I Just Wanna Run

I grab my pocketknife and dig it into my skin on my thigh. A line of red emerges from it, and I smile. I dig deeper. Just a little more deeper that’s all you need. It’ll take away the pain. Make you feel alive. You want to be happy don’t you?

The voice inside my head is my only friend, if even that, so I do as it says. Good, now run to the bathroom and clean it up before you get blood all over your mother’s beautifully clean carpet. You’ll know how pissed she’d be.

My mom is a single mom. My dad, the only person I felt cared for me, killed himself when I was seven. And I witnessed it. My mom was screaming at him in the kitchen. Me, being the curious one I am, went down and was peeking around the corner. I don’t remember what they were yelling at each other about, but I remember everything after my dad grabbed the gun.

I also remember my mom yelling, “Don’t! Don’t do it Ben! You’ll ruin this lovely white kitchen. I don’t want it stained red from your insides coming out of your head!”

“You don’t love me! All you care about is this kitchen! What about me, dead on the floor? Contaminating and adding germs to this house! You disgust me!”

“Fine go ahead kill yourself! You won’t! You even know you won’t! And no one loves you anyway! Not even your own daughter!”

I was about to speak up to say my mom was wrong, and my dad was the only person I loved…

But it was too late, he already pulled the trigger. My mom immediately started grabbing towels to clean up the pool of blood.

I ran over to my dad, “Dad! Dad, I love you! She’s wrong! Dad!”

My mom pulled me off of him and slapped me across the face with a spatula, causing me to bleed. “You’re father didn’t love you! Why would he?”

She threw me on the ground and went back to cleaning, pushing his body around. I ran to the living room and called the police saying my dad was dead. They came quickly and took out his body.

My mom and I sat there crying. One of the policemen came over and started questioning my mom.

“What caused him to shoot himself?”

My mom shook her head, “I don’t know. He went mad. He kept telling me that I’m worthless and that my baby’s worthless.” She grabbed my hand, “He hit her with a spatula right before he killed himself. My poor baby.”

The policeman turned to me, “I see that, are you okay sweetheart?”

“I want my daddy,” I started crying.

I don’t remember anything else up until my mom closed the door after everybody was out and gone. My mom walked over and threw a vase on my head, and I blacked out for good.

Aww, memories, memories. Don’t you love them. Ha, you’re pathetic. ‘Dad! Dad, I love you!’ And your mom? What a classic! You can make millions one day of your life story. So, why don’t you cut yourself a little bit deeper while you’re sitting in that bathtub? Maybe in another spot? How about another?

Now, remember, the deeper the better. The more you cut, the more you feel better. Ha, ha. Poor, poor Victoria. No wonder your dad killed himself! Look at you cutting away, like you’re a butcher! There, that’s your talent! But now that I’m thinking about it, you’re just like your father. Ha, trying to kill yourself. Makes me wonder if he had cuts on his legs too.

I woke up in a hospital with flowers all around me, and my mom asleep in the chair in the corner. I had cords running into my arms filled with blood. I tried repositioning my legs, but they burned when I did.

I moved my arms to help move them, but then an alarm went off and five nurses ran into my room. The shorter one came over and pressed a button to shut it up, and the others left. “Now don’t move too much or that happens.”

My mom woke up from the alarm, “Oh, darling you’re awake. You should have woken me up to help you.” She walks over and gives me a hug, “You had me so worried.”

Wonder if she ever said that to your daddy. Probably did. Before he went insane and killed himself. Wonder why? You’ll figure it out though. You’re just like him.

I didn’t look into my mother’s eyes, “I’m sorry. I was just feeling a little depressed.” Now you’re lying to your teeth! Ha, why didn’t you just say, ‘You’re a fucking lunatic mom. You’re making me insane, just like you did to dad. Now I have to live through the memories of you being an evil bitch to dad, now it’s all on me. So, yeah, that’s why I’m a little insane and feel the need to cut myself.’ But you’re too chicken. Just like your dad was.

