Chapter 7
For seven years, my dad never once gave a damn about me.
But today, he was acting weird, and it felt off.
It'd been forever since he cared about me at all.
Actually, it'd been forever since anyone cared about me.
I wasn't used to it at all; my eyes burned with unshed tears.
If I couldn't hold it in and ended up crying in front of him, it'd be humiliating. He'd probably accuse me of playing the victim.
The elevator still hadn't arrived.
My eyes were misty as I rushed past him, blurting out, "I'll go ask the doctor again."
He didn't follow me.
I turned the corner and slipped into the fire escape stairwell.
In the dim stairwell, I covered my face and finally started to sob uncontrollably.
Honestly, I didn't want to die. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my dad behind.
He was the only family I had in this world.
After my brother and mom passed away, he completely broke down.
One night, drunk out of his mind, he stumbled to the spot where my brother had gone over the cliff and fell off himself.
He broke his leg, suffered severe internal injuries and a traumatic head injury, and nearly died on the operating table.
I emptied out every last cent we had and even sold the car.
It took years of treatment, and I managed to keep him alive.
What if he suddenly remembers everything after I was gone? How would he even go on living?
I left the hospital and got myself the cheapest room I could find at a cheap motel.
It was freezing out, and even a crappy place was better than nothing. At least, it kept out the cold.
On the way to the motel, I passed a little clinic and grabbed some extra painkillers.
The hospital only gave me a few, and they weren't strong enough to really help.
When my heart acted up, the pain was brutal. Honestly, I didn't care about the side effects anymore. I needed something to make it stop.
My parents had me late in life. They were almost forty when I was born.
Back when everyone was still around, I was spoiled rotten, treated like a princess.
Even if I got a tiny cut on my finger, I'd shed tears.
My parents always indulged me, and my brother, seven years older, was used to letting me have my way in everything.
Now, seven years after they were gone, my dad had long since stopped caring about me.
No matter how hard I tried to get used to it, I still couldn't stand all the suffering and pain.
I brought the meds back to my room.
The room was damp, and the sheets were clammy too.
I was exhausted and shivering.
I couldn't find any water, and there wasn't an AC.
I swallowed a few pills without water and curled up under the blanket.
The bed was icy cold, and the whole room smelled musty and damp.
With my eyes closed, I suddenly remembered how I used to love curling up next to my mom when I was little.
She always smelled so nice, and whenever I was close to her, I'd fall asleep right away and have the best dreams.
If only I could go home again and curl up in her arms one more time.
But I didn't have a home anymore, and I didn't have a mom either.
It felt like I had nothing left at all.
I wondered where my body would rot when I died, and if anyone would care enough to send me to a funeral home.