Crashing Down

Go on, do it, whispered the snide, cruelest part of my mind. No one will know, they won't care just do it, it wheedled as I stared undecidedly at the small bottle that could end it, the months of pain and depression...
No! You know they love you, and how would this help anything? argued the rational part.
"If they love me," I whispered, "they've got a funny way of showing it." I was thinking, of course, of the scars and bruises...all the tears and screaming.
And something in me snapped. I grabbed the bottle, poured out a handful of pills, and swallowed all of them.
Almost immediately, my throat clogged up. I gagged, trying to pull in a breath, but it was hopeless. The cold, cruel part of me felt a vindictive pleasure at the thought of my parents coming home drunk to find my dead body.
My vision was darkening. My mind was hazing over. At the last moment, I thought, No, wait. I want to live! Oh, why did I DO this? but it was too late.
I blacked out on the floor.
The last thing I heard was my father's scream.