CUTTER, Part 1
12:57. Three minutes until Joe gets home. Maybe enough time to pull it off. Dammit, the lid won’t budge. Damn childproof caps.
Only two minutes left. Oh crap.
There it goes, finally. One, two, three, four. Just enough, but not too much. Definitely not too much. Down they go. One blue pill, two blue pills, three blue pills, four.
Just enough time left to scatter the remains of the bottle before I lay myself down, arms extended over my head. Just enough time to close my eyes before the sleepers actually kick in.
“Sarah,” he calls, voice normal.
He hasn’t noticed the house yet; my clothes thrown around, the broken dishes.
“Sarah!” He noticed.
His feet are loud as he climbs the stairs two at a time. My door slams open as he frantically searches the room for me. I peek out of the slits my eyes have become to see his face, the anguish there. I stifle a smile.
His phone is already in his hand, 911 on speed dial.
“Hello. Yes, hello. I think my daughter may have done something to hurt herself.” A pause. “Yes, that’s our address.” Another pause. “Yes she is breathing.”
He walks past me and reaches for the empty pill bottle. “Looks like my sleeping pills, Ambien 5 mg… No it’s empty….I don’t think she took all of them, I can see some on the floor next to her…” Another pause. “Yes I can hear them now.”
In the distance a faint siren is growing louder. The meds are starting to kick in now so keeping my eyes closed is no longer difficult.
When I wake up I am attached to a series of monitors making varies beeping sounds. Joe is here; asleep, sprawled out on a utilitarian chair. He doesn’t look comfortable.
I clear my throat which quickly brings him out of his stupor. He runs to my side, his anxious eyes searching my face.
I had come to live with Joe a little over a month ago. After my mother’s face no longer showed the slightest concern during similar situations. She began to look bored or sometimes angry. But never the heartfelt anxiety that was now present on Joe’s face.
I had made the right decision in moving here.
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