WARNING: This chapter contains extremely graphic content that may be triggering and/or offensive to some audiences. There are strong opinions mentioned in this chapter. It is not meant to discriminate against anyone's beliefs. Please do not attempt anything mentioned in this chapter. This content includes, but is not limited to; suicide, suicidal thoughts, self harm, suicidal actions, profanity, religious opinion, and graphic imagery. Read at your own risk. You have been warned.

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When I entered the house, my dad was in his room asleep, and I don't know if Belle was with him or not. I hope not. It's a weird thing to think about. I took of my outfit and my bra and put on a long blue t-shirt on and then went to sleep.

THE NEXT DAY

Wednesday :)

I wake up and realize most of my black clothes are dirty. I shower and take my many medications, just as I do every morning. I put on some high waisted blue jeans, and a cropped off-the-shoulder black top. I'm feeling extra so I put on a gold heart necklace. I brush my hair out and curl it. I brush my teeth, and then I put a rosy peach color lip liner on my lips. I put some chapstick over it. I put some oil in my hair to add shine. I smile in the mirror. An extremely fake smile. I close my mouth quickly because my teeth are ugly. They're not super bad, but I'm just insecure about them. I put on some black ankle-high boots with a heel. They had a golden zipper and I loved them. I was still trying to process everything that happened last night. I decided what clubs I would sign up for. I was going to sign up for Drama and College Readiness. Thirty minutes in each club. I go downstairs. When I get down there, Belle is making coffee.

"Would you like some coffee?" She asks.

"No." I respond.

She walks up to me.

"Sorry if this is uncomfortable for you, but once I graduate, I'm moving in." She says.

"What?" I shout.

"Shh lower your voice..Marshall is asleep." She whispers.

"You're moving in?" I ask.

"Yes. Me and your father just really clicked. So we decided it would be best if I moved in. He said I would provide a good example for you." She says.

"Good example? We're the same damn age!" I yell.

"Don't cuss. You're still a kid."

"We are in the same grade! What are you not comprehending? Don't you see how weird it is that you're dating someone who could be your father!" I shout.

"But he's not. So deal with it. I'm graduating in a week because I'm graduating early. It's only February 20, and I graduate on the last day of February."

"How did you graduate early?" I ask, wishing to do the same.

"It's probably too late for you."

"Whatever."

"Can we can create a bond?" She asks.

"I don't think so.." I say.

"Why not?" She asks.

I grab a granola bar from the cabinet.

"Because my birthdays in April, and once I'm 18, I'm moving out." I say blankly.

"What? Does your dad know?" She says.

"Yes. It was his idea. We both agreed it would be a good idea. We don't get along all the time." I say.

She's lucky I don't tell her that shes dating an abusive jerk.

"Is it because of what you did?" She asks quietly.

"What I did..?" I question.

"You tried to kill your self.." She says.

FLASHBACK:

I can't believe he'd said that to me. Today had been the worst day. I was punched in the face 3 times. Twice by a bully, once by my dad. I never thought life would be this hard. I run into my room and slam the door.

"I hate my life!" I scream.

I begin to cry hysterically. I make a tough decision. I decide that I'm tired of this. I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of everything. I'm tired of living. I go over to my drawer and grab my box cutter, I take it and press it deep into my wrist. I groan in pain. Most people say that the second you attempt suicide, you regret it. I wasn't regretting it. Yet. Then I cut again. Just as deep. Then again. Then again. Then one more time. Very deep. I was losing so much blood and I tried to stop it with a dirty shirt, but it kept coming. That's when regret filled my body. I was regretting this. By the look of it, I was going to die. I was definitely going to die. My vision began to blur and I got dizzy. I'm actually glad I passed out, otherwise I would have cut more because of my blood addiction. My door wasn't locked, but I didn't think my dad would care enough to check on me. While I was passed out, he came up to remind me of my chores and saw me passed out with blood on my wrists. It was about 20 minutes after the attempt. He slapped me to wake me up. Way to go, dad. He didn't care. He threw bandage wrap at me.

