head to see who was waking me. It was my mother. My poor mother. She looked as though she had been crying all night as well.

“Mom, what is it?” I asked groggily. I faced that clock beside my bed. It read 7:18. Why is she waking me up now? It’s too early for a Sunday.

“Violet I need to talk to you. About last night. It’s been eating me up all night and I just have to know; why did you run away?” I saw the true concern. She cared. My mom cares? Why did it take her this long to say anything to me?

“Mom, I’m sorry. It’s just…I couldn’t take sitting there, acting…normal…without him there…it was too much.” That was partially the truth. It wasn’t like I was lying…I just wasn’t saying everything.

“Oh. I see. I just thought it would be nice…” she trailed off as she walked out. I could hear her sniffle a little on her way back to her room. I felt a little jab of guilt. I ruined that wonderful night.

* * * * *

The next day in History, I slept through the whole class. The night before I had worn myself out. James left to who knows where, and mother took Chrissie out for a ballet recital practice which took hours. I felt terrible the whole day for what I did to my mom. I knew it was just going to make things worse, but I had to cut. I needed at least an hour of a blank mind.

I had cut deeper into my side and thigh than I had ever before. I retraced the letters carved in my thigh. I made one long cut, underlining my identification of a freak. As soon as I lifted the blade from the end of the cut, I realized how bad of an idea that was. There was too much blood. Too much pain. Why do I have to be such an idiot?! I should not have done this. I submerged my leg into the water, squeezing the two sides of the cut together. I was crying. What if I can’t fix this? What if I get an infection? What if someone finds me? What if I die?

No! I can’t die! Not now! My tears of panic turned into tears of determination. I was not going to let anything happen.

Still holding my leg, I pulled the gauze bandages from the first aid kit no one uses. I emptied the blood water from the tub, and rinsed my leg with clean, cold water.  I wrapped the bandage around and around my leg. I added more gauze pads to the wound, and went to bed.

* * * * *

                Walking into the school and to my seat the next morning was excruciatingly painful. I felt sick so I hadn’t eaten anything. In my body’s attempt to heal me, I missed the lesson on the end of the war. I had fallen asleep. I missed the end of fighting and death. The beginning of fooling yourself that everything is good. Behold, the Roaring Twenties.

                The bell woke me and I scrambled to collect my things. I stood up quickly, forgetting about my leg and whimpering a little.

                “You alright?” Was someone talking to me? I casually glanced up to find Eric looking at me, concern emanating from his deep green eyes.

                “Yeah, I uh, just pulled a muscle. Um, really badly,” I lied. Is there something on my face? Why is it that all of a sudden people talk to me?

                “Oh. Well you should stretch it out.” He paused for a second and I nodded. I muttered something about going to class and started to shuffle away. To my surprise, Eric followed and kept talking to me, “Hey I was wondering…for the project Mr. Sherman just gave us, do you want to be my partner?” We have a project? Well that shouldn’t be shocking seeing as I slept that whole class. What should be shocking is that someone is asking to work with me. Maybe it’s a dare.

                “Um…yeah sure, I guess so. Uh, what is this um, project on exactly?” I might as well give these cruel people a laugh out of whatever they’re planning.

                “The Roaring Twenties. I have some ideas about what we can do. Are you free tomorrow after school to talk about it?”

                “Um, sounds fine to me. I have to go to French now. I guess, um, I’ll see you, uh, later.” I walked off as normally as I could with my impaired leg.

* * * * *

That night I got home to see my mom sitting at the table. Someone else was sitting with their back facing me. Mother saw me standing there. The other woman turned to face me. It was Aunt Jane, and she was in tears.

“Oh, um, hi. Am I interrupting?” Mother stood and walked toward me. She placed her hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes.

“Sweetie, Aunt Jane is going to stay with us for a little while,” she lowered her voice and continued, “Just go upstairs and I’ll explain everything later.” With that, I smiled at my aunt and walked upstairs. I decided not to trouble myself, trying to figure out why my aunt is here.

I have not seen my aunt in a year. Ever since my dad died, she has stayed away from out family. She didn’t want to be sucked into the sorrow of a family falling apart. Or maybe she was too self-centered to help us with anything. Whatever the case may be, the result is still the same: she abandoned us.

