Chapter One

Makayla

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Heaven and hell, do they exist? Are they more than just these old tales that have been told for centuries? Can one exist without the other, or are they like a packaged deal? I wish I knew the answers to these questions. The idea of being sentenced to an eternity in hell scares the crap out of me, and quite honestly, it is the only reason I have not killed myself.

 

Oh, the temptation is there. It is always there, taunting me with sweet relief. I struggle with the decision to end my life every single day, and at times it is almost too hard to resist. The promise of relieving myself from my own personal hell calls to me like a siren’s song. I’m drowning in my own pain and no one else can see it.

 

The truth is, I don’t want them to see it. I would be mortified if they knew what kind of person I truly was. Besides, if they found out, they would hate me. I cannot stomach the thought of my brother or my mother hating me.

 

It is so hard to keep the pain hidden.

 

Pain and shame eat away at me, like maggots eat rotten flesh. But despite how lost and alone I feel, I slap a smile on my face and fake my way through each day. So far, no one has noticed, or if they have, they have not attempted to ask me what is wrong.

 

I’m not sure what hurts worse, my pain or the fact that no one seems to see that I am slowly falling apart, fading away into nothing.

 

My twin has not even felt my loneliness and depression. The fact that he cannot sense that I am falling apart at the seams makes me feel so alone and lost in this world. Why can’t he feel my agony? This pain is truly the only thing that keeps me company and I hate it. Hate it with a passion.

 

I just want this suffering to end.

 

If I took a handful of pills and allowed the angel of death to take me, would anyone even notice? Would I be missed?

 

Thaddeus might notice that I am no longer around. Then again, he has been so busy with Heather, his on-again, off-again girlfriend, he most likely wouldn’t even notice that my presence is no longer filling our mostly empty house. It’s sad, really, because I have not had more than ten minutes of his time during the whole summer.

 

No one sees me anymore. It’s like I am just a ghost. My friends don’t call, Thaddeus is busy with his girlfriend, and Eryc doesn’t talk to me, but I can’t blame him for that. I pretty much disowned him a few years ago so I could get in with the popular crowd. What a mistake that turned out to be.

 

I just want to die. The pain of living is a burden too great to bear.

 

Opening the cabinet door, I move my box of Claritin and pick up the bottle of Oxycodone. The prescription Thaddeus never finished taking after his biking accident. I could take the remaining pills and let oblivion welcome me with open arms. I know those little round white pills will kill the pain infecting my soul.

 

On the bottom shelf, right below the pills, is a tiny box of razors. A thought occurs to me. Taking a handful of pills is not a guarantee. There is always a chance of mom or Thaddeus finding me before my heart stops beating.

 

Turning the box of razors over and over in my hands, I contemplate removing a blade, digging it deep in my veins and slicing upward. Slicing my veins wide open is a guarantee of ending my suffering.

 

Deep down I know my mom and brother will be sad. They will grieve for weeks, months, maybe even a year, but they will eventually move on with their lives. There is no moving on for me, I struggle to find the strength just to crawl out of bed.

 

Death declares to be a friend of mine and promises to be the only solution to ridding myself of these demons. He stretches his hand out to me, daring me to take it and allow him to cleanse my infected soul.