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It all started with Isabella. Before Isabella I wasn’t alive; she gave me life.
It’s 2 in the morning and my dad just got home. “Benjamin, you are worthless! You’re never home and when you are, you’re either high or drunk or just plain lazy! These kids need you!” My mother shouted at him as he grabbed his beer off the table.
“They have you! You’re better than me and you combined; I just pull you down,” he replied.
“Don’t give me that crap…”
“It’s the truth, sweetie. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that you don’t appreciate me.” My dad must be going insane to talk back to Mom.
“Appreciate you? Why the hell would I appreciate you?” She shouted him. As my dad puts his hand on the side of her head, I get up from the stairs where I was watching this scene and walk to my room. Closing my door silently, I take the envelope, which I grabbed out of the mailbox before, out of my pocket. It’s addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Waters from the Likinville High School. Settling down on my desk chair, I start ripping the envelope open. Inside is a piece of paper folded in thirds, and even though I knew what it says, I unfold it.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Waters,
I’m sorry to inform you that your daughter, Kristy Waters, has been suspended for the following reason(s):
1. Having possession of drugs on school property.
2. Vandalism of school property.
We do not plan on pressing any charges.
Your daughter may go back to school on Monday October 6th.
Sincerely,
John Peters
John Peters
Likinville High School Assistant Principle
9/15/08

I read each word carefully then count up how many days until I have to go back to that hell hole, 21 days. All of a sudden there was a crash, followed by a scream. The letter fell from my hands and floated to the floor. I walk silently to the steps. Looking through the bars that hold up the railing, I see my mom’s face. Blood is running down from a cut on her forehead. She’s crying, her small shoulders moving up and down. Next to her lies her favorite lamp shattered in pieces. My dad comes around the corner holding a damp towel in his hand.
“I’m so sorry!” He exclaims. “It’ll never happen again!” He moves her hair out of the wound. With gentle fingers he presses the damp cloth against her forehead. She pulls away from him.
“Get away from me, you a*****e,” she mutters.
“I know you’re mad, but you don’t really mean that,” he says calmly. My mom snaps her head in his direction. “I want you to get out of my God damn house right now, you no good piece of a s**t!” She screams at him, dirty tears streaking her face. He drops the cloth and hits the wall.
“This is my house too!” He screams.
“Do you pay any of the bills? Do you do any work around here? No! You spend all your time getting drunk with those lame friends of yours!” He walks over to where she’s sitting on the floor. Bending down and putting his face right in front of hers, he whispers something I can’t hear. Whatever it was makes her cry harder. Standing up, he kicks over a chair and storms out the door. I get up from the stair I was sitting on and slowly make my way down the rest of the stairs.
“Mom,” I whisper. Her sobs seem to be getting louder with every step I take. “Mom,” I repeat. I slowly walk toward her. “Are you alright?” I pick up the cloth and bend down next to her. “Mom,” I say for the third time. I smooth her snarly hair back from her face. I gently begin to wipe the blood off her forehead, nose, and cheeks. She continues to weep.
After most of the blood was gone, I examined the cut thoroughly. It was pretty deep, but it didn’t look as if it would need stitches.
“Mom, hold this right here; I’m going to go get a band aid.” She didn’t move. I continue to hold the cloth against her cut. “Mom, please, you need to hold it.”
“He said… he said… he said that… that he’d n…n…never come b…b…back,” she finally managed to whimper. The sobs get louder, and the tears come faster.
“Mom, it’s okay, we don’t need him.” I try to calm her down, but her tears keep coming. “Mom, we need to get your head bandaged up.” Her hand slowly reaches up and takes the cloth from my hand.
After I get my mother cleaned up and in bed, and all the glass is off the floor, I go upstairs to my own room. My room is really small. My bed is pushed up against the far wall in the corner and right next to it is a small desk which touches the opposite wall. Above the bed, on the far wall, is a window that is big enough for me to crawl out and sit on the roof. On top of the desk is a small computer that I got for my birthday last year. Right by the door, at which I’m currently standing at, is another door leading into my closet. My closet is probably the same size as my room. On every wall, but one, there are clothes hanging up. On the one wall that doesn’t have clothes, there’s a small shelf which holds my shoes. Located right by the shelf is a dresser.