I had only just finished my homework when mother came in to give me an explanation. I sat there, waiting for her to speak. Finally, she began: “Jane is getting a divorce from her husband. She needs some time to sort things out.  She will be living here until she can find somewhere to live. I expect you to respect her. She will be staying in the spare bedroom for now.”

“Okay.” I sat there, staring at her, waiting for her to leave. I could feel my blood starting to boil, and I did not want my mom to see that. As soon as she left, my hands balled into fists, my teeth biting my lip so much it bled.

I can never forgive her for what she did to us.

* * * * *

                “So I guess we’re almost done here,” Eric announced with a smile. We were working on our project about entertainment in the twenties. I’m not going to lie, I liked having someone to talk to, even though it was just about history.

                I smiled back and said, “Yeah, I guess so. You’ll uh, drop off the rest tomorrow, right?” All that was left to do was put some stuff together. Eric was going to drop it off at my house tomorrow at some point for me to finish up.

                “Alright, um, I’m gonna ask you something I’ve been wondering about for a while.” Why are you such a freak? Why did you agree to be my partner? Or is it going to be some stupid question that will end up with me being laughed at? “Are you okay?” That’s it?

                “Um, yeah, I’m uh, fine.” Well, no, not at all. Why would he care anyway?

“Why do you isolate yourself so much?” Everyone hates me. No one cares. No one understands.

“Um, sometimes people just, um, well, annoy me.” I wasn’t lying. I just wasn’t saying all of the truth.

“Okay. Understandable. But you know, if you ever wanted to talk or chill, I’m always up for it.” I simply nodded in response. I still haven’t gotten over my suspicion of this being a cruel joke. There was probably something I said or did that he is going to tell his friends so they can laugh at me.

“Yeah, um, okay. I have to go now. Bye.” I got up and left as quickly as I could. As I walked away, I could hear Eric attempt to call “bye” after me. I can understand people playing pranks on me, but this is too much. Why Eric? Why does he have to be so nice to me? Is someone just going to crush me by making me think I can trust him? Well then, I’m not going to let that happen.

* * * * *

“I want to keep my family together. I want to still have a good relationship with George and the kids,” Aunt Jane announced that night at dinner. I just about dropped my fork. She wants to keep a family together? Somehow that didn’t add up in my brain. She continued, “I would like your help though. I’m not sure if I can do this on my own.” She looked down at her plate. I cannot believe she is asking this of us! I hope she’s looking down out of shame.

“Jane, of course we’ll help you,” my mother responded. I cannot believe any of this!

“Thank you, Hilary. I don’t think you understand what this means to me.” Are you kidding me? You don’t think my mom knows what it’s like to want to have a good, happy family? I looked at my aunt with the dirtiest look I could muster, and ran from the table.

 How dare she? How dare she come here for help when her family is falling apart? After dad died, she didn’t help us out at all. We needed someone to help keep us together. Now she comes to us when her family is falling apart, and expects us to help? Why should we? She did nothing to deserve our help. The only reason why we are doing this is because my mom is kind and empathetic. She wants to fix everything, but she can’t! She can’t fix what has happened at all! We will never be the family that we were! We will never be normal! I can never be helped! So, no! I refuse to be nice to her. I refuse to be kind to the person that could have prevented everything! I refuse to help her when she didn’t help us! Maybe, if she had done something, and not abandoned us, mom wouldn’t be stressed all the time! Maybe James would show his face every now and then! Maybe Chrissie wouldn’t annoy me as much! Maybe I wouldn’t be cutting myself all the time! Maybe, just maybe, I would be happy.

* * * * *

                I was walking through the halls at the end of the day with my head down. I looked up for a second to make sure I wasn’t going to crash into anyone. Eric caught my attention. He was smiling at me. I hesitantly smiled back and kept walking. I rounded the corner. It only took a second for me to hear loud voices ringing through the empty hallway. They were talking about me. So, naturally, I stopped and listened.

                “Eric man, why do you keep talking to her?” It was an unfamiliar voice.

