How to Save a Life ✓

XXI: In Which She's Exposed

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

To my side, several baby pigeons play in the water while two adult ones lay next to them, fighting for a piece of bread. People walk across from me in a hurry to get to their respective places and I look at them. Unaware of the world around them, they continue walking and ignore me.

I sit on the floor next to someone's fence, and try to absorb my surroundings. I stretch my arms in front of me which results in my shirt sleeve falling back. Making sure that my eye doesn't land on the blurred lines, I slowly extend my sleeve back to my arm, successfully covering up my bruises and scars.

Small footsteps make my way toward me and I don't notice who it is until they sit on the little ledge to my right. Her Sketcher sneakers finish lighting up as she stops moving and settle into pink and blue sparkles on her shoe. Piper grabs my black hair and twirls it around with her finger, leaving a small knot when she finishes.

"You look so sad Kit-Kat. What's wrong?"

I turn around to look at her and her usual smile is replaced with a small frown. I take my thumb and smooth out the frown lines on her face. I put on a small smile and say to her, "I see that you picked up your brother's nickname for me. Nothing's wrong, sweetheart."

"Are you sure? You barely visit anymore. I miss you."

"I have a lot going on at home. I promise to visit more often. You have nothing to worry about."

Pipes is reassured slightly based on the way her lip quirks lightly when she speaks. "Noah misses you too. I don't like it when he's sad. "

"I don't like it when he's sad either. I don't like it when anyone's sad." I respond truthfully and I wrap an arm around her and pull her in for a side hug. Piper looks at my wrist when she tilts her head.

"Why are there lines on your arm?"

I quickly pull away and mentally curse myself for wearing a shirt too small for me. Thinking of a quick lie, I tell her, "My cat likes to scratch me sometimes.  It's nothing serious."

She's slow to believe my lie this time and instead stares behind me, where my arm is.

"Why are there so many?"

"Sarah doesn't like me so when I'm trying to feed her, she scratches my arm." It seems like a believable lie but I cringe when I realize that I used the same name as Noah's dead best friend.

Piper extends her arm and tries to locate a mark. Stretching the skin, she shows me a similar blurred line a few centimeters above her elbow. The only difference is that it already healed and settled as a faint pink mark.

"I went to visit a friend a few weeks ago and her cat scratched me."

I carefully rub the spot where her cut is for a couple of seconds. Even though our cuts look similar, there's one large difference between ours; mine is intentional. Several drops of rain start to fall at that moment and I look at the sky. What was clear a couple of hours ago is now filled with grey clouds.

Standing up, I grab her delicate hand and walk her back to her house. When we're at her front porch, she rings the doorbell. "I'm going to go now. Bye, sweetheart."

"You aren't going to stay?" She looks sad and the frown once again returns to her face.

"No, but I'll come back soon. Maybe tomorrow?"

She nods excitedly and stands on her toes. Kissing my cheek, she bids me farewell and I walk away.

I'm not going to see her tomorrow.

I pull my damp shirt away from my body and start running in the direction of my house. The rain falls harder now and I see other people running and covering their hair with their arms. Finally reaching my house, I go to the front door where there is a small ceiling. Taking my hair and ringing it, I watch as the small droplets fall onto the dry pavement. Getting my keys out of my pocket, I open the door.

I step inside and take off my wet shoes, putting it on the stand. It's oddly quiet in the apartment and I can hear the floor creak and I walk towards my bedroom. The door is slightly open and I see a light coming from inside. A breath hitches in my throat and I contemplate running away.

Opening the door, my mom is looking through my computer, a half empty beer bottle in her hand. She looks up to me and her eyes are completely cold. My entire room is ransacked, my clothes thrown on the door and drawers taken apart.

Without hesitation, she throws the bottle at me and I fail to duck in time. The bottle hits my head and a piece of the glass glazes my skin. The yellow liquid runs down my wall and glass covers the door. I hold my hand up to my face, trying to hold in the blood.

"Mom-"

"I work so hard to support you and then I see you're wasting my money on computers and cameras. You fucking ungrateful brat." She laughs unsteadily and grabs my camera from my nightstand. Throwing it against the wall, I scream as it breaks. Hundreds of photos were on there, most of them unsaved.

"Mommy, please. You're drunk, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! When were you gonna tell me that you're hiding money?"

"I worked for it. I didn't want you to waste it on alcohol." I immediately regret talking back because she stands up and slaps me. My other hand goes to my cheek, and I start crying. The salty tears mix with the fallen blood as they roll down my cheek.

I shouldn't have lied to her about the money. This is all my fault.

"The worst part is that you go search up your father. Were you gonna leave me? After I took care of you? You ungrateful bitch!" She pushes me and I struggle to balance myself and I fall on the floor, next to the glass. Her yells continue but I tune them out as I focus on not letting the hits hurt as much.

Breath in and breath out.

I curl into a ball as she kicks me in the stomach, demanding answers. This is the angriest I've ever seen her.

Eventually she also breaks down and falls to the floor, her face covered in tears. I stare at her from a foot away and see her coughing. I struggle to sit up as my mom continues to mutter profanities and insults at me. She's calming down. Her mascara drips down and I try to feel bad for her. Her only daughter hides desperately needed money and has plans to run away. It has to be the daughter's fault. It has to be. It's all in vain and all I could feel is hatred as I wiped the blood from my forehead with my shirt.

My hand touches glass as I sit up and I wince. Blood along with beer surrounds me in the floor, but I'm too dizzy to notice. My hand goes to my stomach, and I close my eyes tightly, trying to forget about the intense pain from when she kicked me.

Everything hurts.

I don't want it to hurt anymore.

I want it to end.