Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Cutter, part 3

With my mother I kept having to get more and more drastic. Eventually I had to face the inevitable. She just didn’t love me enough to care if I got hurt.
Her life would be better off without me.
I was almost going to do it. For real this time; slicing open one of the various scars that lined my arms. Slicing so deep that no one would be able to stop the bleeding.
Sometimes fate or whatever does step in. My father called that day, the very day I was planning to do it.
Called and sounded concerned.
I hadn’t seen my father since I was five or something and my mom and that bastard Frank took me away from him.
Mom had a rule. She only screwed losers. And Frank was at the top of that list. He seemed to like little girls even more than he liked big ones.
Now maybe I could have a normal life; a life that I had been meant to have. So when Joe called and sounded worried I packed my bags and never looked back.
That was five weeks ago.