Walking into my room, I grab the letter off the floor and settle down on my bed. Twenty-one days. Twenty-one days I have to keep this secret. If my parents find out they’ll probably kill me! I can’t help thinking that it’d be so much easier if I wasn’t here anymore. All I’d have to do is take more of those shiny white sleeping pills my doctor subscribed to me. Or take one of my father’s guns and press the cold muzzle up against my forehead. I shake my head. Those thoughts are too horrid. Besides, who would take care of my mom and brother if I were gone?
Oh God! I forgot! My brother! Tucking the letter into one of my dresser drawers, I dash down the stairs. After tying my shoes, I grab a flashlight out of the closet and head out into the brisk cool air. Even though it’s only September, leaves lie on the ground blocking my path. I stomp through them and walk in the direction of Steve’s house. By the time I reach his doorstep, its light enough to see without the flashlight. I glance at my watch; it’s 6:30. Have I really been awake for more than 24 hours?
After a while of sitting on his doorstep, I decide not to tell Kevin about my father leaving until he gets home. Instead I decide to walk to the little diner down the street and have some breakfast.

“Hey there little lady,” an old man with rosy cheeks and a small pot belly greets me as I walk through the door.
“Good morning,” I say sitting down on a large stool at the counter.
“And a beautiful morning it is,” he relies going behind the counter and handing me a menu. I study it. “Why is a young lady like you up so early? You should be getting your rest, so you can grow up big and strong.” I laugh.
“Never slept,” I say closing the menu and setting it on the counter.
“What can I get you?” He asks picking the menu up and putting it on a stack of other menus.
“Orange juice, please.”
“You don’t sleep and now you don’t eat? I’ll whip you up something special, how ‘bout that? It’ll be real good,” he replied chuckling. He goes into the kitchen. I can hear pans being banged around.
After about five minutes, he comes out with a plate full of food and a glass of orange juice. He sets them both down in front of me and pulls some utensils from his pocket. From his other pocket, he pulls out a small jar of syrup.
Holding it up in front of me he says, “Now this here is my mama’s special maple syrup.” I begin to cut my pancake while he uncaps the syrup. Pouring a big glob on my pancake he says, “Tell me how you like that.” He watches me as I gather some pancake on my fork and put it in my mouth.
“Oh wow, this is phenomenal! It’s like heaven in my mouth!” I exclaim. He walks out from behind the counter and sits on the stool next to me.
“I used to love waking up as a little boy to a nice big, warm pile of pancakes and this here maple syrup.”
“Your mom made you breakfast every morning?” I ask him finishing my pancake.
“She made breakfast every morning, but the only time I got any is when I woke up extra early. The second she put those pancakes on the table my brothers and sisters were attacking them as if it were the last thing they were ever going to be able to eat,” he explained chuckling. I smile, picking up a piece of my bacon.
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” I ask him, breaking off a piece of bacon and putting it in my mouth.
“Three brothers and two sisters, but enough about me, what about you? Why didn’t you sleep last night?” This came as such a shock to me that I didn’t know how to react. Should I tell him the truth? Should I tell him my father threw a lamp at my mother? No, I should lie. It’d be so much easier. He doesn’t need to know about my family life. For all I know, he could call child services on us, and we’d have to be separated. However, he does seem very nice. I should trust him, shouldn’t I? I mean, come on, he’s talking about his mama! I decide not to lie but not tell the whole truth.
“My parents,” I finally groan. Finishing my bacon, I lean back in my chair. Taking out my wallet I say, “Well that was wonderful, but I should probably go. My mom will be awake soon.”
Eyeing my wallet he says, “It’s on me.”
“Oh no, I could never accept a breakfast as good as that was for free.”
