Oh My...

36.) The Lord's Prayer

A/N
TRIGGER WARNING: depression, suicide, self-hate

After Marshall said those things to me, my brain went blank, like I spent the last half hour shoveling down pills instead. I felt numb, but this time it wasn't blissful and sublime, it was cold and dead.

Of course, I knew the fact. I was never unaware of my faults, quite the contrary, but never before has anyone called me out so intensely. I felt like an ugly ink blob on a perfect painting, a disease among healthy crops, a tumor in someone's body. At that moment, I was sure my existence was an ugly mistake; what God would create a horrid drug addict? Who only cares about her next high, and disregards the people who loved her? Marshall was right--a million times right. What am I still doing here?

My once dormant suicidal thoughts came back in full swing, and I was filled with an awful feeling of guilt at the fact that I wasn't dead yet. If I succeeded in my first deadly attempt on my life, no one would be hurt now. Marshall wouldn't have even known me, Claire wouldn't have to deal with me, and finally that constant burden would be erased from my mother's life. It was selfish of me to continue living; I was like a rapid dog, causing only terror and misery, everyone around knowing the best corse of action would be to shoot a bullet right between its furry ears.

I caused more destruction than I prevent, anyone in their right mind would know that it's not smart to keep me around. That's why my mom put me on a plane the first chance she got. She had the right idea; she saw the evil in me, and sent me away far from her family.

By this time, I was sobbing as I walked. I knew what I had to do, and though the thought did make me sad, I was more upset at the fact that it truly was the best option for me--for everybody. Sacrificing myself would be the first noble thing I did for the people around me. Maybe this final act would show that I actually am good--I put down the constantly raging beast that was terrorizing an entire city.

I tried to imagine Marshall at my funeral (though doing so just made me cry harder). I could see his lean body dressed in an all black suit, his face painfully neutral as he stares blankly at the coffin I'm lying in. I know what he'd be thinking: good riddance.

The sun was beginning set when I made it home. I took a moment to stare at the beautiful array of colors that swept across the quickly fading sky, knowing very well that this could be my last time seeing it. I waited until the moon was shining bright against a dark blue sky before sulking inside my house.

I walked to the kitchen, opened the freezer, and took out the bottle of vodka Claire uses for her Bloody Mary's in the morning. My last drink. The scorching liquid traveled down my throat, making me feel almost alive again.

Almost.

I dropped the bottle of vodka on the counter before opening the silverware drawer and removing a sharp butcher's knife. A bit dramatic, but I had no doubt that it'll get the job done.

Setting the sharp blade on my wrist, I whispered The Lord's Prayer under my breath. It was the only prayer I knew by heart, and I wanted those sacred words to be the last thing I say on Earth. I hoped God was listening, and I hoped that He would forgive me for all the wrong things I did and why I feel like this is my only option.

"Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy Name,
thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those
who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,
and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever.

Amen."

I briefly lifted the knife from my wrist before forcing it back down into my flesh. With one quick movement to the right, the blade slashed against my skin and opened up a wide wound. I cried out in agony, and without thinking, dropped the knife and held my wrist with my other hand. Blood instantly poured down my arm and onto the floor, and for the first time, I was beginning to have second thoughts.

My heart stopped when I heard the front door push open. All the pain from my wrist subsided, and I was frozen under the wide, terrified gaze of Claire.

After a moment of shock, she dropped her purse and keys and ran over to me. "Alex, what the fuck did you do?!"

I crumbled to my knees and began to wail. "I NEEDED TO DO THIS!"

Claire grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped it tight around my gushing wrist. "Do not take of pressure." She commanded in the most stern voice I ever heard her use. I did as told and watched her rush to the phone.

"Hello, 911? My niece just cut her wrist, and it's bleeding badly."