Beautiful

Drew was a beautiful girl – inside and out.  She always was.  She had soft, shining, brown hair that fell gracefully to her shoulder blades.  She had pretty dark blue eyes which always held a kind expression.  She was very kind, although quite shy.  She was very intelligent, and most of her grades reflected that intelligence.  She was sixteen years old and a junior in high school.  She drove a red Mazda convertible and lived in a pretty little house on Martin Street with her forty-eight-year-old mother, Joyce Protsman.  Her brother, Daryl, was off at college and seldom came home, so it was just Drew and her mother in their cozy little house with tan siding and blue shutters on Martin Street in Cedar Village, Illinois.1

Joyce had been dating Jason Nichol for nearly ten months when he broke  off the relationship over a rumor.  This left Joyce quite depressed.  On top of that, it happened to be “that time of the month” again.  Perhaps that’s why she said some things to her daughter that she should not have said.2

Jodie Brewer was Drew’s best friend.  She could tell Drew was under a lot of stress.  It was unhealthy.  She’d always been on the honor roll.  She’d always been on the softball team.  She’d always been, well, great.  Suddenly, her grades were slipping.  Suddenly, she didn’t make the softball team.  Suddenly, she wasn’t good enough for her mother.  Suddenly, she didn’t have much time for her friends.  Jodie was the only friend that really stuck with her.  It was all so overwhelming.  It was all so hard.  It was unbearable.  It was driving her out of her mind.3

Drew was driving down the highway toward town.  She had decided to take a drive about the countryside to clear her head.  She didn’t see the little dog until it was almost two late.  Nearly drowning in adrenaline, she swerved.  It was then that the semi reached the top of the hill and began to descend toward her.  Again, she swerved and parked herself recklessly on the side of the road to catch her breath.4

It was a few moments before Drew returned to the road, her head anything but clear, her breath anything but caught.5

“An F?” Joyce barked when Drew stepped through the door.  She was holding a letter from Cedar Village High School.6

Drew just sighed.  This was the last thing she needed.7

“You’re grounded,” Joyce told her daughter.  “You walk to school.  You walk home.  You go nowhere else.  That is it!”8

Drew sighed again.  “Great,” she muttered.  She turned and trudged down the hall to her bedroom.  She sat on her bed and cried.9

She’d been crying regularly for a long time now.  Her friends were upset with her, her grades were falling, her mom was mad at her, she didn’t make the softball team, and she was utterly dissatisfied with herself.  She did not want to 10

cry.11

Tears already running down her face as she mentally reminded herself of every reason she had to cry, she sat against her wall and laid her face on her knees.  Gazing toward the floor, she realized her legs needed to be shaved.12

“Great,” she thought, “something to get my mind off of everything.”13

She left her bedroom for the room next door, the bathroom.  She then drew herself a bath and found a razor by the sink.  She relaxed in the warm water for a few minutes before the tears again began to fall.  Then she shaved her left leg and put shaving cream on her right leg.  As she began to shave her right leg, the razor slipped.14

As the pain shot through her, her leg dropped into the water.  Pink foam rose and thinned, and then a deep red rose from the depths of the water.  Something about this fascinated her.  She took the razor in her right hand and with it intentionally cut her left arm.  It didn’t do much, but at least it did something.  Something felt good about this.15

She then broke the razor and removed the three tiny blades.  She placed two on the floor beside the tub, but, with the third, she cut her arm again.  The pain was sharper, and the blood came faster.  She cut herself again.  She smiled.  She smiled some insane smile, and she cut her arm again.  Next, she turned her arm over so that her palm was facing upward.  Blood dripped into the murky bath water.  Drew slit her wrist.  More blood.16

There came a knock on the door.  “Drew, I need to use the pot.”17

“Just a second,” the girl replied.  Carefully, she picked up two of the little blades and dropped them into the trash can.  She strategically positioned a section of toilet paper over them.  As she dressed, she slipped the third wee blade into her front pants pocket.18

