Page 1 of Painting Her Fate

_PROLOGUE - LILI_

_London, England_

_Age fifteen_

Am I just paranoid? Or am I just–

Silence falls as Green Day’sBasket Caseabruptly stops mid song. I pick up my device and try getting the screen to light.Damn. Dead battery. I take out my earphones and mentally curse the drab battery life this thing has as I plug it in. My body is stiff from laying here, uncomfortable from not having the ambition to move, and to top it off, I’m bloody hungry.Ooh, maybe Gran has leftover cake I can sneak…

Gran was forced to stop leaving food for me two days ago, or was it three? The way my stomach churns, I’d have to say it’s the latter.

Mum told me if I wanted to eat, I’m to be at the table with the rest of the family, not hiding away in my room. She was done, as she stated,giving into my childish ways and constant melodramatic outbursts. She has not a clue; she can never understand, nor does she have the ambition to try. This is where my Scottish temper gets the best of me, and I can no longer bite my tongue. Gran has taught this lass well.

In this new house, there is a sense of a foreign- never content atmosphere. Add in a new gentleman in my mum's life and we have the makings of a fresh start.

I cannot enjoy this life anymore.

Is it terrifying that this fifteen-year-old has thoughts of suicide?

Suppose it is.

My therapist recommended Gran take me on an extended holiday to spend time with my cousins in Glasgow. She expressed it be calming for my soul to relax in the countryside, clear my head of the darkness, sketch a bit, and embark on new adventures.

Sorry to say but the little happy-go-lucky lass everyone expects to see is dead. Never again will she see the light. The darkness follows wherever I go. The proverbial cloud pouring down rain upon my head has parked itself there and has no intentions to move.

In this new house we have one very important rule; my monster is never named; giving a name to the thing that ruined me only encourages the monster to be boastful so, we shall not speak of the entity. Fear in the name is real, and utterly terrifying.

Most times I’m able to banish the nightmares and painful memories during the day, only for them to come out and play when I close my eyes. Even though I know there is nothing physically there to harm me, my monster is there lurking in the shadows, forever in the back of my mind, ready to maim and take what it wants.

I cannot let my guard down.Not ever.

The one person I miss is my mate, Patrick; he’s the only one who might have a sliver of understanding. He knew for a while something was wrong, even confronted me about it a few times, but I wouldn't tell him- I couldn't tellanyonefor fear my monster would do bad things to them too. He’s kicking himself for not being the best mate he feels I deserve. I need my mate back.

He’s here knocking on the door every day, wanting to check in, and bringing me gifts and snacks, or cassette tapes. The lad will forever go on about classic rock and his cassette player if you allow him the opportunity.

The beginnings of a smile touch my lips. First smile in quite a while.Do not give up on me, Patrick, I just need more time- something- anything- to take away my agony.

I endured the torment to keep everyone I loved safe. And here we are, me, wishing it all would end. I want to feel normal again- be the lass I once was.

I was prescribed a medication that lightens the misery and helps me sleep, but it also makes me sluggish, foggy, and not myself during the day, so I don’t take it as often as I should. This is when Mum yells at me to get up and stop moping, to go interact with my peers, and get over it. The two of us clash often, especially now that she is home to prepare for the new baby. It’s too little, too late for her and I. That much I have accepted.

My depression became an emotional turmoil for everyone involved. Oftentimes they walk on eggshells in my presence, setting me in a darker mood. I'm treated like a bloody child who still needs coddled. I wish they would just leave me be, allow me to cope in my own way. The pitying glances are what I despise most of all.

*Spite* Pity. Damn disgusting pity. What a foul word.

My life was falling into pieces, and no one could fix me. I felt broken and accepted it be that way the rest of my life. From what I gathered there are many ways to find the perfect opportunity for an end-all. However, I seem to stop myself from acting it out every single time.

Could it be that I want to still live? What's truly stopping me? Maybe it’s the unanswered questions that plague me.

There is one topic I wonder about every day. My father.

Who might he be? Does he know he has a daughter? Does it even matter at this point to search for him? Maybe not…

I see the way Gran watches me. She must know who my father is, but why would she keep this a secret from me? Gran is my confidant, my hero; she wouldn’t keep a secret such as this.

Maybe he doesn’t care after all, and my worry will be for not.

After a few minutes of staring out at the misty March sky and pondering what could’ve been, the hunger pangs made themselves known. I coaxed my aching body to sitting, the prospect of snagging a bag of crisps or a Wispa bar is damn near too good to pass up.

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