"Wrap that up. I can't believe you did that. You're so stupid. I wish you would've succeeded." He spits.

I wrap it up and then do my chores that he asked me to do.

BACK TO THE PRESENT:

I couldn't believe he told her about that. I thought he didn't want her to know that I was a "lunatic".

"He told you that?" I say, angrily.

"Yes..don't be mad.."

"Don't be mad? He just met you and he told you my business!" I shout.

"Brianna it's his business too. He was so worried when he found you in your room-"

"No! No the hell he wasn't Belle! He wasn't because he doesn't care about me!" I shout.

"You know there's help out there, right? You should go to church. You need Jesus in your life to guide you. He's probably tried to get in your heart, but you kick him out. Suicide is a major sin. It's a sin that will get you a ticket straight to hell." Belle says.

"I don't need your judgement, Belle. I don't care if my attempt bought me a ticket straight to hell, no hell could be worse than the one I'm living." I say.

I was never religious. I was before my mom died, but I realized that God took my moms life. That's not nice. That's not kind. That doesn't help me. That's not a blessing. He didn't stop her from dying. I don't blame him for that, I just never felt that powerful connection everyone talks about. I don't feel him in my heart. I don't judge others for their religion, I just don't feel it in my heart.

I go up the stairs, grab my backpack, and go downstairs to leave. I eat my granola bar on the way to school.

I dressed this way because I felt ugly so I tried to fix it. I looked better, but you can't fix ugliness.

When I enter the school, Bad Boy Marcus walks up to me.

"Hey, Brianna."

I told him my name last night. I told him since he saved me. Now I regret it.

"Hi."

"Wanna come sit with us at lunch?"

"Not really..." I reply.

"Please, I think I've earned it." He says, tossing a wink with that signature smirk on his face.

To prevent him from saying anymore about the encounter last night, I agree.

"Sure."

"Let's walk to class together." He says, really pushing the limits.

I nod, and roll my eyes as soon as he turns around.

"So what's your last name?" He asks.

"Do you need to know?"

"Not really..but it'd be nice."

I sigh.

"My last name is Rose."

"Brianna Rose?" He asks.

"Yup. No middle name. Just Brianna, and Rose."

"That's a pretty name."

"How many other girls have you told that to?" I ask, a smile on my face.

"Actually, only you. Well, that's a lie. But this is the first time I've meant it. Other girls names don't intrigue me. But Brianna Rose sounds so, beautiful." He says, making eye contact with me.

"Stop flirting with me, Bad Boy Marcus." I joke, nudging his arm with my elbow.

"Bad Boy Marcus?" He questions.

"Yup. It's the name my conscience made up for you."

"You are very intriguing. Will you be my friend?"

"Huh?" I say, surprised by his question.

"I don't want you to be a distraction like the other girls. I want you to be my friend."

"Hm..I will be your friend if you can list some synonyms for the word intriguing."

He smirks.

"Fascinating. Interesting. Mysterious. Unique. Different. And...that's all I can think of." He says.

"Good enough." I reply.

"Friends?" He asks.

"Friends." I agree.

Why did I agree to that? Well, I don't know the answer. Maybe it's because talking to him has caused me to smile more than I have in a long time. I would never date him, but maybe friends wouldn't be so bad. We continue walking.

"By the way, you look beautiful today." He says.

"I said friends." I say, jokingly.

"Friends can compliment each other." He argues.

"Why'd you get dolled up?" He inquires.

"I was tired of feeling ugly." I answer truthfully.

"You're not ugly." He says.

There is a moment of silence.

"Why are you wearing long sleeves and jeans, it's warm out." He says.

I knew someone would ask this eventually. I had practiced a response ever since I was in the ward.

"I'm wearing jeans because jeans can be worn in any season, and I'm wearing long-sleeves because I get cold easily, plus I'm super pale."

None of those were lies. I get cold easily, and we all know I'm pale. But I didn't mention the fact that there are also plenty of scars.