When You’re gone

There is a cold, ice like sensation as I trace the lines across my left arm. They still sting. Slightly. In the midst of all this bullshit, I can hear her. That small, innocent, childlike voice. Shouting back at me from the depths of the darkness. 'You've done it again! You said- no you promised you wouldn't'. I don't answer. I never do. She's not real, only a delusion inside my head. I'm hunched up, on the bathroom floor, eyes puffy and red. Looks like another sleepless night. 'How did I get here? At some point I fell, but when? the images abruptly flood through my head, immediately, I shut them off. Those images are the void not even I can erase. "l've had enough of this" I whisper. The house, complete silence. Everyone else is already asleep. I weakly heave myself up into a standing position, as I reach for the door. I know l'Il probably never actually get to sleep, but trying is at least better than arguing with my own thoughts. "It's time to get up" mum orders, ripping open the window curtains. The sky is covered by thick, inky dark clouds. Looks like it's going to be a gloomy day, as usual. "Ugh. Go away!" I complain, flinging the blanket over my head. I hate getting up. I'd much rather sleep all day than put up with mums crap. She's constantly nagging me, do this, do that. It never ends. She pretends not to hear me and tears off my blanket. "Enough is enough! I'm not going to let you waste away in bed all day, now get up". She storms out the door. I'm not in the mood to argue today, still exhausted from last night's crying session. I slide out of bed, and head for the door. Though, I don't get very far. I somehow end up tripping, on the pile of clothes I was supposed to pick up last week, and land fare on my ass. "For Fuck sakes" I curse. A massive overflow of emotions wash through me, and I find myself sobbing, choked out cries. "Why did you leave me?" I scream, looking up at the ceiling. "Why did you leave me when I needed you the most?" Its helpless, no use. Me, on my bedroom floor, bawling my eyes out. It's pathetic. I sit up, scooch backwards and lean up against the frame of my bed. "Why?" I repeat in a softer tone. It's been hard for all of us, but for me, it's been harder. I was there that night; mum often seems to forget that. Watching your own brother, top himself, that's not something that's easy to forget. The barrel of the gun, brought up to his temple. Hir mouthing the words, "I love you", his eyes were empty, like there was nothing there but a deep, dark abyss. I lost a part of myself that night, maybe even more. I pick myself up off the floor, wipe the sleeve of my shirt across my eyes and proceed out the door. Mum and dad are both sitting silently at each end of, what was once called, the family dining table, when I enter the room. They are accompanied by a short, plump lady, most likely in her early 30s. A thick, black knitted beanie is covering her head, she wears a black short sleeved tee, with the logo 'Off the track' printed on it in white. Placed on the table in front of her, is a basic notebook and pen. "Sit down Cherie" dad orders, no emotion