“Nonsense, I enjoyed the company! That’s how you paid me, with the company.”
I smile. “Well, thank you very much! It really was wonderful! I will defiantly come again soon!” I say putting my wallet back in my pocket.
“It’ll be nice to have you again!” He shouts after me as I leave the diner.
As I reach the end of my driveway, I can see that the lights are not on in the living room. My mom must still be asleep. However, as I unlock the door and walk into my house, I can hear my mom’s whispering sobs. At first, I think of trying to make it to my room without her hearing, but she just lost her husband. I need to be there for her!
“Mom,” I call out trying to decipher what direction the sobs are coming from.
“Oh Kristy,” she sniffles.
“Mom, what are you doing?” I ask as I round the corner. Then I see her. She’s rolled up in a ball in the middle of the living room floor, crying. There’s a knife lying on the ground in a puddle of red liquid. She desperately clasps her hand across the wound on her wrist, but the blood seeps through her fingers. I run up the stairs, the substance of sadness running down my cheeks.
“Damn it mother! Why did you need to do this to yourself?” I shout, banging my head against the wall.
“Kristy,” I hear her weep as I walk into the bathroom to get the first-aid kit for the second time today. I grab it and dash back down the stairs, fiercely wiping my tears away. As I reach the entrance of the living room, I see the puddle becoming a flood, and begin to cry again. I drop the kit and grab the phone, dialing 911. As the phone rings, her head slams down onto the floor, and her eyes close. I kneel down into the ocean next to her.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“My mom…” I begin but then stop and start over. “Send an ambulance to 7684 Sunset Road right away, please.”
“Just stay calm, we’ll be there as soon as possible.” I turn the phone off and grab some gauze. I wrap it around her wrist, trying to remember what they taught us in health class. I press the gauze firmly against her wrist and raise her hand just a little bit. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Keep the wound above the heart?
“Come on, Mom, just stick in there. Please mom, for me and for Kevin, we need you.” This time as the tears came, I didn’t stop them, because my mom’s arms became limper than it already was, and her face became the color of new fallen snow. “Mom, please don’t die. Not now, mom, how are we going to be able to live without you.” We won’t live. Well I won’t at least. This is the last I’m going to take of my mother’s childish behavior, and my father’s inability to be sober for two hours! I’m going to do it in the next week. Preferably sooner than later because I need to get it done with and get on with my life. Ha, that was a joke, get it? I have not decided how I will do it yet. I’m thinking of hanging myself, because then, if my mom does live through this “accident”, she’ll be able to have the experience of watching someone die. She’ll have to go through what I had to go through with her. What I am going through with her right now.

The beeping of the hospital monitor welcomes me as I walk into my mom’s room and sit down in the chair next to the bed. After I heard that my mom still has a chance of living, my mood has been surprisingly perky. That gives me a chance, even if it is only 1/3 of a chance, at getting revenge.
“Are you Kristy?” A doctor asks as he walks into the room.
“Yes I am,” I reply getting up.
Thrusting his hand out he says, “I’m Dr. Kutzer. We still need to run a few tests, but we’re almost certain your mom is going to be okay. However, she did lose a lot of blood, so she’ll have to stay here until we can get her circulation going properly again. I’d recommend after she’s out, convincing her to go to special counselor who deals with these kinds of problems.” When I heard my mom would be alright I let out a sigh of relief, but it had no signs of anger in it.
After the doctor left the room I sat back down in the chair and picked up my mother’s cold hand.
“Mom, did you hear that? You’re going to be okay,” I said using the same voice I used the night my father yet.
“Um Kristy,” The doctor stuttered as he walked back into the room, “Is your father, or some other guardian at your home to look after you while your mother is in the hospital.” I smiled as a lie shot out of my mouth.
“Yeah my dad is there. He would’ve come to the hospital today, but he’s in Winnipeg on a business meeting,” I explained calmly.
