Suicide.

Flashback 8

Flashback 8

1 year ago...

I came home the same day, glistening tears still rolling down my cheeks. I got out of the car, looking at my mom, who had been giving me the silent treatment for two years.

Long story. Shit happened.

"Mom, please, talk to me this once! I need your support," I begged, knowing it would be useless. She didn't turn her head, just kept walking, but that was still to be expected from her.

I swallowed back screams of fury and sadness. All I could do was go to Nick's room. Hopefully he would half some brother-to-sister advice.

Now he was seventeen, just two years older than I. I knocked tentatively at his bedroom door. And, of course, he didn't answer.

"Nick, it's me. If your smoking, I swear to God..." before I could finish, the door swung open. His dark hair was messy and long, brushing his shoulders. I made mental note to convince Nick to get a haircut.

I walked in and sat on his bed. "What is it?" my brother asked.

"Obvious, isn't it? The same old bullies and stuff...except this time..." My eyes welled with tears. "Nick, Mr. Goldenburg was talking crap about me. Saying I was a drama queen, and -"

At that instant, I was crushed by one of his pity-hugs. "Danielle, Danielle. That bastard doesn't know half the stuff we've been through. Don't listen to them, any of them. It's hard, but..." A weak smile crossed my brother's face. "The Millers have to live on."

I smiled. "Danielle and Nick Miller. We'll be the ones to lead this family when the rest are gone."

He grinned and hugged me. I looked up at him, finally happy to have some support to catch me when I fell, or to help me stand. I loved Nick, and knew I took him for granted, but so did he. We were two towers, leaning on each other, and we were both going to break eventually...

I shook it off, thinking, 'Thank God after all this, we haven't broken yet.'

---

I woke up at six thirty the next morning to face another inevitably crappy day. I stumbled out of bed and pressed the OFF button on my annoying alarm clock.

I shuffled to my closet and picked out a gray sweater, which the sleeves were a few inches too long. I threw some dark jeans on my bed, too. I ran a brush through my short, almost black-looking hair and then ran to the bathroom.

Of course I was skipping breakfast. If I went down there, I'd have to make my own, because Mom totally forgot about having a third child!

Sarcasm, if you didn't catch it.

I brushed my teeth and flossed, then used the toilet. After flushing and washing my hands, I stripped and steppe into the shower.

I shaved under my arms, and my legs, before washing with soap. I shampooed and conditioned my hair and then got out.

Drying off, I wrapped a towel around my self and blow-dried my hair. It didn't take very long, and after, I brushed my hair one more time. When I came out of the bathroom, it was already seven 'o clock.

I put on the clothes I'd picked out earlier, and some black boots. Then I went to the kitchen to find Nick already at the table, eating some scrambled eggs. Mom was at the coffee machine, sipping her coffee.

Years ago, before I was raped and before Mom became a bitch, before Dad killed himself, before Sean became a horrible lying, player, and before every night I cried myself to sleep, I'd have ran to the kitchen smiling and yelling cheerfully, "Good morning!"

But now, I was older, my life was more depressing and complicated, so I just slowly entered the room, murmuring, "Hi," and knowing I probably wouldn't get an answer. Everyone avoided eye contact as I sat down at the table, staring at the fine patterns in the wood.

Finally, Mom spoke up, but not to anyone in general. "Ok. Lets get going." I looked at the clock; it was seven twenty three. Confused, I opened my mouth to respond, and quickly snapped it shut. There was no point.

I picked up my organized backpack at the door and then slung it over my shoulder, walking out.

Bullies, here I come.