The Lovely Suicide Children

Chapter 4: Healing

"I hope you like my grits. I used my grandmother's recipe."

Shayla placed a plate of grits with shrimp and two pieces of toast in front of me. I had never eaten "Grits" or even heard of this food before. It looked like some kind of white oatmeal almost. I picked up my spoon and blew the smoke away. It smelled sweet. Mixing the grits with a shrimp, I finally took a bite of it. It tasted better than I expected it to be.

"So, me and your father have been discussing school," Shayla smiled while buttering her toast.

"Shayla said you'd love her old middle school," my dad picked up his cup of orange juice.

I looked at him. "Middle? You do know how old I am right?" I asked him. Last time I remember, most middle school kids aged from 11-13.

"14, right?" He said.

I wanted to throw my spoon across the table. In a way, I was hoping that he cared about me a little bit. He could have at least kept up with my age, but no. He was too busy adopting weird kids and gushing over girls close to my age. I took a sip of juice from my glass then placed it down on the napkin. I didn't bother answering him and hoped he took my silence as a no.

"She's 16," Amber said while mixing her shrimp and grits.

I looked at her, and she looked back at me. "How'd you know that?" I asked.

"Someone told me," she replied.

"Who?"

"The-"

"That's enough," Shayla said firmly. "No more of this Lovely suicidal children stuff, Amber."

Amber continued eating. I looked at my dad. "Did you tell her about the note?" I asked.

"What note?" He raised an eyebrow.

"The one my mother left," I said. "The police should have told you about it."

He shrugged, not seeming to care. "I didn't see it."

I continued eating. My dad didn't care about my mother or me. I wanted to cry. God knows I wanted to sob my heart out onto their polished wooden table. But I didn't. They weren't the type of people I could be weak around. I took my headphones out of my pocket and almost placed them into my ears when Shayla raised a hand.

"No headphones at the table," she said. "That's rude."

I looked at my dad. "Dad-"

"Do what your mother tells you. There will be none of that disrespect here. You understand?" His eyes landed on me.

I couldn't believe it. He called her my mother. Shayla smiled and nodded her head. "Thanks, dear," she said. "You will start school on Wednesday. That's after tomorrow. Hopefully, they teach you a little something about respect for elders and parents."

Ignoring her, I finished my food and put the dishes in the kitchen sink. While I was in there, Shayla approached me. "By the way," she dragged her words. "I threw away those stupid pills that were on your desk."

"What?" I snapped. "Those were the pills for my anxiety and for my depression."

She scoffed. "You're 16. What problems do you have? What job do you go to every day? You're a kid. There's nothing to be sad about."

I looked at her, ready to bash her face into the wall. "Um, maybe because my mother just died. And for your information, kids and teenagers don't always have an easy life. I wasn't spoiled to death by my father." That last part came from the heart, and I wanted to cry when I realized that he loved her more than me.

She shook her head. "Learn how to be happy without the pills," she said then, walked out of the kitchen.

I pushed my headphones into my ear. I knew I would have to walk out there again if I wanted to go to my room. However, instead of going to my room, I thought it would be better to get some air. My anger made it hard for me to breathe and because of Shayla, I felt like there was a rock stuck in my throat. I already hated it here.

I walked past Shayla, Amber, and my father. They probably said something but Twenty One Pilots was too busy blasting in my ears to hear them. I opened the front door, slammed it shut, then started jogging away from their house and towards the trees.

About twenty feet away from their house were some trees. I didn't go past them because I wasn't a fan of mosquitos and flying insects buzzing into my ear. Without passing the trees, I sat beside one and listened to my music.

"We've turned our hands to guns, trade in our thumbs for ammunition. I must forewarn you, of my disorder, or my condition-"

I snatched the headphones out of my ear. Just as music can help ease the pain, sometimes the lyrics can hurt. Some lyrics shoot through my heart like a bullet, reminding me of what I lost. I squeezed my hair then let it go. There was this build of emotion dancing throughout my body. So many emotions at once. When my father left, he took all of my mother with him. He took my life. Just to know I had to live with the person who ruined my life and shattered my heart.

Whenever I felt like this, I felt dead. I grabbed my phone and took off my phone case. Behind it is where I kept my little friend. My razor blade. It was the reason I always wore my long sleeves or bands around my wrist. On the back of my phone case was something Vlad wrote to stop me from doing what I had often done.

His words read: What is it going to change?

I took the blade and flipped over his words so I couldn't see them. Some days his words worked. A lot of days actually. However, his words didn't help at this moment. I let the blade slowly slid against the skin on my wrist. If a person had never cut before, then they may say it's stupid. An individual who has never cut will not understand what it does to the people who do it. It will only make sense to the one who is doing it.

Vlad had done it because he said he blamed himself for the death of his young brother who died from a rare skin disease. He said he had to do it because he was the one who left his brother in the sun too long, so he had to feel his pain. Vlad thought he deserved the pain.

Some people don't feel it. I do. The blade sliding against my own skin gave me this feeling of relief, but for a second. It was my way of killing my those emotions. Watching the blood run off my arm was all that negativity inside of me. Just like some people felt better after they cried, I felt a little better after doing what I did.

That was my way of dealing with extreme pain. However, like Vlad said, it wouldn't change anything. Cutting was only temporary pain. I had to do the rest of the healing myself. I looked up at the house while shaking my head. If I had to go through this every day, it would destroy me and healing wouldn't be an option anymore.

***

Point out any mistakes. By the way, I'm going to be adding more to the collage tomorrow since I got more. I'll add them at the end of the next chapter and in the beginning:)