                “Yeah really. She’s a freak. Stop associating yourself with her. She’s not worth it.” Another unfamiliar voice. Gee, I feel great about myself right about now.

                “Guys, chill. I’m working with her on a project. And really, you don’t know her. What gives you the right to jump to conclusions like that?” That was nice of him to say.

The first voice spoke again, “Listen to me; she is ugly, anti-social, dumb, and a complete freak. You keep being all nice to her, and I won’t talk to you. You may not care about being known as the guy who talks to freaky people, but I do, and I will not stand for that.” I can’t take this. I ran. I don’t even care what Eric’s response would be. Tears were streaming down my face harder than they ever have.

Why do I care so much? I know people judge me constantly. I know people think I’m a freak. I know no one likes me. Why am I so upset about this then? Those people were Eric’s friends. Maybe I just have a warped view of who Eric really is. I guess the most striking factor would be that this time, I specifically heard people saying those things first hand. Before today, it was always just me walking into a room and having people stare. I always knew people talked about me, but I never heard it specifically. Now I know for sure what everyone truly thinks. And the thing is, I think I care.

But I don’t want to care! I don’t want to be driven mad by the opinions of others! Well, I guess that’s too late. I don’t want to care! I want to forget about everyone else! By this time, I had reached home. As soon as I dashed into the empty house, I stumbled into the bathroom and stripped off my school uniform. I grabbed the blade and plunged it into my side. I buckled over from pain. A mixed pain of the cut, the tears, and the thoughts of the words I had heard. I started carving other letters into my leg. “UGLY” was the next one. On top of freak, so now I labeled myself as “UGLY FREAK”. My side was bleeding so much at this point. I didn’t think it would ever stop. Frankly, I didn’t know if I wanted it to stop. I just wanted the red blood to keep flowing. I was gasping for air. I couldn’t properly see. It was a mix of tears and a fuzzy brain that prevented me from seeing what I was actually doing. I blindly cut lines across my leg and along my side. I couldn’t bring myself to stop. My life was just an endless cycle of torture. I don’t cut, and I’m faced with evil words at school and a broken family with a selfish aunt. I cut, and well, I’m in extreme physical pain. D****t this hurts. I should really stop. I carefully placed my blade down and sat there, shaking. Crying. Bleeding. Gasping. My mind was so fuzzy and blank at this point. I hadn’t eaten in ages, and I was still losing blood, although it was a significantly smaller amount. I zoned out for a little bit.

Ding-Dong.

D****t. I think that’s Eric. D****t. I need to get that stuff for the project. Oh gosh will I even be able to stand up? I did, but very slowly. I swayed and grabbed something to hold onto just before I fell. I looked down. I could definitely see. And what I saw made me vomit. The number of cuts on my body was incredibly shocking. A lot of them were small, but still there. The blood flow wasn’t too bad at this point. I suppose I could make it downstairs.

Ding-Dong.

I reached for a random clean shirt and sweatpants. I quickly put them on and slowly walked downstairs. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Woah.” It was indeed Eric standing at my door. He looked scared, stunned, and concerned. “Oh my gosh. Are you okay? Oh my…come, sit down somewhere.” He walked in, putting his arm around my waist for support. He walked me over to the couch in the living room. I looked up across the room to look at the mirror hanging on the wall. I could see why Eric’s reaction made sense.

My eyes were dark, red, and puffy. My lips were torn. My face was pale and tear stained. My shirt had some blood seeping through. My shirt had some blood seeping through.

“What did you do to yourself?” Eric didn’t look angry. He looked as though he legitimately wanted to know what was wrong. I started crying again. Eric put his arms around me and pulled me into a hug. He started saying things like, “Don’t worry” and “It will be okay.” Unexpectedly, I poured my heart out to him. There was no point in keeping this a secret. I told him everything that had been going on with me from day one. He ran up to my washroom to get some bandages. He helped me clean some of the cuts and brought me to my room.

