I angrily stomped my foot on the sidewalk, water running down my cheek. Was I crying? I didn't exactly know cause it was raining. The skys turned dark and soon more water fell. The wheels of a longboard were clickering against the sidewalk, making me walk faster.

That was my brother.

My breath was labored, from anger to frustration and sadness. We were waiting at a community park right next to our school for about 15 minutes, watching a light rain come and go. My brother had his phone, while I didn't even get one. I begged and wished for one, my father had promised to get me one on chistmas, but he had passed away in the middle of August.

It hurt.

My brother soon got a call from my mother, who reported we had to walk. I usually walked with my friends, but they all left.

Now I'm in this situation.

"Leave me alone.." I mutter, feeling warm water on my cheek. Now that was a tear. I hear the longboards wheels squeak making my headache pound. Im gonna guess it was from the anger I was in.

"I can't." My brother muttered, a bit louder. I clenched my fist, knuckles turning white.

This has happened multiple times. Him pestering me that I cant walk alone. The quietness made me calm, it made me happy. My friends kept me company and I didn't need the quiet.

I suddenly started walking faster, and the tears strolled down faster as well. I started crying.

And he didn't give a damn.

He just scoffed and muttered something, probably "crybaby"

I wasn't in the mood today. Some girls in my 7th period all laughed at me and closed my book everytimed it opened. They would steal my bookmark and giggle annoyingly. "Reach for the stars!" They would say, over and over again. How about I reach into my pants and pull out my pocket knife.

Its true. I always had a pocket knife with me. it was my fathers, and he gave it to me when I turned 9.

Thats when the cutting started.

There were some hints that I did have scars. My flannel was always down, never rolled up sleeves. I hid my neck with necklaces so they wouldn't see cuts and bruises from long ago, when I first tried suicide. I sniffled a bit, recalling the memory.

I was never trusted.

When we reached the outskirts of my neighborhood, my brother rode up ahead, not even giving me his code word.

He would always do a finger gun and point it torwards me, saying "don't knock down!"

We haven't done that in years.

It stopped when I was 7. I was hanging upside down from the couch,  when suddenly my brother slinged me off it. He then repeatedly kicked me, causing bruises to appear. He would finally stop when he saw my nosebleed. Then he'd come face to face with me, smirking widly.

"You look like a pig right now. You always have. You think mami and papi love you? You were a mistake and always will be."

He would kick me one last time and spit his cherry gum out.

My mother would always find me, treating to my wounds. She helped my dad in his daily work, which was Dialysis. He had a kidney disease and my mom helped him.

She would pester me on and on about what had happened, but I would stay shut. I knew she didn't care. Thats what my brother always told me anyway.

She would take me to the therapist weekly, trying to see if that would make me spill it out. I finally decided on what to say.

"I was eating and my dog suddenly pounced on me and attacked." My 8 year old self would say, smiling.

They fell for it.

My dog was soon given away and I would share my huge german shephard with my dad. She was a retired service dog that we love to death.

I loved my life.

I finally made it home, unlocking the door and stomping to my bedroom. Well, not exactly my bedroom. Me and my mother shared a king sized bed. I used to sleep in my grandmas room.

That was before my father had died.

Now I sleep on his side. It hurt when I had to open his closet, take all his clothes and wash it for him. He loves it cleaned daily.
I swinged my backpack onto the bed, almost breaking a candle. I looked at a small little box, with a candle and the Guatemalian flowers.

My dad.

When I turn 18, I will get a necklace with his ashes. It made me smile, thinking about how I'll finally feel his touch, his hugs, his voice everywhere I went.

I got my tablet and earphones and walked into the bathroom. I closed the door and locked it.

Thats when tears started falling off my face.

I was always a huge crybaby. I cried everyday for no reason.

Whenever my dad found me crying, he wouldn't say anything.

He would just hold me and sing a song to me.

It was our favorite song, really. It was by Bruno Mars and it meant the world to us.

"You can count on me... like one, two, three... I'll be there.."

I sniffled and let the last tear fall before I got my tablet. Hundreds of notifications came, and I sighed quietly. I checked my instagram, then deviantart. I came to Wattpad.

A home. An original home. I met people here. Wonderful people.

I clicked on it and made a new story.

"And its gonna be a real story.." I muttered before typing down all my thoughts and memories of what happened today.