The nurse spoke up, “That’s what we figured, so we have you on anti-depressant drugs to help with the depression you seem to have. But you’re looking better, so that’s good. How are you feeling?”

“My legs are asleep. That’s why I tried to move them, but it hurt really bad when I did.” Hmm, wonder why?

The nurse moved the blanket off of my legs, and looked around on them, “Well, luckily you didn’t break any stitches. Try not to move your legs too much because we don’t want that to happen. As for right now, there’s not much I can do for you. You just sort of have to deal with it. I’m sorry.” She covers the blanket over my legs again, and walks to the door, “Press the button by your bed if you need anything.”

My mom smiles until she leaves, then loses it. She grabs the button thing away from me and slaps me across the face, “Do you know how much money this is costing me?,” she whispers. “You better come up with a good fucking lie about why you fucking did it. They want you to go to counseling after this, and my ass ain’t going to jail. What would you do if I left? You’d be homeless, and none of the other families love you. And once I get out, you’ll be with me once again. I’ll make it work out. So, what’s your excuse?”

Oh, no! You don’t want to end up in a foster home where no one loves you! Ha, what a lunatic. She’s making me want to cut myself! And the part we’re you two are reunited sounds pretty scary. Her right out of jail, maybe prison, because of your ass. Ha, that’s a fun time! So, now, what’s your excuse?

I think hard and a bunch of things run through my head. My dad is dead because of my mom being a lunatic. My grades are failing. I was offered a cigarette to calm my nerves once, and I almost gave into the peer pressure. Got it! You do? “I can say that I’m still sad of my dad dying in front of me, because he was a…lunatic-” How hard is it to say that? “-and I was peer pressured into cutting myself because I was told that it would help you forget things.”

Hey, does your mom look almost proud of you for once? I look at her face, and it does. She smiles, “Yes, that’s perfect!”

Wow, how did you become such a liar? You must have cut yourself pretty stinking deep…

The last few weeks in the hospital went by fast. My mom was never there, thank god. And luckily, the TV had some good shows on. She stuck to soap opera. So, that helped with my legs being on fire.

Now it just hurts to walk on them a little, and today’s my first counseling meeting. I’m scared. Not of having to lie, but if my mom will like my story and not punish me for being stupid. Because of her, don’t forget that.

On the car ride there, my mom doesn’t say a word, but reminds me before we get there that she’ll be back for me. Not directly in those words, but in essence holds the same meaning.

We get out and walk in and have our seats. To the right there is a mom reading a magazine with her son staring at me like he’s trying to shoot lasers out of his eyes. And to the left there is a teenage boy, around my age, with a dark blue mohawk, and piercings on his eyebrow.

A girl that looks like a Barbie walks out and calls in the mother, leaving her child out here to keep a good eye on me. Later a plump woman with brown hair comes in, who calls in the teenage boy.

Then it’s my turn. An older man walks out and calls, “Victoria Mercy?” He’s kinda creepy looking. I get up and so does my mother, “No, ma’am. Just your daughter is allowed to come.”

She sits back down as I follow this man into another room. “Please take a seat, Ms. Mercy.” I sit down on the most uncomfortable, blue chair. How does that feel. Better than the hospital bed, I hope. He takes a seat in front of me, “My name is, Mr. Perguin.” Ha, like penguin. “Now, I’d like to begin with asking you about your father. How did he die exactly?”

I gulped, “Suicide.”

“Do you know why he was suicidal?”

Another gulp, this time the sweat starts, “I’m not sure. He just one day freaked out and shot himself in the head.”

He writes this down, “Hmm, I see. I read a report that said you witnessed the suicide, and that before he died he smacked you across the face, is this true.”

My palms became sweaty, “Yes sir, it was the first time he had ever laid his hands on me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I can never imagine what it would be like to witness something so horrible.” Is he here to make things worse?

