Guardian Angel

A story about a sad girl who is in need of help in the most desperate way. Based off true experiences of my own, all names changed to protect privacy. This will be very sad and dark, just fair warning.


Dedicated to my own 2 Guardian Angels, Delia and Noni, who see me through to Hell's gateway and get me out the other side mostly still in one piece. I love you guys, and I don't know what I'd do without you.

Chapter 1

Angel

by: x_Lupa_x
Katrina sat locked in her bathroom, holding a razor, spinning it thoughtfully. It looked so dull and harmless, yet she knew from experience--as the scars on her arm would bear witness--that if she angled it just right, it would slice into her skin and make her bleed. The physical pain would, for a few brief, shining moments, overwhelm the emotional anguishes and she would feel just a tiny bit better for a brief measure of time.

Better from the depression that constantly darkened the world to grays and blacks, stealing life from everything.

Better from the insecurity that was only strengthened every time she glanced in the mirror.

Relieved from the pressure of constantly trying to please her father and never being good enough to meet his standards.

Freed from the stress of constantly studying and trying to do what was expected of her.

Better, for just a moment, from the constant weariness weighing down on her soul that made getting out of bed every day an incredible feat. She may even forget, for a moment, the terrible ache of loneliness that came from being depressed and feeling alone even when surrounded by people.

She felt pressure behind her eyes, hot tears pricking at the corners. Her heart grew heavy as her thoughts added weight to it. Crystals traced down her cheeks as she cried. She put the razor to her wrist and tilted it.

She winced, but she only noticed the pain briefly. When she looked at her skin, she saw a scarlet crescent had appeared on her otherwise fair skin. It was pale at first, like watered-down pink lemonade. It slowly grew darker, however, until it was crimson and trailing drops down her wrist, as though her body were weeping for her soul-deep wounds by making her physical wounds produce tears.

She made another incision and then started to move to the other wrist, when her mother pounded on the door. She cursed under her breath. Her mother did not know of her depression or her problems at school. She put a washcloth on her wrists and cracked the door open, peering out at her mother.

"What do you want?" she asked, sounding just a tad impatient, her soft voice just a bit sharper than normal.

"Your friend Michael is on the phone. He has a question," her mother whispered, holding it out to her. Katrina sighed and told her mother she would be out in a minute, shutting the door again as her mother related the information. Katrina quickly cleaned the blood on the floor and hid the razor, pulling her jacket down around her wrists.

''Just one more obligation to fulfill. All I have to do is take the call, answer whatever question he has, and then I'm done. I can finally be done, obtain peace from this daily Hell I endure called life,'' she told herself. She took a deep, fortifying breath. She had written a note explaining everything, even though she didn't think anyone would really care once she was gone.

She went out and took the phone from her mom, putting it to her ear as she walked hastily to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her. "Hello?"

"Hi, Katrina. I was just wondering...look I know everyone's been giving you a hard time lately, and I just wanted you to know, if you ever need to talk, I'm not one of those people who will judge you. I think it's cool you're so honest about it instead of lying to yourself. So...if you wanted or needed to talk, I'm here, okay?"

She felt tears pooling in her eyes and tracing down her cheeks again, but this time a smile--a real, genuine smile, not the false one she gave her mother--was spreading across her face. She had to clear her throat several times before she managed to respond, "I'll keep that in mind, Michael. Thank you." She hung up and looked at the note on her pillow.

Her conviction had wavered--she wasn't sure she could go through with it now. She had been so determined before, because she'd felt so positive nobody would miss her or care once she was gone. Now, someone--a random person--had shown her she was wrong, that people did still care about her. How could she still follow through now?

The answer was obvious. She couldn't.

She took the note and tore it in two quickly, her smile lingering and genuine for the first time in she couldn't remember how long. A spot of sunshine had appeared in the gray landscape of her life, giving her hope for the first time in months of bleak despair.

Tomorrow, at school, when people ridiculed and mocked her, Michael--her Guardian Angel--would be there to help lift her up. He would be her friend and maybe, just maybe, things would get better eventually.

She could only hope and endure. She left her room to go clean her wrists, feeling a weight lift from her soul.

''Thank you, Michael,'' she thought, ''for saving me. Thank you for being my Guardian Angel.''

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