A confused look sprawled across his face. “Winnipeg? Isn’t that somewhere in Canada? When does he plan on getting back?”
“Uh no,” I say trying to remember where I heard the place Winnipeg before. “Winnipeg is in, um, Wisconsin. He’s planning on flying back tonight.”
“Oh Winnipeg, Wisconsin. Well, uh, I hope he has a safe flight back.” He ran a hand through his scruffy blond as he left the room. I kissed my mom’s forehead before I got up and followed the doctor out of the room.

“Oh s**t!” I yelled to myself, pressing the phone up against my ear and quickly taking the macaroni of the stove.
“Hello?” The voice on the other line asked.
“Uh, this is Kristy Waters. I’m looking for my brother. Is he still there?”
“Who’s your brother?” The boy asked sleepily.
“Kevin.”
“Kevin what?” He asks. I can tell he’s smirking on the other line and is no longer sleepy.
“Waters,” I reply annoyed. I set the macaroni onto a towel that I placed on the countertop.
“Does this Kevin Waters have a middle name?” He questions, obviously trying to get on my nerves.
“God damn it Steve! Just give the ******** phone to my brother!” I shout at him flipping the stove off.
“Geez Kris, calm down,” he says to me. I can hear the phone being tossed to Kevin as Steve shouts, “Hey Kev, it’s your sister from hell.” I can hear him laugh as he brings the phone to his ear.
“Yeah?” He asks with a sign of annoyance in his voice.
“Hey Kevin,” I begin trying to find the words that I said to myself the whole way home from the hospital.
“Can you hurry this up? I was just blowing up some dudes mind on halo when you interrupted.”
“Mom’s in the hospital and dad left, so you need to find somewhere to crash for a while,” I explain sniffing the burnt macaroni.
“What did you do to her?” He shouted at me. That’s right; everything is my fault, always.
“Nothing, she just got in a little accident. Anyway, are you going to be able to find someone’s house to crash at while she’s at the hospital or are you going to make me call…?”
“No don’t call Grandma!” He shouted at me. Then he turned to Steve and asked, “Hey man is it alright if I crash here for a few nights?”
“Uh let me ask my mom,” I heard him reply. In the background, the other boys were shouting things about Stevie being a mommy’s boy. “She said it was okay.”
“Kristy, you still there?” He asked me.
“Yeah,” I said quickly.
“I’m staying at Steve’s. Where will you be?”
“Home,” I said and hung up before he could argue with me about that. I set the phone on the counter and tried to scrape the Mac-and-Cheese out of the pot. Most of it just stuck to the sides, but the little I did get out went straight into the garbage.

After a hot shower, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and gathered some of Kevin’s clothes up and put them in a plastic bag. I slowly walked to Steve’s house and rang the doorbell. Steve answered.
“Hey hottie,” he greeted me.
“Hi Steve, I brought some clothes for Kevin,” I keep my eyes on the doorstep beneath me as I hand him the bag. He took it and threw it inside. Then he stepped out onto the doorstep and slowly closed the door behind him. I backed away but he grabbed my arm.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” I could smell beer on his breath.
“Home, I need to do some Trig homework,” I replied quickly.
He put his mouth by my ear as he softly whispered, “You were suspended, remember?”
“They gave me all the work I had to do during my suspension,” I answered hoping my excuse was good enough and he would let me out of his death grip.
“You have plenty of time,” he whispered into my ear, his hot breath hitting my face. Right then, in the darkness, as he pulled my body up against his and unzipping his pants, all the moments in my life where I didn’t have control of anything flashed through my mind. My brother being born, hogging all of my parents’ attention, the way all the teachers hated me in school, my father’s drinking, my mother’s depression, my father finally leaving the family, and my mom’s suicide attempt; they were all like lightning bolts flashing through my mind. Then, destroying all those thoughts, was the one event that hasn’t happened yet but will in the near future. I’m hanging from a rope and the words “in control” are carved into my arm. I will be in control of my death; it will give me power. Tonight will be the night that I gain control. With that thought, all this strength entered my body and I smiled as he tried to unbutton my pants. For these last few hours I’m not going to be weak; I will be tough. I will fight back with everything I have in me.
