This is the work of me and my co-writer SlytherclawDevin. I like to think myself the creative half, but she makes the real magic happen.

I own nothing..

If you feel like it listen to System of a down-Chop Suey with this chapter.


I could feel the life running from my veins making the whispering thought of 'do I really want this' appear in my brain, as if trying to catch with the remaining life. But...I wasn't stupid. It was too late. I chose this. I chose this life...Or rather the lack of one. There would be no more shame, no more embarrassment, there hopefully wouldn't be anything after this. There would be no one to judge me for purposefully overdosing, killing myself.

I was your normal, average 21st century girl. Not. Perhaps, maybe, for an incredibly poor city girl. I had the same old dad who was an absolute douche-bag so my mom divorced him. He went into drinking after losing his job and my mother had told me he had once been a good guy. She didn't blame me when I didn't believe her. I still don't. I won't. Because of him, because of that thing, she didn't have time for me or my brother, Damien.

After the divorce, I lived with my mom and brother, and a few years later, my step-father. They had two more children, girls, Agnes and Suri. It was a nice few years full of laughter. My happy years, a childhood finally restored. Forgive me for my drama, but as you can no doubt guess, that ended.

A drunk driver ended that. Figures. My mother's life, my life, was ruined because of a stupid drunk...Now she's dead by the same exact sickness. She was an angel, she didn't deserve this. I had never met the guy, no one would permit it, claiming that I was too young, too easily able to molded. I liked to imagine that the guy suffered, but I knew he would soon forget, either from the beer or from other things. I had been twelve. A wonderful (not) age filled with mystery and wonder (true, somewhat). It wasn't just her, either. No...God had to be spiteful. Everyone but Suri and I died. No more happiness, no more stability, just me, and a toddler who wouldn't even remember what she missed out on.

Luckily, I had an aunt. She was a nice woman, I called her Aunt Patty (short for Patricia). She was a nice woman, but had four kids of her own. She was married to a guy named Jeremy, they owned a small-business together. It had been an Italian restaurant filled with pasta, pizza, and all things stereotypical. Of course he had deemed it "legit Italian food". Literally, L.I.F. That was the sign that stood above the entrance. I hate to be that niece, but it didn't take a bolt to the brain to know that the restaurant would soon fail. For one, Jeremy wasn't Italian, he was Greek. For two, it was a stupid name to begin with. For three, both one and two soon proved correct.

I quit school at the age of sixteen. I decided to pitch in. If working with the guy only part-time was irritating, then working for him full-time was too god-damn stressful. I quit the job and pretty much stopped talking to the guy at home. But hey, who was going to complain when I was still brought more money to the table? Yeah. That was how bad business had gotten for them. It wasn't even that the food was bad, it was decent...But it was just everything else about it. It was simple part-time jobs like working at Burger King and then spending some time babysitting and walking people's dogs. Stuff that would just allow us to make the bills. And then, the business did it. It finally, officially failed. Jeremy closed the place down and weeped into a bottle of whiskey.

Of course. No. It wasn't his fault. It was my fault. If I had just helped out more instead of working for the competition (how a nation-wide fast food restaurant could even be considered as a rival was beyond me)! That was what he shouted at me one night, a night that he made sure to be home early. He smelled of alcohol. He smelled disgusting. I ended up getting kicked out, my aunt made promises to call me and meet up with me. I didn't have the heart to remind her that the outside world didn't have internet and Jeremy would probably cut off my phone.

For two months I lived on the streets, I had turned eighteen by then so no one would care what happened to me. They probably assumed me to be some druggie. Not that they ended up wrong. I met a man by the name of Cody Waltz. The guy that could end up as the governor of Michigan one day. Let me tell you this, I don't...Didn't look old. I was small, frail, and my chest was as flat as a piece of card-board. My mother had called me her little angel for truly did my golden blonde hair, round face, and wide innocent looking blue eyes make me look that way. He wanted to pay me. He wanted me to be his prostitute and you have ever felt the desperation of being a homeless person, you would understand why I accepted. A thousand dollars for every weekend he spent with me?

I would be insane to ever pass that up. So that was what I did. I became a sugar-baby. It was hard, but I kept the thought in my head that it was fine as long as they were with me and not some other girl, a younger girl. That was my moral map. That was the line that I would never let be crossed, the was the thought that kept me sane. My little sister, Suri, she was still living with my aunt and uncle, who both had to work at fast-food chains (the irony). With the money I had started to make, I could afford an apartment, but even I knew my looks wouldn't last forever. So I saved, I got a small, dingy apartment and fully quit the idealistic standards of being a sugar-baby, but rather just a prostitute. Anyone who looked clean.

You shouldn't judge a book by its cover. One of my clients, he was into drugs. All sorts. I only ever did one, only one, my final day. I guess with my mental ramblings, this is what people meant when your life flashes before your eyes.

My sister ended up dying too. It wasn't the pain of losing my mother, my brother, and sister, or even step-dad. It was the pain of losing her. She had been killed by psychopath at the local mall. Shot. It had been clean, painless. She had been the first victim and his shooting had yet to turn erratic at the time. That was what brought me to this.

And here I am. Waiting for the darkness to cloud my mind, numbing me. The darkness came. My mind stayed. I am staring up into the abyss of death with wonder, with anger, with curiosity, when the most peculiar feeling came over me. Like hands cradling a small child. Then, relief. But it wasn't the end. I was naive to even think it was.

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