1

I don't want to go home. I just want to stay right here, where I can be
who I can’t. But I have too. I pack up my backpack, choking back my tears.
Walking out the door of the school. My heart pounded like a drum
and my hands shook as I started down the street. Every car that passed I
checked to see if it was him. Him. The man I live with and see everyday. The
man that I have to talk to every time I get home. The man is my father.

2
I saw his car coming towards me. I looked around frantically to hide so
he wouldn’t try any bullshit. I find a nice bush and I jump behind it. His car
passes and I see his face in the window. He saw me. I get scared. Terribly,
horrible scared. I can’t even imagine what will happen when I get home today.
As I walk up to my front doorstep, A rush of nervousness runs through
all of my veins. I turned the knob slowly. No. I can’t. I have too. These two
voices battle in my brain.Yes.No.Yes.No.I have to do it. I open the door and
step inside. My dad was already sitting on the couch with a beer. I tried not to
make eye contact and rushed to my room to put my stuff down. Hey! Come
here for a minute.” My dad screamed down the hallway. My heart nearly fell
down to my toes. “Yes.” I muttered. Nearly choking so hard it comes through
into my voice.
I slowly walk down the stairs. “Hey Jem.” Jem was always my nickname
around me and my mom. It angered me that he started using it. “How was
school?” He took a long sip from his beer. “It was fine.” I said, fidgeting with
my fingers a little. He tapped the seat next to him on our gross old couch. I
hesitantly sit down and fiddle with my sleeves while biting my lips, trying so
hard not to burst out into tears.
¨Tell me about school.¨ He said. I couldn't stand the thought of saying
another word to him. ¨It was...fine.¨ I said, trying so very hard not to look him
in the eyes. ¨Well what are you learning in school?¨ He took another large
gulp from his beer. ¨Uhm,Well,in math we are doing fractions and in social
studies we have been learning about the founding of America. He nodded his
head with a mouthful of his drink. ¨How are your grades?¨ I froze. I couldn't
speak. ¨Well, I have a B in math but only because-¨ ¨It's always an excuse with
you.¨ He chuckled and looked down for a moment. ¨When are you going to
realize? You aren't doing enough for this house. A B? Your six month sister
could do better than that.¨ Warm, salty tears started to roll slowly from my
cheeks. I caught them quickly with my hand. ¨And another thing,¨ He added. I
already wanted to scream at him, my blood at its boiling point. ¨Your chores
aren't done. What did I say would happen if you didn't do your chores?¨
Fuck. He's going to do it again. What if people at school notice? What if I
get a bruise?
Before I could finish thinking about what would happen if people knew. Dad
had already stood up. I looked at his eyes, filled with hatred and built up
anger. He raised his hand as far past his body as he could. And hit me. I
grabbed my face and quietly winced in pain, trying not to show the tears
rolling down my face. He thinks that it is a sign of weakness.

3
That night I went into my room and looked in the mirror at myself. I
tried to think of all of the good parts of me. I have dark brown eyes. I have
short black hair. I have…..nothing. There is nothing about me that shows who
I really am. Accept for the tallie lines against my shoulders and thighs. I lifted
my long shorts to see red scars. I had some sort of craving. Like starvation.
It was unbearable. Wanting to feel the sensation of pain,blood running
down my leg until I wipe it up with a bloody paper towel. I couldn't stand it
any longer, I needed it. I walked over to a box, a small box under the bathroom
sink behind all of the cleaning supplies. Behind all of the pipes, and in the
corner that was covered in dust. I reached all of the way in the back for the
box. Nothing special, a cardboard box, not special just like me. I opened it up
to see a bunch of razors and scissors and sewing pins. I picked up a pin. The
top had a red ball and the point was silver and clean. I lowered it to my leg
and pushed hard. It created a small hole in my leg that began to bleed. I
looked around and found a roll of toilet paper and picked up three squares. I
sat it on top and watched the red seep through the top of the pile.
In all of my years of living I have never known it was like this. I was
never told that I was going to have to face something like this. Feeling so
alone, so afraid, so vulnerable that I would have to do this to myself. But I
knew, right then, Right there, I am going to do something about it.

4
Murder is what filled my mind. It filled like a flood swishing through the
harsh storms of my brain. Kill him.It will make you happy. It will make you feel all
better. ¨Stop!¨ I screamed out loud. I covered my mouth and fell to the floor,
tears rushing out of my eyes. My cheeks had gone red and I could barely
breathe. I gasped for air. And then I remembered.Him.He was still in the
house. Kill him. He is here, we own knives. I couldn't stop thinking about killing
that man. I start to forget about what just happened. The razors, the pins,
scissors. The hash marks and paper towels. All I knew was blood. Kill him. Kill
him. Kill him. I had to do it. In order to make the voices and pain of my father
go away.
I crept down the stairs slowly. Holding my hand over the small hole in
my right thigh. He was passed out on the couch still holding his stupid
fucking beer like he always has. That infuriated me even further. I walked up
to him, he had drool slowly going down his chin. Kill him. I walked into the
kitchen and opened the knife drawers. Kill him. I picked up a knife looking for
the right one. Kill him. I found a perfect long knife with ridged edges made to
cut meat. Kill him. I walked up to my sleeping father. Kill him. I raised it above
my head. Kill him. I started to throw my hands down. Stop. you don't want to
kill him. He is your dad. He loves you, remember? Remember all of those times
when you were four and he took you to get ice cream. I remember that ice cream.
It was good. Mint chocolate chip. The only good time I have ever had
with my father. The only good time I ever had with my father. The anger
raged inside of me. It roared and screamed at me. KILL HIM NOW. It
screamed so loud but I didn't want to. I didn’t want to kill him. What if I got
caught? What will I do with the body? Ten year olds don’t do shit like this.
Only you. Once again, you are alone. I lowered the knife slowly beside me.
Father squinted and opened his eyes. I ran into the kitchen, dropped the knife
in the sink, and pretended to get a snack.
“What the hell?” he groaned. I side eyed him a bit, he didn’t seem to
notice much. “You should be doing homework before you eat anything. He
stood up from our dirty couch, there was a dent from his lazy ass sitting there
every fucking day. I disconnected. The part of myself that listened, the one
that was scared. It was gone