Then he said, “Listen to me now; everything is going to be okay. I will help you and I will not leave. I have a story I want to tell you.” I felt exhausted, but I listened. “Last year I had a friend. He had some family troubles and also some issues with bullies. He considered doing what you did. It was scary. I didn’t want him to do it. I told him so, and he said he wouldn’t.” He paused for a moment. His breathing had become shaky, as though he was holding back tears. “No one knew he was actually doing it. I had no idea. I didn’t know what to do. Then one day he told me. He didn’t go this far, but it was enough to scare him into asking me for help. So I did. I helped him.” We sat for a couple minutes in silence. I noticed a few tears slip from his eyes. I was crying as well. “I knew there was something bugging you. Violet, I want to help you. I am going to help you, whether you like it or not. But it will be a lot easier if you let me.” He looked at me with those dark green eyes of his, pleading me to answer with the words he wanted to hear.

“Please help me,” came out as a strangled whisper. I burst into tears and fell into his open arms once again. I’m done with this. I have someone who will help. Someone who actually cares. I will be cured of this insanity.

“Of course, Violet. Now, you should sleep. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll clean up, and then I’ll go home. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this.” He let go of me and helped me into my bed. I was already drifting off. I knew I was going to be safe.

“Thank you,” I whispered as he walked away, and I fell into a comfortable slumber.

* * * * *

                Eric had helped me so much since that day one month ago. Any time I felt like I have an urge to cut, I called him. And we’d talk for ages. We talked on the phone a lot anyways. Even at home I knew there was a difference. I was nice to everyone in my family. I occasionally carried a conversation with someone, but I usually just sat there while others talk. I had never thought I could be relatively happy again like now.

                Eric and I had gone to a little café for a smoothie. Exams were approaching. Which meant the summer months were calling me to sit outside and bask in the sun.

                “There’s something I’ve been thinking about. I think I should apologize to my family. Mostly my mom. They deserve that, right?” I had been contemplating for a while over what I should do about that.

                “Are you going to tell them everything?”

                “I thought of that…but I don’t think I will.” That would be too much. My mom would probably feel worse about everything and think it was all her fault. I really don’t want that to happen. “Can I borrow your phone? My mom won’t be home until late tonight, and I need to say something now.” Eric handed me his cell phone and I called my mom at work. I was nervous. What if I choke? What if I say everything?

                “Hilary Allen speaking.” Then I realized; I have no idea what my mom does. I have no idea what her job is. I have no clue whatsoever. I sat there for a moment, unable to speak.

                “Hello?”

                “H-Hi, mom. It’s Violet.” My voice was pretty quiet. Eric got up and left the corner table to give me a chance to say what I needed to in confidence.

                “Oh, hi sweetie. Is something going on?” I probably bugged her from whatever important thing she was doing. I shouldn’t have called. No, stop thinking like that. It’s now or never. Tell her.

                “Mom, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I’m sorry that I haven’t been helping you out with everything. I’m sorry for disconnecting myself. I’m sorry for causing more pain than necessary. I’m just really, really sorry about everything. I love you, Mom.” I choked on my tears with the last few words. I could hear my mom on the other end of the line.

                “Oh sweetie. I love you too. So much. Don’t worry about any of that!” I let out a sigh of relief. “Listen, I’m going to get off work as soon as I can and we’ll go out to dinner. Just us two. Alright?” So we made arrangements to go to that little Italian restaurant in an hour. I said goodbye to Eric and made my way straight to the restaurant. By the time I got there, mom had already arrived.

                I saw her sitting at the table. She saw me and stood up. I rushed over straight into her arms. I haven’t hugged her in so long. Who knew a body had that much water to use as tears? I was probably going to become dehydrated from all this crying. We sat down laughing and crying a little.

                I had been collecting my thoughts all the way here. After a minute or so, I spoke: “Mom, you’re my hero. After everything that’s happened in the past year, you haven’t stopped trying to fix things. I was stopping you by pushing everything away. And the way you welcomed Aunt Jane! Well, I was shocked! Mom, you are amazing. I regret not telling you all of this earlier and spending more time with you.” Mom reached across the table and took my hand in hers. She looked at me, scrutinizing my expression. She looked very close to tears, once again.

