Short Stories

Warning: Blood

THE LADDER

     I slid down my wall, palms behind my back. Tears glided down my cheeks, leaving behind streaks of mascara.

“Nirvana! Get down here!” I could hear my father’s heavy feet pounding up the stairs. I lifted my arm, fumbling for the push-in lock.

“Go away,” I whispered. “Go away. Go away.”

“Nirvana!” The doorknob rattled. “Get out here and say you’re sorry!”

I covered my face with clammy palms. “Leave me alone!”

“Get your ass down here and apologize!” His fist slammed against the wooden door.

“I hate her!” I bellowed. “I never want to see her face again!”

“I don’t care! You have to apologize! For God’s sake, you called her a whore!” My father was a quiet man. I had never heard him this angry.

“Why should I?” I snapped.

“Nirvana, I swear….don’t test me. We’ve talked about this before.”

“Talked about what? How you never take my side?” A sob escaped my lips.

“There’s no side to take. Your stepmother is a caring woman, who has provided and cared for you since your mother died. If you had even one shard of respect-”

I cut him off, “Dad, get a fucking clue! Leave.”

 “Whatever, Nirvana,” He sighed. I could hear him walking away.

I bit my tongue to keep back the fountain of spewing hatred. Slamming an open hand into my wall, I ran for my best friend: glass.

Digging through my drawer, I found it safely tucked away under a ratty long sleeve shirt. I looked down at the jagged scars that lined my arms, a ladder of escalating disgust and rebellion.

I turned back to the shimmering item. “It’s me again. I think we’ll have a good time. If you don’t mind me asking, can you cut deep?”

The shimmering glass stared back at me.

“Yeah. It’s one of those days.” I gingerly took the jagged shard out and shut the drawer with my hip. Walking over to my closet, I stared at the full length mirror. My reflection was not me. It was the old me. The girl with long curly black hair and sparkling brown eyes.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” she pleaded. “You’re better than that.”

I stared down at the glass she pointed to. The sun hit it, forming a tiny rainbow in my hand. Pretty, like I was in the mirror. No! Not me. The old me. The before me. The girl who played soccer and loved pizza.

 I turned away, letting my bangs fall in front of my eyes.

“Mom would be sick!” she whispered in my ear. I snapped around, punching the mirror and watching it crack.

“Leave me alone!” I cried. The glass seemed to highlight a pathway to the closet. I followed eagerly, high off the hope of drifting away.

The closet light was yellow and dust danced around it gracefully, illuminated by the shine. Blood was all over the floor from previous visits.

I sat down; my legs crossed, and held out my pale arm. My heart pounded in my chest as I touched the glass to my skin.

Joyous. The feeling was unlike any other. The pulse of the blood rushing to your arm, getting dizzy, it was like floating. That little shard of glass was the only thing that would never betray me. But like any high, it soon came crashing down. I rested my head against the wall and took deep breaths, gritting my teeth when the pain spiked.

There was a rough knock at the door.

My head snapped up. Nobody ever needed to come in my room. Ever.

“Nirvana? It’s Vicky. Let me in.” said my stepmom. I wiped the blood off with a sock that was lying on the ground and, in a hurry, sprang up. I slammed the closet door behind me.

“What?”

“Let me in,” she ordered. I looked down at my bare feet.

“I don’t want to,” I whispered.

Vicky kicked the door open with her pump; the lock sprang off. Goodbye freedom.

“Where’s da-” I didn’t get to finish before she shoved me into the wall. My head smacked against a glass frame, knocking it down. I saw flashes of light.

“Listen, you useless piece of garbage,” she hissed. “If you ever, EVER call me that again, I will turn your stupid face inside out and laugh while I do it.” Her peppermint breath plugged my nostrils.

“You just like him for the money,” I choked out, referring to my father’s large banking account. I got none of it, of course.

“Shut your trap!” she yelled, kicking my shin. I cried out in shock. “Get it?”

I closed my eyes. Close them and bad things go away.

“Yeah.”

 My eyes were closed, but I could hear the flip in Vicky’s long, blonde curls from the way her hairspray crunched.

“Oh,” she said before leaving. “I won’t be getting you a new mirror.” When I could no longer hear her heels, I opened my eyes.

My head dripped blood.

“Ow,” I moaned. I stumbled over the broken frame and mirror, holding my throbbing head. When I flopped down on my unmade bed, face first, I began to cry. My hand searched for a piece of glass as it hung down. I could bleed out my emotions. I grabbed the first piece I could find. It was from the broken picture frame. Ironically, the picture in there had been of my mom, dad, and me. Our old family, shattered.

I rolled over, cringing. My head felt as if it might fall off. I started to cut frantically. Twelve in all. More steps on the ladder all splintered with abuse.

