My Saving Grace

August 29, 2012

Life was absolutely terrible. I had no one, Max fucked off to Seattle, dad died, mom married stepdick. Everyone hated me. The thing is, until I met my angel, I had no one. David Madsen made my life miserable. And speaking of names, such as David, I need to introduce myself.

My name is Chloe Price, also known as ‘Slut’, ‘Whore’, ‘Punk Ass Bitch’, etc. I’m mainly known in this shithole called a town for being an absolute asshole, and basically saying ‘fuck the rules’ to everything, and doing whatever the fuck I want. I’m seriously sick of this. No one cares, and that hurts my heart. Dad didn’t care, or else he wouldn’t have gotten in that car, and neither did Max, as she hadn’t contacted me after she moved. Hella fucking gay on her part.

All this brought me to the cliff overlooking the sea, the one by the lighthouse. I was going to jump. Life was useless, all I wanted to do was just be with dad again. No one wanted a useless punk like me. Not mom, or else she wouldn’t have remarried, not David, or else he would actually treat me like an actual human being, and not fucking Max, or else she would have called me or at least texted me a fucking emoji or two.

I sighed, taking the cigarette I had been smoking out of my mouth, coughing the smoke. I wanted my last moments to be the best of my life. I sighed, taking another one out, lighting it, and taking a long drag on it once more. I then took it out, and flicked both into the ocean below. I sighed, then walked to the cliff, and pulled out the waterproof envelope I had used.

“To whoever finds me, give this to mom.” I sighed, and then put it back in my coat pocket, walking to the edge.

Here goes.”

I felt a hand touch my shoulder. A hand cold, yet oddly satisfying. The touch felt amazing. I turned, and snarled.

“What the fuck do you want?”

The girl was blonde, and breathtakingly gorgeous. She had a blue feather earring in her right ear, and wore a plaid jacket, black T-Shirt, and ripped jeans, and I could tell she was my type. A thrasher.

“The weather’s beautiful today, isn’t it?”

She was absolutely hypnotizing me, she looked and hell, even sounded like an angel. But I quickly snapped out of it, and turned back to the cliff, annoyed that she tried to interrupt this.

“Hey, I know what you’re about to do, and I’m going to tell you something. It’s not worth it. Your parents love you, you have so much to live for. Why would you waste it on this?”

I sighed, and looked down.

“Because no one actually cares about me. My best friend fucked off to Seattle, and my dad is dead, and my mom remarried to a fucking asshole.”

“Well, look for the positives? Are there any?”

“No. There isn’t. No one cares about me.” I sighed, and turned around, looking at her.

“Well, is there anything you’re going to do? Are you going to Blackwell?” Before I could answer, she went on, “I am, for photography. Oh my Goood, the photography teacher, Mark Jefferson, is soooo fucking hot!”

“I don’t care about the hot photography teacher, but yes, I am going. For science, although I’m going to suck at it too… God damn it fuck off.”

“Hey… Maybe the reason you’re going to jump is because you’re lonely. I could be your friend. No one deserves to be alone.”

“You actually mean it? You aren’t going to abandon me like everyone else?”

“No, I won’t. Besides, we can be more than friends, if you want.” She winked, and I sighed.

“Thank you. What’s your name?”

She smiled, pulling me away from the edge, “Rachel. Rachel Amber. And you?”

“Chloe Price, at your service.”

“Well, Chloe.” Rachel got up on her toes, and kissed me. Full on. I kissed her back, and smiled.

“Thank you… Really.”

She lead me to a bench, and I sighed, taking out the letter, and tearing it up. She smiled.

“Waste of paper, but as long as it’s not going to hold a suicide note, I’m fine with it.”

“Well, Rachel.” She smiled, and kissed me. I met her full on, and we started to make out, and with every move she made on me, my passion for life was slowly reignited.

Leave a Reply

Notify of

People Who viewed ThisX

Skip to toolbar