Fighting for Rose

22❦

22

❦𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮❦

I stand on the edge of a ten story building, looking down at the city below me.

Sometimes I think of jumping.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm here at all.

Sometimes it gets to be too much and I just want it all to end.

I've got nothing again, no place to call home and an empty stomach that gives me a constant dull ache.

It's been a month and a half since I lost Jack. I've spent every day looking for jobs in hope to make enough money to buy another car.

But I haven't been very successful, no one wants a girl with no tools and no car to be their handyman.

The money I had went quickly, a few blankets to keep me warm at night, food and a few other necessities. It left me without a penny to my name.

I thought I'd make it back, I really did. But here I am, a month and a half later with nothing.

Bob and the kids moved last week, he got a job at a construction company in another state. It pays really well, it'll be good for them.

The kids will have nanny. Lilly will have a chance at being a kid without so many responsibilities.

But saying goodbye to the kids just about ripped my heart out.

I turned my phone off when they left, I made sure to send Blake a message saying I was ok before I did so he won't worry about me like last time.

I just don't know what to do with myself anymore.

Life's hard, it's so freaking hard and I don't have any energy left to fight it.

I count the cars as they pass on the road beneath me, it's two in the morning so no one can see me up here, it's too dark.

I hate everything and everyone right now, but at the same time I feel nothing.

I want to die, but I won't give them the satisfaction.

Everyday I wake up, goes against what they want.

I can hear the voices echoing in my head. 'No one loves you.' 'You're a waste of space.' 'I should have never had you.' 'Why don't you just die already?'

Some from my mother, some from my brother.

It was just us growing up, my father died right after I was born. And my brother wanted to be an only child.

He hated me the moment I was born.

When I was younger it was brutal, the things he would do, pushing me off a swing set causing me to break an arm, locking me in the basement for days at a time with no food, hitting me with objects causing me to be constantly bruised, stealing my toys and throwing them in the trash outside so I had nothing.

He stole my blankets for my bed and would soak my mattress in water each night before bed.

Mom was stricken with grief for years after dad passed, and as she pulled out of it my brother convinced her that it was my fault he died.

She turned a blind eye to everything that he did, and although she never physically got in on the abuse, she often verbally did.

As the years went on it got worse, then my brother started drinking and it got increasingly worse when he was drunk.

For my thirteenth birthday they gave me the present of being locked in the cold basement for two months, I survived on the limited amount of canned foods that were left down there.