“Yes, it was hard.”

“How old were you when this took place?”

“I was only seven.”

“Oh, so it occurred only eight years ago.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well I’m going to stop here today. I know it was short, but I’m not going to push too much out of you. Especially, since you came right out of the hospital.” He goes over to his computer and types something in. “How is May, 5th at 9:00?”

“That’s good.”

He printed out the paper and hands it to me, “Here you go. See you then.”

I walked out and ran into the teenage boy in the waiting room, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s okay, it’s my fault really. I’m Ben.” Your dad’s name! He has your dad’s name!

“Victoria.”

“Pretty name. Do you want to get together one day? Just to hang out?”

“Yeah, sure. How about tomorrow around four at the park?” You’re not even going to skip school? Just gonna wait until after? Alright, but what are you going to tell your mommy?

“Yeah, sounds good. See you then.”

I walked in the opposite direction from him, as he went out the door at the end of the hall. Hope you’re not looking for love or anything from him. I mean, look at him. Blue mohawk? It’s a pathetic cry for help. But hey, maybe you can be the one to save him. Now that’s romantic.

As soon as I enter the waiting room my mom stands up, “That was fast? How did it go?”

I couldn’t look her in the eyes, “Yeah, he didn’t want to ask me too much because I just got out of the hospital. And it went fine, perfectly fine.”

She smiled, “Okay that’s good. Let’s go home now. I have business to do.”

When she says “business” it means anything and everything to do with drugs. Good news, she’ll be gone the whole night so I’ll have the house to myself. Bad news, I never know what will happen when she comes home whenever she does.

As soon as I got home and out of the car, my mom left. I walked up the stairs to the house that looks perfect, yet holds the biggest lies.

I went straight into my room and plopped on the bed. I sat thinking about Ben. I don’t really know why I said yes to him. Me either. I guess it’s because he has problems too, so maybe he can be that one person I talk to about everything and knows everything about me. Aww, that hurts. What about me?

I sat up quickly, I had the sudden urge to vomit. I ran into the bathroom, slipping on my way to the toilet. I didn’t pay attention to anything but the toilet though.

After about ten minutes of puking until my throat burned I stood up. Then froze. Why don’t you say why you froze?

The bathtub was completely red and the floor, where I slipped, was also covered in blood. I almost forgot about that. Now you know why you passed out. You could of saved a lot of lives with all that blood, but no. You just wanted to cut yourself, and end your life early. Like your father.

I fell to the floor, sobbing. I started grabbing toilet paper and scrubbing the floor as a desperate floor cry for help. Now matter how hard I scrubbed and poured water on the floor, the red wouldn’t leave. Well, technically it’s a light pink now, but the memory of this will always be here. On the white, now red tile.

I threw everything out of my hands screaming. Get over yourself. I had to use the counter to help me get up and I immediately started washing the old blood off my hands. I looked at myself in the mirror, and started laughing. Are you going insane? Do I have to mention your father, once again?

My face was covered in the blood, my hair was a mess, my eyes were bloodshot, and my lips were all chapped. I reminded myself of my mom. That’s soooo cute.

I washed my face, brushed my hair, and put on chap stick, then headed back into my room and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. Nighty night.

I heard a door being slammed, and I was in the process of waking up, when I was slapped across the face. I grabbed my stinging cheek and looked up to see, who other than my mom. Maybe you should start saying Mommy Dearest each time you talk to her. Remember when you cried watching that movie in class. Ha, pathetic bitch.

“Get up! You’re running late!”

I looked at the clock and it was only three in the morning. I looked at her, “For what?”

She looked confused and left my room stumbling into the wall on the way out. I should probably mention how she reeked of alcohol and all sorts of drugs, but I’ve almost become immune to those scents. That’s not a good sign.

I let the situation go and went back to sleep, this time setting my alarm, just in case.

I woke up a minute before my alarm went off and unplugged it so it wouldn’t wake up my mom.