• The girl woke up early Saturday morning. It was quiet but she knew the silence wouldn't last for long. She got up from bed, yawned, and stretched. The sleeves of her nightshirt rolled back revealing arms that were scarred up all over. She picked up the remote to her T.V. and turned to channel eleven. It was a quarter to eight and Saturday morning cartoons would soon begin. The girl walked out the room and made herself some eggs and toast. She returned to her room just in time for the opening of the first cartoon.

    She sat there on her bed, eyes glued to the T.V. Here and there she would laugh softly. She was careful not to be too loud, she didn't want to disturb the rare silence that abound. This lasted for a little over an hour before her peaceful world was broken.

    It started with a small creak. A door opened in the next room over. She turned the T.V. down and was careful not to move around too much. She could hear the footsteps in the kitchen. They were light so it must be her mother. She closed her eyes tight and prayed feverishly that the woman would not open her door. It seemed God wasn't listening to her this morning.

    Her door flew open and in walked her mother. She was a little shorter than the girl and they looked very much alike but somehow she always seemed to bring fear. Her face was flushed red, her mother was drunk at this early in the morning. She uttered some unintelligible phrase and then proceeded to grab the girl by her hair. For one with such a small frame, she was exceedingly strong. She threw the girl onto the kitchen floor and kicked her in her side. The girl cried out, curling up into a ball to lessen the damage.

    "What's all the noise?" shouted a gruff male voice. Into the kitchen walked a tall man with dark skin and a rough look about him. His eyes were bloodshot and he held his head as if in great pain. "It's too damn early in the morning for this s**t!" shouted the man. "Leave the girl alone and go back to bed". The girl was grateful to him; he was her savior this morning. Her mother glared at her and then left. "Hurry up and leave, you don't need to be here when she comes back out," said her savior before heading back into the room. She got up slowly and looked at her stomach; thankfully it was just a bad bruise. A few weeks ago, the same routine had broken her ribs. She was probably too drunk to put much effort into it this morning.

    The girl ran back into her room and got dress quickly. She grabbed a few things, stuffed them into her shoulder bag and quickly left the house. Outside the cold winter wind was harsh against her bare face. She held her head down as she walked and hummed softly to herself. She knew once her mother was sober; she would apologize and treat her to a nice dinner. It was the same every Saturday. At least her mother didn’t starve her. She was that lucky.

    She finally reached her destination, a large two story house with a beautiful garden surrounding it. Her best friend lived there. She knew exactly what he would say when he saw her. He would lecture her on how terrible her mom was. Sometimes she hated him for that. She loved her mom and she knew her mom didn't mean it. She never meant it and she always apologized. He would say that she didn't have any control over her life. Of course she didn't, she wasn't old enough to have control. She was only fifteen. Her mother was good enough to let her live there, feeding her, and buying clothes for her. There was no reason why she should hate her.

    She rang the bell and waited patiently. A few moments later he opened the door and looked down at her. "You're early," he said calmly. She just nodded her head. He looked her over and then moved to the side to let her in. "You're bleeding you know." No she didn’t know.

    "Where?" she asked softly.

    "The back of your head." She touched her head and blood appeared on her hand.

    "I hit my head on the floor," she said. The boy knew that was only a half-truth but he decided not to pester her this morning. He took hold of her hand and walked her upstairs.

    "No control," he muttered. "You don’t even object when I pull you along."

    "I know you won’t hurt me," replied the girl.

    "What about her?" he asked. He was referring to her mother that was how he always referred to her. She didn't say anything. He didn't expect an answer. It was always the same. They went to his room. He left for a moment and came back with his handy first-aid kit. He pulled off her shirt and gently wrapped up her abdomen. He rinsed off the wound on her head as best as he could and wrapped that up too. He knew she should go to a hospital but she would refuse. "I at least have control over that," she said with a forced smile.

    "That isn't funny," he replied. She shrugged her shoulders and stood up.

    "Bathroom."

    "I took them all away and threw them out."

    "It doesn’t matter," she said before walking out the room. She knew where everything in this large house was. She was practically a family member. His family loved her and she loved him. They would try to convince her to leave home but she always refused. She was already a burden to her mother, why should she be a burden to other people as well? It was a kind of contradictory thought because she knew she was being a burden at the moment.

    She walked into the bathroom and locked the door. She sat down at the edge of the bathtub and reached into her pocket. The girl pulled out a slim silver blade and rolled back her sleeve. She brought the blade down over her scarred up arm, adding more to the collection. The pain seemed to ease her tension. The pain helped her forget everything else. He banged on the bathroom door and she jumped. She sighed heavily and opened it. Tears were pouring down his face when he walked in.

    This was new; he had never done this before. "What's wrong?" she asked. He grabbed her arm and held it up.

    "This is wrong, you can’t keep doing this. Doesn't she already cause you enough pain? Why do you have to add to it?"

    "You wouldn’t understand." He let go of her arm and embraced her tightly.

    "Please Angel, stop doing this to yourself. Let me take care of you."

    "I can't leave her," replied Angel.

    "Yes you can!" Angel shook her head. Her mother depended on her just as much as she depended on her mother.

    "Please stop crying for me. There are others going through worse situations."

    "But I can't help them. You're here and I can help you, why won't you let me?"

    "I don’t need your help," she replied bluntly. "Please stop." She had more control of her life than he thought. He stood up and led her back to his room. He cleaned her cuts, bandaged them and then turned the T.V. on for her. He fell asleep watching her. When he woke up she was gone. Just as he was about to walk out his room, the door flew open. His mother stood there with tears pouring down her face.

    "What’s going on?" asked the boy with concern.

    "Angel was found dead in her room over an hour ago. The police just arrived, she left you a note. You should come downstairs." The boy nodded his head and followed his mother downstairs. He was having a hard time grasping what she said. Sure enough two policemen were standing in their living room. His father and two sisters were present as well. Their eyes were brimmed with tears. "This is Alex," said his mother. One of the policemen stepped forward and handed Alex a piece of paper.

    "See Alex, I do have control over my life."