Chapter One - Addiction

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A/N ayoo this is sunny after about six months after finishing this story. im editing it and shiz, so hopefully the writing will be better. lols. whether youve just decided to read this incredibly cliche and badly plotted out story or youre reading what happiness looks like/my one and only and have decided to check out my first book, let me tell you:

its pretty bad. not gonna lie. but hopefully a bit of editing to the writing (not the plot) will make it a tad bit more enjoyable.

enjoyy. c;

>>Ali's POV<<

I watched the red liquid fall from my arms, dripping with sweat and adrenaline rushing through my entire body.

This is what cutting felt like, the pleasure and rush that comes to you is so addictive, that once you find yourself doing it, you won't be able to stop.

Even though this behavior is absolutely and utterly satisfying, people have managed to quit the grasp of this addiction, because they found something that makes them want to stop.

But in my entire nineteen years, I've never ecountered anything that made me regret this action, nothing that makes me want to end the satisfaction.

Now, in the present, the bloody and rusty blade slipped from my grip, slicing the thin skin on my thumb as it tumbled to the ground with a soft clatter.

I opened my eyes, laughing. If anybody saw me in this state, they would think that I was a psychopath, perhaps just mentally insane, laughing at my own pity. I wonder how shamed my mother must be of me.

"God, I'm sorry for my sins, but can you tell mommy something? Mommy, oh, mommy I miss you, please wake up," I remember pleading to God, kneeling at the foot of my bed when I was ten.

The door suddenly creaked open loudly, the hinges rusty and ready to snap the moment somebody applies too much pressure on it.

Shit! I ducked instinctively, covering my head with my frail arms, knowing that my father's beatings were usually aimed towards the head.

I braced myself, my teeth wanting to chatter in fear, though I clamped it shut, preparing myself for the familiar punch to the top of my head.

Moment past, turning into seconds, into minutes. I knew sometimes my father liked to take time staring at my pitiful self before truly letting the physical pain begin.

I shifted my index finger away from my eyes, allowing me to see through the small crack. I sighed loudly as I saw my lazy cat standing at the doorway, whiskers twitching as though he were laughing at me.

"Sparklez, come here," I whispered, beckoning with my non-bloody hand. He padded over to me, sniffing me once before turning around and bounding away from me.

I watched his bouncy tail trail out the doorway before letting myself regain my senses. "Oh mom... I don't know what to do without you," I whispered into the air of my bathroom, leaning my head back onto the chipping walls.

I remember exactly nine years ago when I was ten, the day my mother died, just as vividly as I would remember yesterday.

I woke that night, listening to an ear-splitting scream, followed by a loud crash.

I tried to close my eyes and convince myself that it was just part of the nightmares that I had every night, but I couldn't shake the thought.

I shakily slipped out from underneath the covers before tip-toeing down the hallway to reach my mother's bedroom.

Adrenaline and fear pumped through my veins, and I took a deep breath before turning the handle slowly and pushing it open a crack.

"Mommy...?" I murmured, poking my head slowly into her room.

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