The Suicide Diary by Kirsten Rees

spat the word out) beat you and tried to force himself on you." It wasn't a question; his eyes were incredulous because he knew that I was genuinely sorry he had to be involved. His eyes left my face and swept over my arms, a wistful look on his face.
    "Please, tell me what it is exactly that you possibly could have done to deserve this?!" he said, his eyes wide and searching mine. I sighed, about to begin the excuses I always gave myself but something stopped me; I had been reciting them over and over like a script.             
    "Just take me home please." I pleaded, still not meeting his eyes.
    I stared out of the window but nothing registered. It seemed like hours passed and then suddenly the passenger door pulled open and Anthony was tentatively reaching for me, helping me out of the car. I don't remember walking up the drive or the words he said to me before heading back to his car. I stopped in the porch to collect myself. I pulled a compact mirror from my bag and stood for a few moments in the semi-darkness wiping my tear stained cheeks and the dried blood from beneath my mouth. I couldn’t see the bruises on my arms, but I could feel them there so I grit my teeth as I slid into my jacket.
    I didn’t dare turn on the light in case I woke anyone upstairs so I crept quietly upstairs in the dark, whispered 'goodnight' to my Mother and made my way to my room. As soon as my door closed behind me all sense of awareness faded. I can't remember if I changed into pyjamas or fell into bed fully dressed.
    The following day I woke sometime in the late morning after a night of broken sleep. I didn’t want to wake up if all that was on offer was pain, and I fought with myself to go back to sleep but my mind refused. I lay flat on my back, breathing slowly and carefully, gasping through gritted teeth each time my ribcage rose and fell. The house was still so I climbed slowly out of bed, trying not to move more than necessary.
    I knew my Mother had plans with my Grandmother and my brothers were going to be out all day; Matthew with his girlfriend Anna, and Joshua was making the most of his last few weeks of the summer holidays with his friends.
    Turning on the shower, I stepped under the warm water to wash the blood from my hair and body and watched silently as the water at my feet turned red. Wrapping a towel around my bruised body, I retraced my steps back to my room. The pillowcase resembled a watercolour with the blood-stained patterns. It took nearly half an hour to strip and remake my bed. I almost couldn't bear to see my reflection, but I needed to see the damage in order to engineer a believable story for my family.
    The brutal reflection in the mirror stared back at me. My muscles ached, my shoulder felt jarred and despite not waking until the afternoon I was exhausted. The blood had come from my lip and a cut on my head where I'd banged it during my fall to the floor. The girl in the mirror looked pale and tired and the marks on her body were turning an almost pretty shade of bluish-purple.
    I had given myself to him and he had said he loved me but I’d angered him so much he had made me bleed. Did I make him do this - I asked myself the same questions over and over and in the years after I was never wholly convinced I wasn't somewhat to blame.
    I crawled back into bed and a small part of me never resurfaced. The next few days are a blur. The only thing I remember clearly is the pain - every breath felt like a blow. A fall down the stairs was my plausible cover story for the bump to the head and the aches and I grumbled about it sufficiently enough that it wouldn't seem as if I was hiding anything, but then not so much that a hospital visit would be required.
    Thankfully the party had been at the weekend and I wasn’t due in my part-time job until Thursday so I had a few days to recover at least and on my first day back I swallowed painkillers at every four hour intervals. For over a week after I managed to