Chapter 2

For the rest of the day, I paint in my room. I've only consumed a bowl of chicken soup today. I was informed earlier that my costly medical attention from the psychiatrist begins next week. I am totally taken aback by this - just blatantly frightened by talking to a doctor who is obligated to respect me as I am harmlessly prodded at the end of each session, "and remember, Amanda, starving is bad."

I am shaking in my heels.

My mother comes home from work angry with me for not doing the homework Izabel has been grabbing from my teachers all week.

"That is because it's already done." I tell her with a ballsy amount of bitch to my tone. My overall inflection mocks her stupidity and ignorance to my entire situation as I point to the stack of papers on my computer desk. I am fixed on killing myself this year. That is all I care about, day in, day out. It's been that way for six months.

Izabel enters my room, attempting to speak to me about her day but I am still furious with her.

"Do not talk to me." I cut her off mid sentence, raising my paint brush signalling her to shut up. "You are selfish for calling the ambulance. Hear me? Selfish." I spit my last words out in her direction, watching her face go from content to dispirited and crestfallen. I don't care that I am acting vile. I don't care that my younger sister of two years only wants the best for me. That if she needed to resort to anyone for emotional support, that person will never be me. I'd sooner call her a fool than offer her advice.

My mother hates me for this. I am unreasonably looking down on Izabel on a daily basis. She knows it's because she's the red-headed, green-eyed, tanned-skin multitalented one – her skills in guitar exceed mine by far, she doesn't even write but her diction conveys such raw emotion due to her beautiful spirit, her makeup skills not needing to be excellent to turn heads... the only thing I have on her is that I've published a poetry book and can paint landscapes valued at thousands of dollars. I am nothing in contrast to my sister who is a mix of my mother's best personality traits and my father's communication skills. I am a plain bitch.

"You're not the only one who's suffering." Her voice comes out in a whisper full of angst. "I failed a biology test because I couldn't focus. I couldn't stop envisioning… you on the floor gasping for breath."

She has every reason to yell at me and won't. She is weak, that is why she's suffering. It has nothing to do with my choice to end things for myself.

"Spare me." I say coldly. My eyes bore into her emotional expression, my hardened face does not change whatsoever.

She speaks again, a hint of frustration in her caring voice.

"Do you know how hard it is to tell your friends everything is okay? When your sister has attempted suicide and you can't tell anyone?"

She is stupid for having my back.

"That's your problem." I respond, completely unsympathetic and detached. The guilt that I feel deep down edges me to want to find the nearest kitchen knife and shove it through my trachea just so I can't speak any longer in such degradation to the lovely person she is.

"Parker almost broke up with me."

I freeze, my eyes glued to the wall in front of me as my back remains turned to her.

"Fuck him. He's just a stoner with rich parents. Bet he couldn't even tie his shoe laces until he was ten."

Something in the air changes at my offhanded remark.

"You, Amanda Kellerman, are the most demoralizing person I've ever met." Izabel snaps, finally at the end of her rope. "Go to hell."