“Drew, I’m not going to wait all day,” Joyce whined.19

“Sorry,” Drew said, opening the door and stepping out.20

Upon returning to her room, Drew emptied the contents of her pocket.  She placed the razor blade on the floor along with a yellow wash cloth.21

She held the blade steady as she dragged it across her wrist.  Pain was sharp and came instantly, but she endured it and did not lift the blade from her flesh.  She was delighted to see the beads of blood materialize on the surface of her skin.  “Beautiful,” she breathed.  She cut herself again and again.  She did not wince.  After a few cuts, she stopped feeling the pain.  She made cuts all up and down her arm as every bit of stress and depression came out of her.  She periodically wiped away her blood with the yellow wash cloth she’d brought from the bathroom.  She made long cuts and short ones, some on her wrist, one on her 22

palm, many on her arm.  She laughed quietly, madly, at the dark red droplets appearing by the second upon her arm.23

She eventually grew tired, hid her supplies under her mattress, and went to sleep.24

« § »25

When Drew Awoke in the morning, she found her right arm covered in scars.  She was horrified at what she saw.  She thought back and remembered what she’d done the night before.26

“Oh, my God,” she breathed.  She could scarcely believe what had happened the previous evening.  “It’s not my fault,” she assured herself.  “It’s not my fault.”  With that, she dressed and went to school.27

« § »28

Joyce was waiting for her daughter when she walked in the door.  She grabbed Drew’s arm.  “What the hell is this?” she demanded, pointing to the scars.29

“It’s nothing,” Drew said.  “Really.”30

“Oh, this is something,” Joyce contradicted her daughter.  “Why would you go and do something like this?” she wanted to know.  “Why?”31

“Mom,” Drew started, but her mother’s hand collided forcefully with the side of her face before she had the chance to say anything more.32

“Don’t you ever – ever – do anything like this again!  Do you hear me?”  She was red in the face, not only angry, but holding back the tears as well.33

“Mom, let me explain,” Drew started, but Joyce slapped her again.34

“Go to your room!” the woman commanded.35

Drew ran, crying, to her bedroom, and, about the time she closed the door, her mother collapsed on the living room floor, bawling her eyes out.36

« § »37

Drew skipped supper that night.  She added about twenty new scars to her rapidly growing collection.  “Not my fault,” she sobbed, “not my fault.”  Her sobs soothed her to sleep, and she thought nothing more of her scars until the next day at school.38

“What’s that on your arm?” Jodie asked her friend.39

Jodie had blonde hair and brown eyes.  She was an inch taller and three months older that Drew.40

“It’s nothing,” Drew said defensively, moving away from Jodie a little, “nothing.”41

« § »42

“Damn it, Drew, talk to me!” Joyce demanded.  “This is not nothing!”43

Drew didn’t know what to say.  She didn’t know what to do.44

“Did I do something wrong?  Did I screw up somehow?”45

Drew just looked at her mother, holding back the tears.  Then, she looked away.46

Joyce, not knowing how to handle her own feelings, let her hurt and concern transform into anger.  “No,” she answered herself.  “I did nothing wrong.  No. . . . This is you.”47

This was more than Drew could take.  She ran to her room and cried.  She cried for hours, until she dropped off to sleep. . . . 48

« § »49

When Drew opened her eyes, she saw her mother coming toward her, her brown hair drenched, her green eyes afire with malice.  She was holding the small thin razor blade in her fingers.  As she neared Drew, she raised the blade.50

Drew cried out in pain as she felt the sharp metal slice her flesh.  The blade ran up and down her arm and across her hand and across her palm.  Drew began to cry under all of this pain.  She couldn’t take it.  She closed her eyes.  She clenched her fists.  She felt a fist in her face.  She felt it again and again and again.  She couldn’t open her eyes, yet she couldn’t keep them closed.  Everything was dark, and everything was pain, and pain was everything she knew . . . and then it was all gone. . . . 51

