Daughter – Mila

I laid on my mattress in my dark and dingy room, listening to my walkman play a cd I had stolen from the music store. We lived in a small trailer home in a trashy trailer park. My mom, too addicted to save up money for us, to take care of us, to get out of here. I sat up, taking my headphones off for a second, hearing laughter and sounds from the tv in our living room. I never knew how mom was gonna act when she was drunk. It was always different, sometimes she would crawl to my room crying apologizing for the way she is. Other times she pushed me around yelling at me, and locking me out of the house. I had gotten used to sleeping in the old shed in the back. My father, on the other hand, left us when I was 1. I was too young to even remember him. My mom has never really told me why he left, and I’ve never asked. But sometimes I wish he would have taken me with him. Maybe then I would have a happier life. Because I can’t deal with my current life anymore.

We lived around other addicts just making my mom worse. I knew I was close to doing something that would change my moms world. But, she didn’t seem to care about me, and acted as if I didn’t exist anyway, so maybe she wouldn’t. Ever since my mom started screaming and hitting me, I’ve planned on doing this. Ever since she would make me sleep outside, everytime I would wake up in the middle of the night to an old addict my mom had over, trying to do something to me, I was going to do it tonight.

I grabbed my backpack, pulled my zip up hoodie over my sweater. Looking at myself in my broken mirror, I wore jeans that fit too big on me, that were tightened to my waist with a belt. Along with that my long black hair spilled out from my head onto my shoulders. I ran my fingers through my hair, straightening it a bit. I at least wanna look presentable if I’m about to die. Inspecting my face, I was pale and had small acne spots on my face.  I had a few freckles scattered onto my cold skin. I had already looked dead, my eyebags heavy, my skinny frame looking like a decomposing corpse. It’s not like I didn’t have the option to eat. I did, I just prefer not too. I hated looking in the mirror because all I saw was my mother. Looking away, I walked over grabbing my walkman, and opening my backpack.

I put my headphones on and placed the walkman into my pocket, while I grabbed my beaten up notebook from under my mattress. I ripped a page out of the notebook, but before writing anything I sat staring at the page. How does one even write a suicide note? Usually you read about them thanking someone, but I have no one to thank. I quickly wrote. Setting the paper atop my notebook then standing up. Slipping on my beat up Nike Blazers that I had stolen from a girl in gym class. I stood up, my backpack had held things I needed if I had decided to not kill myself. I opened my bedroom door slowly walking the hall, and peaking into the living room. My mom passed out on the couch, a bottle of beer in her hand.

I took my house key out of my pocket, setting it on the coffee table. I stared at her corpse laying on the couch. Quickly turning away, walking out of the front door and closing it behind me. As I walked the cold wet streets of the trailer park, I had my hood up, listening to my rap music in my headphones I made it to the main street. The small bit of 10 o’clock traffic, filling the noise of the broken city. I walked until I reached the bridge that was high above the rushing water underneath. I stared down as I hung my arms over the railings. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and feeling the sharp wind stabbing my bare face. I climbed up onto the railing dangling my legs over the tall bridge. I closed my eyes, letting go and falling off the railing. I was smiling before I hit the water. 

Mother’s POV:

I woke up to the sound of the phone on the wall blaring its ringer, I groaned, rubbing my eyes. 

“Mila!” I yelled. There was no answer.

“Mila! Answer the goddamn phone!” I screamed louder. Still no answer, I rolled my eyes. Getting up slowly while still holding my bottle of beer. I walked slowly, picking up the phone and looking at the time, 2 am who the hell calls this late. 

“What?” I said angrily while answering the phone.

“Hello ma’am, is this Mrs.Boon?” It was a professional sounding man, and I was surprised by the formalness. 

“Yes, it is. Who is this? Did Mila get in trouble? Godammit that girls getting on my last ner-” I was cut off by the man. 

“Mila was found floating in the river. We tried our best to revive her, but… she didn’t make it.”  I dropped the bottle from my hand, hitting the carpet and spilling its liquid onto the tan shag. Covering my mouth tears formed into my eyes. 

“What…no…what.” I spoke softly, and suddenly my whole world collapsed. My daughter, the only thing I had in this world. Gone. The man was silent on the other end as I sat staring at the spilled liquid on the ground. I dropped the phone out of my hand letting it hang from the cord on the wall. I walked to the kitchen. I opened the fridge, grabbing all the beer in there and smashing it all on the ground. The sound of the glass crashing and the liquid spilling all over the floor. I could hear the man on the phone asking if I was okay, but I ignored it. Simply letting the glass on the floor cut my feet. I quickly walked out of the kitchen stepping on the shard pieces, making my way quickly to Milas room. I opened the door swiftly, the essence of her room like she never left. Her mattress on the floor with her blankets messy. I sat down on her mattress holding her blanket to my face, the fabric still smelling of her shampoo and body wash. I couldn’t believe it. How could she do this to me? I looked next to me, seeing a piece of paper atop of a notebook. I grabbed the paper seeing her scratchy handwriting scribbled upon it. I then read it, 

“I’m not sure what to say, but just read.” The arrow I assume pointed at the journal. Opening up I slowly read each page, slowly understanding more and more why she did this. She hated me. Pages upon pages of how she was feeling and what I did to her. Her words that were written down. I couldn’t believe I ever treated her this way, most of the time not remembering any of it. I couldn’t handle it anymore and I broke down. Tears flowed out of my eyes like the water that took her life. I hugged the journal to my chest. Screaming and wailing wishing for her to come back. 

I  laid in her bed all night unable to sleep. I finally got up, taking the journal with me into the kitchen, until I slipped, falling onto the broken glass scraping my legs and arms. I had saved the journal from getting wet. But my arms bled and burned. Standing up I set the journal on the counter and walked back into my room. I wrapped up my arms, throwing on sweat pants and a sweater. Then going to grab my shoes, slipping them on. I went to get my keys, her house key laying on the coffee table. I grabbed mine, taking her key and putting it on the keychain. I left the house getting into the junky car I had. Speeding through traffic to the hospital, I walked into the ER running to the front desk,

“E-Excuse me?” I asked the nurse, she looked up seeing my frantic state. 

“I need to see my daughter, Mila Boon?” I could see the nurse’s face change to a grieving face.

“This way maam, I’ll show you.”  She stood up, slowly watching me follow her. We walked down the long grueling hallway, as I felt my stomach turning. She suddenly pointed to a door and stopped. 

“This room, maam.” She opened the door slowly, letting me in. I walked in and saw a covered body. All the monitors stopped and off. I shuffled towards her. Grabbing the top of the white sheet that draped her beautiful frame. I pulled it back, seeing her bandaged head. Her long black damp hair, her even paler skin. I broke down next to her bed. Whispering, 

“Im sorry…I’m so sorry baby…i’m sorry.” Holding her cold limp wet hand. 

I kneeled next to her bed, 

“Y’know baby, you never got to really meet your dad,” I said between crying. Brushing hair out of her face. 

“I always told you he left us. B…but I lied to you.” I started sobbing into my hands.

“Y-You’re father took his own life too.” I couldn’t stop the tears and wails I let out.

“We didn’t go to his funeral because I was mad at him. I regret it every day.” I grabbed her hand again.

“I’m sorry baby, please forgive me…. And say hi to dad for me. I know he would have made your life better.” I collapsed to the cold, porcelain floor, laying in my guilt. I never wanted to make my daughter’s life miserable. I should’ve gotten help earlier.