Standing up really straight and tall I move closer to him and slowly push the door open as he’s trying to get my belt off. I know he heard the squeak of the door, but he did not turn around. I whispered in his ear, “You’re mom is standing in the doorway looking at us.” He swung around, leaving me with a few seconds to dash down the stairs and run down the street back toward my home.
“******** you Kristy!” he shouted at me. I could hear him slamming his door shut. I didn’t stop running until I reached home. I run up the stairs and trip falling onto my ground. I realize that I’m crying as I try to put together what just happened. I almost got raped. I was almost ******** raped! I get up and furiously wipe away my tears. Then I dash down the stairs and go out into the garage. I grab a decent size rope and some scissors and go back upstairs. Switching on the computer, I wheel my chair over to the center of my room and stand up on it. I have tubes that run all along my ceiling. I don’t know why they are here and what they are used for; all I know is that they are strong. I tie one end of the rope over one of the tubes. Then getting off the chair, I measure how high up the loop should be. It shouldn’t be too high that I could grab the tube at any minute during my hanging, but it also shouldn’t be too low that I could easily reach the ground with my feet. After deciding where it should go I get back on the chair and tie the loop, throwing the extra rope and scissors over to the corner of the room.
Sitting down in the chair, I wheel it back over to my desk. I click on the internet explorer icon. Placing my hands on home row, I begin to type in my favorite website address, yourlife.com. It’s this cool website where you can post videos, have webcam wars, do live chats, instant message, post your artwork, blog, make quizzes, take quizzes, chat on message boards, and much more. I’ve been a member for almost a year. It was much interesting before all my friends dumped me for being too emotional or depressed or whatever. I click on the live chat icon and try to turn on my webcam. After it doesn’t turn, I make sure all the cords are plugged in correctly and try again, still nothing happened. I grab the webcam and through it across the room.
“Damn it! Why doesn’t anything ever work?” I scream to myself, exiting out of the internet and turning of my monitor screen. I wheel my chair back over to the rope and smile. Slowly standing up on the chair, I fasten my head into the beautifully made loop and breathe my last breath. I push the chair away.
Thoughts race through my head. I’m hanging myself! I’m hanging myself! I’m… hanging… myself. I’m in control for the first time in my life! I try to whisper the words “in control” but they don’t form on my lips and they certainly don’t come out from my burning throat. In control, in control, I repeat over and over in my head, trying to ignore the burning inside my neck. I close my eyes and try my hardest not to focus on the pain of not breath. I think really hard about all the people who have let me down in the past my mother, my dad, my “friends”, my exes, my brother, Steve, and the one person who I never thought would ever let me down. Myself.
Tears run down my face. I open my eyes only to see myself hanging there, face purple, in the mirror that is hanging on the back of my door. I smile at my reflection, knowing that this is what I wanted, what I still want. How long does it take to die? My health teacher said the most you can go without oxygen is 5 minutes. It feels like it’s been hours. When will I just die? I want to go now. The pain in my throat is growing and growing every millisecond. The rope cut into my neck and blood and seeping down onto my shirt. It’s a miracle I’m still conscious. Right then, interrupting all my thoughts, was the most surprising sound.
“You’ve got 1 new private message!” My computer announces startling me. My head tries to turn in the rope so I can see the computer screen. The rope breaks, and I fall to the floor landing on back. Breathing extremely heavy, I look at the computer screen, barely lifting my head off the ground. The internet is up and the words “1 New PM” flash on the screen. I lay my head back on the ground. As I’m trying to catch my breath, a scary thought comes into my mind. Didn’t I close the internet before I killed myself? Well attempted to anyway. I’m almost positive I did, that’s why I slowly get to my feet and make my way to the computer. Grabbing my chair, and pulling it underneath me, I click the flashing words to reveal the message.