Page 4 of Creep
Still advancing towards me, I push myself up against the wall in a pathetic effort to get as far away from him as possible. He takes one last step, stopping right in front of me. His chest brushes against mine, more so with every heaving breath leaving me. A sick smirk appears on his face when he notices. He leans his head closer to look at me right in my pale green eyes. His are surprisingly focused despite the drugs coursing through him at the moment.
“Oh,sweetheart. You never fucking learn to keep your mouth shut about shit not concerning you. So guess who’s gonna pay you a little visit tonight? It’s beenwaytoo long since daddy has gotten to stick his dick in your sweet little pussy and it’s missing you.” He chuckles in my face, his rancid breath fanning me. I dry heave at his words and my stomach churns with the need to vomit, but it doesn’t deter him. My vomit never fucking does.
“Tonight is going to be a fun one.” He licks the shell of my ear as he pulls away. My face burns as bile rises up my throat and I throw my head to the side just in time to throw up all over the hallway floor. I dry heave when my stomach completely empties. A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead and my entire body feels clammy.
When he sees, he smiles wider.Fucking disgusting pig.
Keeping the creepy ass smile on his sunken in cheeks, he trails his grimy finger down my cheek, to my chin, and down my throat.
“Tonight, I’ll be paying you a well-deserved visit because I’ve fuckingmissedyou, sweetheart. So, make sure you wait up for me.” He kisses my cheek and pushes off of the wall at my back to spin back around to his bed. He picks the pipe up again, staring at me with a smirk on his face as he lifts it to his mouth and flicks the torch on.
I swivel around and slam the door behind me, completely terrified and crawling out of my skin in disgust. An everlasting feeling which resides deep in my bones. Every time he puts his hands on me, I feel his disgusting touch linger, imbedding itself inside of me. I desperately need a shower and to scrub my skin raw. No, better yet, I need pain.Yes, I need to feel the pain.
But first I clean up the vomit in the hallway—I can’t leave a fucking mess.
* * *
When I getto Holley’s room, which is thankfully at the other end of the hallway from our parents room, I crack the door open to check on her. She’s curled up in a ball on her twin bed, lightly snoring.
There are only two beds in this house, Holley’s and my parents. I mainly sleep in my room, but I’ll occasionally crash in Holl’s bed with her when my parents have their druggie friends over. I don’t trust them not to go into her room and fuck with her, so I always make an excuse to sleep with her when it happens. She never questions my intentions.
When we found her twin mattress at a garage sale for ten bucks a few months ago, Holl tried to argue with me to get me to take the bed, but I vehemently refused. She deserves it and I made her take it, not giving her a choice in the matter.
It took me three months to save up the ten dollars from loose change I scrounged up from around the house or the occasional dollar my dumbass high parents left around, but I did it. I don't regret it either. Holl is the good one and she’s always happy and blissfully unaware. I don’tthinkshe’s ignorant about what’s going on with them, but I do believe she wants to pretend she is, so I let her. It makes both of our lives a little easier that way.
Not wanting to wake her up, I slowly pull her door shut and make my way to my room. It’s small and cramped, but it’s the only place I have any alone time so I cherish it. It’s the only place Benjamin doesn’t come to bother me, surprisingly, which is the main reason I’m always in my room.
I plop my ass down on the lumpy comforter I have lying on the floor, which makes up my bed. I grab my old school iPod and pop the earbuds in. I stole the iPod from some rich kid at school a couple years ago because it’s not like he’d miss it. Besides, the dude was a fucking asshole and he deserved it.
I spin my finger around a few times on the circle of buttons in the middle, searching for my favorite song. I hit play on ”Creep” by Radiohead and turn it on repeat. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall, resisting the urge to cut even though I really don’t want to.
Everything about this song speaks to my soul. How often do people find a song, one fucking song, that is one hundred percent them? It’s about someone who feels a massive amount of self-loathing—someone who hates the person they have become. We spend so much time trying to appear as the brightest light in the room, when in reality, we all have our shadows. Wearethe fucking shadows and we have our own demons fighting and crawling their way to the surface, changing us and who we used to be into someone unrecognizable.
This song sums up all of my self-loathing to a T and my heart physically hurts because of it. I hate feeling like this, wanting to die, needing to hurt myself to stay barely alive. Guilt wracks me daily because of Holley. She doesn’t deserve a sister who thinks about death and dying as much as I do. She deserves someone strong enough to conquer all of this for her.
I’m battling this shit in my head more than anyone could ever know. I fight tooth and nail to stay strong, but sometimes we give in to the temptation of our weaknesses. I just happen to be someone who gives in on a daily basis.
The pressure of today’s bullshit boils over the precipice and Ineedthe fucking pain to survive the rest of the night because I know it’s far from over. I crave it more than anything else.
I peel my eyes open and peer down at my arm, seeing all of my previous cuts. Some new and raw, others healed with silvery scars remaining as a reminder of how fucking weak I am. Guilt consumes me. I’m a fucking failure of a sister, of a daughter, of a fucking human being. There are millions of people with shitty lives and shitty situations who deal with it the right way, without harming themselves. Then there’s me, Essa Jaymes fucking Monroe, eighteen years old and cutting herself every single day just to stay sane. It’s not right, but I never said I wasn’t fucked up. I know there is something wrong with me—how could there not be with the shit I’ve been through?
We all go through shit and we all choose to deal with it the only way we know how. This just happens to be the way I figured out works for me. It's unconventional, but so am I. The pain centers me; I need it.
I reach over to the little brown table beside me and grab my knife. It’s small, black and silver in color, with a blade that flips open. The top half of the blade is sleek and sharp, making clean, deep cuts. The bottom half of the blade is serrated and that’s why it’s my favorite. The jagged edge rips my skin open in a way which makes the pain so intense, it’s all I can think about. It also leaves the worst scars, and scars are reminders of what we’ve been through—reminding us we fucking survived—and I need them along with the pain to make it through the days.
Living in that pain is what I need at this moment. I flick open the knife and bring the blade to my forearm. I can see a sliver of skin not angry and red with healing, which is where I put my blade. Without a second thought, I push down as hard as I can with the serrated edge and drag the blade harshly across my skin. Over and over and over again because in moments like these, I lose myself to the feeling and lose count. In my haste, I end up going over cuts which were beginning to scab over, but it makes the pain even more intense. I choose to revel in it rather than care.
Fuck.I drop the knife and lean my head back against the wall, my mind in blissful agony. I can feel the red hot of my blood dripping down my arm and onto the floor but giving a fuck isn’t even an option at this point. My arm feels like it’s on fire and fuck if it’s not the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. Every feeling and thought I have running rampant through me becomesnothing.It’s gone and a complete euphoria washes over me.
Pain.
Pain.
Nothing but pain.
Closing my eyes, I let myself get lost in the agony and music because although my entire life is full of pain,this painI can fucking control. It’s mine and mine alone.
Exhaustion hits me hard. This day has taken its toll and my thoughts slowly start drifting. With a life like mine, there is no peace—even when you’re unconscious.
