To Love Preciado

I woke up in the middle of dreaming about Jaime. As much as I would love to go back to the dream, I'm not the type to sleep in late. I had almost forgotten how terrible my life is. There was no yelling when I had awoken, just peaceful thoughts, but that was about to change.

Although I wanted to stay in bed a little longer, that was not an option. If I don't cook my father's breakfast soon, he will flip shit. I threw on some clean clothes, ran down the stairs, and began to do my chores for the day. Along with doing laundry or mopping, my father likes to throw in useless tasks just to waste my time. For example, he's made me count out rocks, claiming he needed exactly 1000 for a project which wasn't true.

I cooked pancakes and served my father. As he took his plate I tried not to tremble in fear. Hopefully he wouldn't find anything wrong with the food.

"Pancakes? I don't feel like eating pancakes." He let out a dramatic sigh. "How about next time you ask me what I would like to eat! God, I swear you're good for nothing. You can't seem to do anything right around here, you're useless!" Without thinking twice, he threw his plate at my feet. As the dish made contact with the tile flooring it shattered, sending chunks and shards my way. "Forget about making me breakfast, I just want you to get the fuck out of my face." He trudged outside and opened, yet again, another beer.

I cleaned up the mess and decided to eat a few pancakes. Afterwards, I began to work towards finishing my chores as fast as possible.

A few hours passed and I finally finished folding the last of the shirts. Not only had I finished the laundry, but all my chores. Hopefully my father doesn't have anything in store for me today.

I went out back, finding my dad relaxing in the sun. "Is there anything else you would like me to do, Sir?"

"I am in no need of your service." he said, then he spit on my feet. "Instead of bothering me, go out and fucking do something. I don't care as long as I don't have to see you for the rest of the day." As I began to walk away, he called out to me once more. "Oh, I almost forgot to remind you. You're an ugly, fat pig and no one is ever going to love you."

I went inside to grab my keys, then I stormed out the front door. My father has been cussing me out and insulting me for years, but every time still hurts just as bad as the first. I jumped in the truck as the tears were streaming down my face. I decided to drive over to the nearest Walmart and just sit in their parking lot, I had to get away from my devilish father.

The engine wasn't running but I kept my music playing loud. I threw my head back, hitting the seat. I squeezed my eyes shut and brought my hands to my face to wipe my tears. Then I remembered of something I have been keeping in here for a while. I reached my hand out, opening the glovebox. After rummaging through the mess I found what I was looking for, a box of razors.

It's been several months since the last time, but the urge seems to keep growing. I used to leave markings on my thighs, markings that are now permanent. I've never done it on my wrist, but I guess there's a first time for everything. I pulled out one of the razors from the box, examining the sharp blade. I held the cool metal against my skin, not pressing down yet. Do I really want to start doing this again?

As I was about to dig into my skin, a loud knocking came from the window beside me. I jumped, luckily the blade fell out of my hand, that could've ended badly. I looked over to see Vic standing there.

I turned down the music and rolled down the window. Vic looked almost horrified, more disappointed than anything. "What are you doing, Darling?" he grabbed my hand, "You don't have to do that to yourself." He looked at my wrist, relieved that I hadn't sliced my skin.

I sighed loudly. "Get in."

Notes