« § »52

Drew woke up in a cold sweat, face-down in her own blood.  Her lip was swollen.  She could not open her right eye.  She looked at the clock.  It was 6:49 a.m.  She went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror to see a gruesome sight.  She had a black eye and a fat lip, and her face was scarred and blistered.  The spectacle took her breath away.  She was suddenly very awake, suddenly very scared.  She closed her eyes and waited for something to happen. . . . 53

She heard the bathroom door open.  She opened her eyes to see her mother standing in the doorway holding the blade.  Fear shot through Drew’s body.54

“No,” the girl gasped, but she only watched her mother plunge the little blade into her daughter’s arm.  Blood gushed from the long, slender opening.  The woman made another cut across her daughter’s wrist.55

Drew tried to grab the blade from her mother’s hand, but the woman pulled it up and made a gash on the left side of her daughter’s forehead.56

Drew turned away and ran out the door.  She raced into her bedroom, locking the door behind her, and grabbed the phone.  She dialed Jodie’s number.57

“Hello?” said Jodie’s voice.58

“Jodie, help, my mom’s trying to kill me!”59

“What?  Drew?”60

“Call the police!  Help!”61

She turned, tripped, and fell.  The phone flew across the room and slammed into the door.  Drew hit her head on her bedpost as she fell and was knocked out cold. . . . 62

« § »63

Drew woke up in a cold metal bed.  She was dressed in a thin, white gown.  She looked around and realized she was in the hospital.64

“Oh, you’re awake,” observed a short, plump nurse with short, curly brown hair.  Fear flashed through Drew’s eyes, to which the nurse responded, “Your mother has been taken to the police station.  Your friend, Miss Brewer, is waiting outside.  She won’t be allowed to visit for a while, but I believe she’s dozing in the chair outside the door.  She brought you in here early this morning. . . . How are you feeling?”65

“I-I’m okay,” Drew stuttered.66

“Well, call me if you need me.  You’ll notice the square, red button there by your bed.”  Drew did see it.  “I’ll be back to check on you in a while.”  With that, the woman departed into the hall.67

Drew, who was still quite sleepy, rolled over painfully, closed her eyes, and fell into a sleep.68

« § »69

Jodie was awakened by the sound of her friend’s voice in the next room.70

“Help!  Help!  She’s here!  She’s trying to kill me!”71

“Oh, my God,” Jodie breathed.  She arose from her chair in the hall, sprinted to the door, and pulled it open.  What she saw shocked her beyond belief.72

“Jodie!  Help!”  Drew cried.  She was holding a razor blade in one hand and fighting that hand off with the other.  “Help me!  She’s trying to kill me!”73

The blade inched closer and closer to Drew’s neck.  Jodie was beginning to realize what was happening.  Joyce had denied Drew’s claims, claimed to have been asleep when she was found in bed.  Drew had been incredibly stressed after all.  Jodie rushed toward her friend, but she was too late.74

“Oh, my Lord,” Jodie gasped.75

“Beautiful,” cackled a voice in Drew’s head.  “Beautiful!”76

“Oh, my God,” Jodie cried.  She ran from the room.  “Help!” she cried, jogging down the hall.  “Help!  Somebody!”  Then her brain cells gathered in her head to provide her with a much better idea.  She ran back to Drew’s room.  She punched the small red button about a hundred times.77

When the nurse arrived, she too hit the red button, calling for more help.  She tore the sheets from Drew’s bed and wrapped them around the girl’s neck to help stop the bleeding.78

By the time the doctor made it to Drew’s room, the girl was already dead.  Jodie knelt, sobbing, by her friend’s side.79

« § »80

“Someone will have to call her mother,” sighed Dr. Rodgers, “well, the police station, that is.”81

Drew’s room had been cleaned up.  Drew had been cleaned up and was ready for the coroner.  Jodie had been cleaned up and was ready to go home.  She had called her mother.82

“She was a beautiful girl,” said the nurse, dabbing at her eyes, with a tissue.83

“Oh, yes,” the doctor agreed.  “Beautiful.”84