Tin Can

Before

My hands were shaking as I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to keep pushing on.

What’s the point, though? I thought.

Keeping my eyes glued to the road ahead of me, my hand groped around for my pack of cigarettes in the glove compartment. When I found them, I swore at myself before striking my lighter and putting the poison in my lungs.

The taste of smoke and chemicals filled my mouth. I exhaled the vapors that filled the cab of the car quickly.

I slammed on the brakes.

I hadn’t seen the bridge mouth in front of me. Usually, I had to drive over this very bridge to get to Molly’s house, and I couldn’t believe it had just come out of nowhere.

Drive. Said a voice in my head. Right off the edge.

My hands picked at the peeling leather of the steering wheel. If I did drive off the edge, Dad wouldn’t ever hurt me again; I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

That’s right. Now, put your foot on the gas. Come on, how hard could it be? Said the voice.

I puffed on my cigarette, breathing deeply and calculating my next move.

This bridge was often deserted, so no one would notice me in the swift creek below for hours. No one would have any idea where I was. Dad could no longer hurt me.

“Come here, little bear, I just want to touch you.”

I could hear his words still pounding in my head. If he called the police, he’d probably tell them some stupid lie. What if they believed his lies and not my frightening truth?

My toes twitched in my sneakers.

I was too scared to go to the police on my own. I began to sweat profusely at the thought.

The cigarette was no longer smouldering; the tobacco was gone and I had smoked it all. I threw the butt of the cigarette out the window. I felt the chill of the foggy air on my fingers.

Perhaps it was for the best.

I shifted the van into reverse and slowly backed up, so I could have some momentum. My hands were shaking violently.

I had considered suicide multiple times, but I was too scared to go through with it. Something must have snapped in me. I couldn’t think straight.

Yes. Good girl. That’s a good girl. Kill these voices in your head and you’ll be free. The voice said.

Tears began to stream down my face. I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw my mascara smeared across my face. My hazel eyes were bloodshot and I looked exhausted. I wiped my tears up and cleaned away my mascara; I didn’t want to look completely disgusting when I died.

I steered the car so it was facing the side of the bridge.

“Goodbye,” I mumbled, stifling my tears.

I slammed my foot on the gas pedal.