“It’s Miranda! Answer Your Phone! It’s Miranda! Answer your phone! It’s Miranda! Answer your phone!” My cell rang under a pile of clothes.

I set down the glass, sighing, and answered the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Miranda said. She was my dysfunctional false friendship of the year. “What’s up?”

I looked around my room. Broken glass, piles of clothes, and an unmade bed.

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Want to meet up at the skate park? I hear Jasmine got ahold of her dad’s pot.”

“Not really my thing.” I stared at my bleeding arm.

“Hm. Well, don’t come crying to me when I’m actually high. Not just in pain.” The phone clicked off.

I plopped myself on the carpet and gazed out my window. The sun was going down. The sky was yellow and pink, engulfing the clouds in beauty. Mom was up there, painting. She loved painting.

“Why aren’t you any help to me?” I asked her. “Why don’t you smack Dad’s face and tell him she’s using him? Why, Mommy? Can’t you just help me?” I wrung my hands together. “Please. If you’re listening, Mom, help me.  Take me up there with you. I miss you…a lot.” I broke down for the third time that day. Praying to die. Praying to have Mom suck the pain out of my body.

“Dinner,” my dad said, suddenly at the doorframe.

I kept my face in my palms. “I’ll just bring it up here.”

“No, you won’t.  You’ll eat with your family.”

I turned to face him. “Family?”

“Yes, and then you can pick this mess up.” He scratched his wrist. “Hurry up.”

My father, always awkward.. I lifted myself up, shooting one glance at the glass before leaving.

As I sat at the huge dinner table, I rolled peas on my plate.

“John, all my friends love your new cologne.” Vicky winked.

My dad designed scents for companies. That’s why we were rich. He was supposedly a ‘genius’. In my opinion, mix musk with flowers and women love it, big deal.

“That’s good,” he said quietly, cutting his steak.

Our dining area was adorned with Thanksgiving decorations, which we would spend alone- like always. There were no windows. Just deep red walls and a huge Persian rug under our feet.

Dad glanced at his watch and called for our maid. “Jenna, would you please clean my plate? I have a video conference with Gucci.” He excused himself from the table as she neatly gathered his plates. This left me alone with my stepmom.

“Does everything taste okay?” she sneered. Jenna sped up her pace into the kitchen.

“Yes,” I said, to avoid making conversation.

“Good.” She mumbled. She began clearing her dishes, and as she passed me, she kicked my shin with her heel.

“What the hell, Vicky?!” I screamed. I rubbed the injury.

“I didn’t do anything.” She said turning to my father, who had run back into the room. Her mascara caked eyes blinked innocently. “John, why does she accuse me of such things? Can’t we just have a good relationship?” she started to ‘cry’, “I just want to be a good mother to her.”

“Dad! I protested. “You can’t believe her! Look at my shin!” I showed him the bruised leg.

“I’m sure Vicky’s foot slipped. Don’t blow things out of proportion,” he said, adjusting his Bluetooth.

“Are you blind?” I shrieked, my voice crashed through octaves.

“I have 20/20 vision.”

Frustrated, I threw my hands up in the air, “She’s abusing me! Do Something!”

“Nirvana, we’ve talked about this before” My father typed anxiously on his blackberry, ignoring me.

“I hate you!” I shouted. “I hate you both!” I stormed out, stomping up three floors to my room.

I shoved open the door, sobbing. Would every day be like this? Denial, hate, abuse?

It never used to be like this. Vicky and I were close. When dad got a raise she’d take me shopping. I used o always get shaved ice. Strawberry. But that all changed after they got married. She felt that now she had nobody to impress. And she was right. She didn’t.

“Something has to be done.” I was talking to myself. What? Run away? No. I had nowhere to go. Exactly. Nowhere to go. I wasn’t loved. All that was washed away after mom’s heart attack.

With no love, there seemed to be only one option. Suicide.

Could I go through with it?  I was convinced I could. A note? No. They knew why.

I looked up at the pink sky and then at the shattered mirror lying on my carpet. I wiped the tears off my cheeks and grabbed the piece of glass I had set on my dresser earlier and tucked it away in my back pocket.

“The only way.” I repeated again.

Walking slowly down the stairs that led to the bathroom, I could hear my father’s video conference. Making sure the glass was in my back pocket, I opened the door the bathroom. Taking a deep breath I could smell bleach. Probably from the cleaning lady. I slowly closed the door behind me and walked to our cabinet. I looked in the mirror before opening it.

There was no old me. Only me. Just me.

I dug through the cabinet, searching through the various pills and ointments. Then I saw Vikki’s weightless pills. Opening them, I felt the rough edge scrape my hand.

I counted the purple pills. 18. That should do it.

I poured the bottle’s contents in my hand. Taking a swig of water, I popped them in my mouth.

Slowly, I sat against the tile wall. Then everything went hazy.