Definitely going to need stitches.
And judging by the way I feel, I won’t be showering until later, but that’ll probably end up being a bath anyway because I’m getting dizzy just standing here.
I haven’t eaten since before work yesterday so I’m pretty sure that’s all it is, but I’m going to have to try to keep myself awake today in case it’s from a concussion. Or I could just pray for a brain bleed and hope that if I do fall asleep I never wake up.
That thought makes me pause.
I’ve been having them more frequently: thoughts of not being here anymore. Hoping Beau goes too far and kills me. Wishing that when I cut, I go too deep and no one finds me in time.
All in all, the only person that might miss me is Linnie. I have no friends other than her. No boyfriend, and no family outside of my father. Rochelle would probably be a little sad but she’d get over it because I wouldn’t be the first woman to commit suicide on club property, and she sees enough death—we all do—that it barely fazes her anymore.
But I’m too much of a chickenshit to end it.
I’m too weak, too cowardly, too afraid of damn near everything, and any time my thoughts have pushed me to seriously consider it, I chicken out.
This is all circumstantial, to be honest.
I’m not sure if I’d have suicidal thoughts or tendencies, or if I’d be into self-harm as a source of release if I wasn’t locked away and abused by Beau. I’m miserable and terrified most days, to be honest, and regardless of how I could have been if things were different, self-harm and suicidal thoughts are a regular occurrence for me. Even if I’m too much of a coward to act on the latter.
But I have reasons for that.
I can’t help but worry about all thewhat ifs.
What if I do it wrong and don’t die? What if Beau catches me in the act and loses his shit? What if I decide at the last minute that my life is actually worth living but it’s too late and I die anyway? What. If.
Those are the thoughts that make my decisions for me and it’s why, on really bad nights, I secretly pray my father puts me out of my misery so I don’t have to make the decision to do it on my own.
With a cringe, I carefully pull my hair up and get to work on my face.
I wash the blood off the best I can, then patch up my eyebrow good enough to hold until Rochelle can take a look at it. By the time I’m dressed in an oversized hoodie, flannel pajama pants, and fuzzy socks, I’m feeling a little more like myself, which is exactly when my guilt for entertaining suicidal thoughts sets in.
She wouldn’t want you to be like her.
No, my mother wouldn’t want me to do what she did, and she’d be extremely disappointed to know I was even thinking about it. I barely remember her, but I know somewhere deep in my gut that Celeste Williams wouldn’t want me to go out like that, and I sure as hell doubt she’d want me to make suicide the only option to get away from my father.
Something she did because she felt like it was her only option.
Celeste Williams didn’t have any other options. She didn’t feel like she had a choice, and my mother didn’t think she could get out without taking matters into her own hands.
She couldn’t, but I have to. I have to find a way out of this house, and I have to do it in a way that honors her memory instead of turning both of us into statistics.
Just as I’m about to check my bedroom door to see if my father unlocked it or not, my phone starts ringing from the nightstand.
Definitely don’t remember plugging that in last night.
“Hey, Linnie.” I sigh as I gingerly sit on the edge of my bed. “I hope you’re not trying—”
“Thank god!” she all but screams. “Oh my god, Stevie, I was so worried about you!”
I frown. “Why?”
“Why?Why? Girl, have you been living under a rock?!”
“No…”I’ve just been getting my ass kicked by dear old dad. “What happened?”
Linnie makes some sort of exasperated noise before she continues. “They found another body!”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that, Linnie.” Unfortunately, our town, as well as the surrounding ones, have had their fair share of psychopaths lately.
