The Beatific and the Flawless Chapter 4

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CHAPTER 4– REMINISCE PART 3

I am 12 years old, sitting by myself at school, waiting for the bell to ring. I get my report in Science last period. I go home and show it to my mother who blows her top. “Rain's only four years old, and her preschool teacher gave her such a great report! Why can’t you be more like Rain? Why do you have to be so stubborn, and arrogant? Mosca! Mosca, are you listening to me? You know what? Never mind, we’ll discuss this when your father gets home. Go scrub up and make dinner, we’re having Enchiladas.” I go and make dinner, eyeing the knife. When dinner is finished I go up to my room, feeling weighed down with all the insults, and my father comes up and yells at me for getting such a bad report and failing P.E. “What’s this about fake sick notes? Have you been writing notes to get yourself out of Gym, Mosca? Answer me!” I hold my head high, and look straight into his eyes. I can see that he’s drunk; I can smell the bourbon on his breath. He throws my report to the ground and leaves. I cry then. I cry and cry, like I’ve never cried before. I wish I had friends, I wish I had parents who loved me for who I was, I wish my little sister wasn’t so perfect. I wish and wish until my head feels as if it’s about to burst. I realize something. I realize that I can’t have any of those, but I can make myself feel better. I go downstairs and grab a sharp steak knife from the cutlery drawer. I go up to my room, remembering the Across The Road, Not Down The Street rule, and cut. I cut across, in straight lines. It hurts so much. I have Tourniquet blaring behind me, cutting as Amy shrieks, “I’m dying, praying bleeding and screaming” I remember everything. Eventually, I feel no more pain. I am so tired…But I know I must turn off my music, clean the knife, bandage my arm and clean up the bloodstains on my Mahogany wood floor. I do that, go up to my room, still sobbing quietly, ever so quietly, lie in my bed, fully dressed and fall fast asleep, dreaming of suicide, dreaming of Purgatory, dreaming of Hell, of Heaven, of Angels that turn out to be the Devil’s minions and try to make my afterlife even worse than my life now. I dream of black holes of misery, sucking me in. I dream of mazes, every dead end being something bad that happens to me. I dream of my life, ten times worse. I wake up in a cold sweat and fall asleep again after about ten minutes, humming Tourniquet under my breath.
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