Diamonds are a girls best friend
Grief
Suddenly I feel Taylor’s arms around my shoulders, squeezing me gently. Tears pricked at my eyes and I look down, ashamedly. Andy has a worried look on his face and I just shrug Taylor off, walking off the field and into the locker room.
“EMO FAG!!” Our old 2nd baseman screams at me and the rest of the team laughs, if only they knew how hard this was for me. Each time I stepped on the field, the thoughts flooding my mind. You’ll never be good enough, you’ll always be the bottom, no one looks up to you. I just bow my head and grab my bag from the bench. No matter how well I played or how well I did… I never got a good job, a pat on the back.
“FUCKER” “SLUT” “WHORE” “GOTHIC CUNT” The names stung and I tears trickle freely down my cheeks, I grab my phone out of my bag, popping the battery out and removing the sweet sweet razor that laid behind it. I clutch it tightly in my hand before locking myself in the bathroom stall. My mind goes black I as I remember the last memories of my dad.
“Batter up!!” The umpire calls and I walk numbly up to bat. My dad’s in the hospital, dying and here I am playing the game I love. The game we love. The first pitch is thrown and I hit it, it hits the fence and dies with a clunk. I round second, sliding into third. I get disgusted looks from my coachs.
“Good for nothing bitch.” He growls and I steal home, before walking half heartedly into the dug out.
“Roxanne your phone has been ringing none stop for like 10 minutes.” Taylor says worriedly and I immedaitly press it to my ear.
“Sweet…” My dad’s raspy voice sounds over the receiver.
“Yes Daddy?” I whisper shaking slightly.
“I’ll love you forever. You’ll always be my angel, my peanut, my princess. Roxanne I love you.” He coughs weakly before letting out a shuddering breath. My dad just died over the phone with me. He died.
“29 get out on the damn field!” My coach glares at me and I nod, grabbing my mitt and taking the mound. Getting scoffed at by everyone, including my mother.
I whimper silently as more names are called, I press the blade to my skin. I press it deeper and deeper. Feeling the sweet relief of physical pain. I loose count after 50 and the room is silent. Both my arms are quickly filled up so I move on to my thighs. Lacing those in cut after deep deep cut.
“ROX!” Taylor’s almost crying scream echos around the locker room. I sniffle before blindly putting my blade away. My head spinning, black creeping into the edges of my vision. Oh how I hope this it.
“EMO FAG!!” Our old 2nd baseman screams at me and the rest of the team laughs, if only they knew how hard this was for me. Each time I stepped on the field, the thoughts flooding my mind. You’ll never be good enough, you’ll always be the bottom, no one looks up to you. I just bow my head and grab my bag from the bench. No matter how well I played or how well I did… I never got a good job, a pat on the back.
“FUCKER” “SLUT” “WHORE” “GOTHIC CUNT” The names stung and I tears trickle freely down my cheeks, I grab my phone out of my bag, popping the battery out and removing the sweet sweet razor that laid behind it. I clutch it tightly in my hand before locking myself in the bathroom stall. My mind goes black I as I remember the last memories of my dad.
“Batter up!!” The umpire calls and I walk numbly up to bat. My dad’s in the hospital, dying and here I am playing the game I love. The game we love. The first pitch is thrown and I hit it, it hits the fence and dies with a clunk. I round second, sliding into third. I get disgusted looks from my coachs.
“Good for nothing bitch.” He growls and I steal home, before walking half heartedly into the dug out.
“Roxanne your phone has been ringing none stop for like 10 minutes.” Taylor says worriedly and I immedaitly press it to my ear.
“Sweet…” My dad’s raspy voice sounds over the receiver.
“Yes Daddy?” I whisper shaking slightly.
“I’ll love you forever. You’ll always be my angel, my peanut, my princess. Roxanne I love you.” He coughs weakly before letting out a shuddering breath. My dad just died over the phone with me. He died.
“29 get out on the damn field!” My coach glares at me and I nod, grabbing my mitt and taking the mound. Getting scoffed at by everyone, including my mother.
I whimper silently as more names are called, I press the blade to my skin. I press it deeper and deeper. Feeling the sweet relief of physical pain. I loose count after 50 and the room is silent. Both my arms are quickly filled up so I move on to my thighs. Lacing those in cut after deep deep cut.
“ROX!” Taylor’s almost crying scream echos around the locker room. I sniffle before blindly putting my blade away. My head spinning, black creeping into the edges of my vision. Oh how I hope this it.
6/8/13