“You know what, bitch? You fucked with the wrong one! I’m gonna kill you right in front of ya little boyfriend, and then I’m gonna kill him! You played the wrong card this time! You fucked with the wrong one!”
POP! POP!
It still haunts me after five months. I have constant nightmares about it. Sometimes I wish I had died. My life is so messed up now. It’s not even worth living. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t do anything. I just sit here and stare out the window until it gets dark enough to see my reflection in the glass. But then I’m too scared to see my reflection. The doctors took the last bandages off two weeks ago and I haven’t looked at my face yet. My psychiatrist, Ms. Carol, was there when they did it. She said I didn’t look too bad, but the tears in her eyes told me otherwise.
Ms. Carol was referred to me four months ago. She took a liking to me immediately. Said I was the child she never was able to have. It started out with her visiting me for an hour or two trying to get me to talk about my feelings. Then she started bringing movies, and her visits exceeded two hours. Now she comes by just to keep me company, and no matter how long she stays, I only need to pay for two hours, if she charges me at all.
She’s always trying to find ways to make me feel better. She calls like twenty times a day to check on me and she’s always so sweet. But truthfully, none of it works. No prescription drugs, no psychiatrists, no funny movies, nothing. The only thing that could make me feel any better is erasing everything from five months ago, from that night.