One Last Time

The razor is cold but I press it deep into my forearm. Harder and harder until red bursts out like a flower out of flesh. I draw a line and the red spreads. It hurts but at the same time it feels good. I pick up the razor then start to draw a new line, this one deeper and bloodier than the one before. I stop for a second to breathe in the short moment of peace I have just given myself before I am interrupted.

Like it was timed I hear someone stomping down the hallway yelling with a drunken slur. “Candy! You f*****g b***h! Get your a*s out here right now!” I close my eyes wishing that my father would go away and leave me alone. Of course he doesn’t. “CANDY!” He thunders my name and I decided to answer him. “Yes Dad?” I call. “You dumb b***h what did I say the first time? Get your lazy a*s out here!” I pull my sleeves over the red lines and walk out of my room.

My father is standing there, a beer in one hand, and a nub of a cigar in the other. He reeks of booze and smoke and he is lazily leaning up against the wall. He looks me over with black eyes that once held intelligence. Now they hold the evidence of someone who has drunk himself into a hole. “What the f**k were you doing in there? God, you idiot. I don’t know why I didn‘t kick you out the same time I kicked out your mother.” He moved from his lazy position on the wall to slap me with his cigar hand. I don’t say anything but I cringe. He takes a swig from his empty beer bottle and then frowns, realizing that it no longer holds alcohol. “Get me another one.” He snaps as he turns around and walks back into the living room.

I ghost into our dirty kitchen and snatch a bottle of booze from the fridge. I’m hoping this is all he asks of me for tonight. Another trip to his bedroom would make it four times this week. Its only Wednesday. I pop off the cap and start to take it into the living room where he is lounging watching TV. “Hurry up Candy. I’m thirsty!” He snaps with impatience. I’m halfway to the living room when my cat Reggie darts out from under the dining room table and right under my feet. I trip and fall on my hands and knees, the bottle breaking into a thousand shards of brown glass that rip my hands to shreds.

“The f**k..?” He screams. I hear him get up and hurry over to me, not out of worry but out of anger. “WHAT THE HELL? CAN YOU NOT DO ANYTHING RIGHT?” He picks me up and slaps me across the face, pinning me to the wall. I hold up my bloody hands to my face as he lifts up his arm to hit me again. He yanks my hands aside and I cry out in pain as the broken glass shards sink deeper into my flesh. He punches me once, twice, three times. I feel my nose break and the warm tears stream down my face. “I’m sick and tired of you!” He hisses as he lets go. I sink to the ground, crying. “I’m ending this s**t.” He says.

My father stomps away and my shoulders sink in relief. He’s done, he won’t hurt me again today. I hug my knees to my chest and close my eyes. I’m so tired and my whole body hurts, it hurts so much that I don’t even realize it when I hear him coming up beside me. It wasn’t until something cold touched my temple that I realized what was happening. I jerk my head up to look at his dull black eyes. “I told you I was ending it.” He said. My father pulled the trigger and then everything was over.