                “Violet, you don’t even understand how much this means to me.” She took a deep, unstable breath before recommencing, “I… I’ve been pretty worried about you. This past year has been the hardest we will ever have to face.” She squeezed my hand.  “I am so proud of you for talking to me and pushing through all of this.” She looked into my eyes and held my gaze for a moment.  “I love you so much.” We sat there for a couple minutes, just sitting. We ordered some food and kept talking. We talked about the little things. How school was going, how work was going. Apparently, my mom is an executive assistant to an important person downtown. I liked talking with my mom. It was like I was a little girl again.

                When dinner ended, we called home to see if Aunt Jane, Chrissie, and James wanted to meet us for ice cream somewhere. It didn’t take any convincing for Jane and Chrissie. James however, was reluctant. After mother tried talking to him, I told him that it was my idea. Ten minutes later, we all showed up at a little ice cream place along a busy street. It was one of those places that you would find only if you were looking for it.

We were a family again. I could tell. Just from the way everyone was talking and laughing, no one wanted to retrogress to the broken family that lived in our house the past year. We were all happy. I felt like we could make it through a lot more now. I felt like being a family again was hope. Hope for the future, and getting along.

Once every last bit of ice cream had been devoured, we decided to go on a short walk before going home. Although it was dark, the moon lit the sidewalk for us. I was walking on the end next to Chrissie, who was next to James, then Aunt Jane, then mom. Chrissie had just said something really funny, so we were all buckling over with laughter. No one noticed the car speeding around the corner until it was too late.

* * * * *

Wee Ooo! Wee Ooo!

Ambulance sirens are annoying. They just don’t stop making that annoying, dissonant wailing. How long have I been lying here? My sense of time is completely messed up. Actually, a lot of things are a little messed up right now. Including my memory. But that’s starting to come back now.

I’m sprawled out on the side of the street. That car hit me. And pretty badly I think. I hear someone bawling. Is it my mom? Is she still here? Is anyone else here? I could try opening my eyes and looking around. My eyelids feel really heavy. They slowly fluttered open. It took a minute for my vision to clear.

There is blood everywhere. A wrecked car is smoking on my left. I turned my gaze to my right. I saw my mom bent over on the ground. James was at the end of the street, looking for something. Aunt Jane was holding Chrissie. She was covering a spot on her face that I assume was bleeding. The sound of the ambulance stopped beside me. The pain from the crash hit me all at once. It was spreading throughout every inch of my body.

“Violet! You’re awake!” It was mother. She got up and rushed to my side. Seconds after, paramedics lifted me onto a stretcher to put me in the ambulance.

“Violet! Oh, Violet!” She just kept repeating my name. “Violet! Oh I love you. You’re going to be alright. Don’t worry.” She climbed in the back of the ambulance after me. I saw the rest of my family standing outside, waving at me as they got into a car to follow us to the hospital.

“Listen, you’re going to make it through this. You will be fine.” Somehow, I couldn’t believe my own mother. This pain returning to my body was crazy. I was being hooked to so many machines. This really cannot be good at all. I just wanted to stop the pain and torture. I wanted to sleep. I felt so weary. I could hear some people frantically shouting orders. Mom was crying. One man was talking to her. I caught him saying “I’m sorry.” I felt a hand grasp mine. It was my mom. I looked at her and tried my best to smile. It is too difficult to stay awake. I really need to sleep. I want to stop the pain and torture once and for all. I had a few last thoughts before I slipped into unconsciousness.

I love my hair. It’s healthy and waiting for me to do something with it. I love my eyes. They’re deep and curious. I love my nose. It’s small and unique. I love my skin. It’s fair with rosy cheeks. I love my lips. They’re pink and ready to tell my secrets. I love my face. It’s round and beautiful. I love my arms. They’re open to accept a hug. I love my legs. They’re long and tired of running away. But above all I love my stomach and thighs. It’s covered with the victory scars of the greatest battle I have ever faced.

 

The End.

Author's Note

This is the first thing I've written that I have really been extremely proud of. I was kind of addicted to the story as I was writing it...

Reviews

[Calypso]

I agreed with what the other person said, this is a very, very good story.
I believe the biggest problem here is that you have too much in this story. If you could spread it out you could have a good book on your hands, but that's just me.

[g]

Can I give this 150/100?
Amazing piece of work, I love the ending :)