Reasons To Live by Sara Khalil (most read books TXT) 📕

Introduction

I don't really know when it all started.

I can remember feeling this way when I was really young ... maybe in first or second grade. At least that's as far back as I can remeber. There isn't a day ... or even a moment that I don't think about it. I guess I just learn to suck it up and try to forget .. like always.


I put on my comfy white sneakers and head out the door with a heavy book bag weighing me down. I look back at my house, like I always do. The chipped red paint and the unattended bushes made it look unapproachable and a little scary. The old rusted gate creaked slightly when I forced it open just enough for me to slide through. The moon shone bright in the sky, guiding me through the empty and haunting streets.
I didn't know where exactly I was running to, I just knew I had to get out. I had to run away if I were to even think about living. Living in that house ... isn't really living. It's being locked up under strict supervision. Being or not being; meeting or not meeting the set priorities and expectations of myself. It's like being a butterfly locked away, cursed to never see or feel the rays of warm and embracing sun.
So I wander along Central Avenue feeling alone and utterly hopeless. I keep hoping for a guardian angel or a sign of any sort telling me that I belong in this world, that I deserve to live. I keep running the scene of what just happened over and over again in my over energetic mind. At one point when I saw the flashing light of SubWay I couldn't take it anymore. I stopped walking as the air was drained from my lungs, I couldn't breathe. The street lights looked farther and farther away. The last thing I saw before I passed out was the ash colored broken sky. How perfect that seemed at the moment.


In my foggy memory, I remember hearing sirens. Shouts of distress, calls for help. Ii woke up in a hospital, I hate the smell. The plain walls and sickly smell made me want to just go back to sleep and never wake up. There was a knock at the door and a nurse walked in. She was pretty; long brown hair, green eyes, and an olive skin tone. She smiled at with her heavily pink lipstick coated mouth.
"Oh hey honey, you finally 'wake? You been knocked out for hours. I was wonderin' when you was goin' wake up." She rambled on and on about random things, like the weather and how much I reminded her of Angelina Jolee. She was oblivious to the fact that I wasn't really listening. I was too busy thinking. I just stared at her until she finally left.
I didn't really know where I was, area wise. I got out of bed and looked out the window. I was on the first floor, downtown by the looks of the area. I grabbed my clothes off the beige shelves beside the window. I nearly ripped off my hospital gown and slipped into my jeans and a baggy t-shirt. I found my shoes on the other side of my bed and slipped them on. I opened the window and far as it would go and the alarm went off.
Startled, I jumped out not bothering to look for my bag. I ran and ran as far as I could until I just couldn't push myself any further. I hid behind a dumpster in the nearest alley. I finally snapped and broke down crying. I cried until all I could do was hiccup. I wiped my face on my t-shirt and tied my hair with a ponytail holder I found in my jeans pocket. I heard footsteps and I looked up, embarrassed that I was caught being so disgustingly weak and pathetic.
"Hey, you okay?" A boy about my age asked. He was light skinned, good looking, and tall. He looked like someone I couldn't trust.
"I'm all good ... " I mumbled, looking at the ground.
"Who are you lying to; me or yourself?" That was all he said, but it hit hard. Like he already knew and understood everything ... like I wasn't alone anymore. It's kind of funny, huh? How you're whole perspective of life and living could change because of one sentence. And from a complete stranger. I guess it is funny ... 'cause that's exactly what happened.

Chapter One: Three Years Later

I want to live.

That's what I learned when I walked myself back home that day.But I'm not really sure anymore. Three years is a long time to hold onto a seemingly impossible dream. After all, I was only thirteen at the time. I was still naive.


"How does that make you feel?" My therapist, Pat asked.
"Like crap!" I yell. She was bringing this subject up a lot lately, me being an on and off drug addict at the age of sixteen. You know, it's not as uncommon as she thinks.
"Uh huh, so why do you do it then?" She asks, jotting things down in her notepad.
"Why does every drug addict do drugs? To have fun!" It was a lie though, and I'm pretty sure she didn't believe it either. I didn't do it because it was fun. I did it to forget everything .. to be without a care even for a minimum amout of time. I almost start crying but I stop myself. You're not weak!, I chant in my head, along with the rhythm of my heart trying steadily to slow itself down. "To forget . . ."
"But what I'm trying to understand is what you want to forget." She said, looking me in my deep brown eyes with concern written all over her face. But I can't say anything. I want to, but the words are stuck in my throat and I start hyperventilating. The walls are closing in and I barey hear Pat telling me to calm down.
After what seems like eternity, I calm down. But just as Pat is about to ask me another question, the alarm dings, concluding today's session. I leap out of my seat and bolt out the door with a faint shout of goodbye.


Waking up the next morning was horrible. I woke up groggy with a headache from all the asprin I took. Attempting to sit up on my futon resulted in me landing on the floor, not really wanting to get up. I fell back asleep on the wooden floor until my dog came barging in and started licking my face.
"Aww Baby, get off me!" I yelled. Yes, I named my dog Baby. Get over it (Haa). I pushed my giant black lab away so I could somehow manage to stand on my numb legs. I walked down the hall and into the kitchen with Baby skipping happily beside me. I don't get how that's possible, a dog skipping. I guess it's what you could say she was doing. Heck I don't know, I'm not a dog specialist.
I walked over to fridge and opened it, doing a scan of it's contents, acting like I was really interested in eating anything it had to offer. I shut the fridge door with a sigh. I turned around to the sight of Baby panting at me with a lopsided grin, tongue hanging out and all. I can't help smiling at her, which makes her tail go ballistic. I pet her softly on the head, not wanting to be too rough with her.
She whines when I stop petting her to walk back to my room. I change out of my boxers and tank top into some black jeans and a white Aero shirt. I grab my black Aero sweater and slip on my comfy white shoes. I comb my hair out as I walk back down the hall into the kitchen to find my bag. I finish tying my hair in a high ponytail when I finally find my bag under my dog.
"Aw Baby! Get off my bag! Off, off!" I make hand gestures at her trying to mime what I want her to do when I finally give up and pull my bag out from underneath her. Finally, with bag in hand, I leave the house. But I don't run this time. I know it's pointless. I shut the screen door behind me and squint up at the burning sun. I find my shades in my bag and put them on, comfortably looking at my surroundings without the sun bothering me.
I go down the small walkway leading to the metal fence and open the rusted gate, and slide myself through. I walk down the sunny and strangely inviting street, breathing in the air of limited freedom. I walk down Central Avenue to a bus stop. I sit on the bench, waiting for the bus to arrive, it was always late. 15 minutes or so passed when the bus finally halted to a stop in front of me. I grabbed the $2.00 out of my pocket and a few coins just incase I didn't have enough.
I boarded the bus and put my money in the money slot next to the driver. He just grunted in response. I looked around and found only one open space. It was next to a light skinned, good looking guy. He looked older than me, maybe by a year or two. I walked up to his seat and asked if I could sit next to him. He just looked at me and said with a dazzling smile,
"I don't own this bus. Anyone can sit here."
So I sat there, all the while thinking. He seemed familiar somehow. There was somthing about the air around him that drew me in. Made me feel scared yet safe, if that was possible. I noticed that his eyes were green, like light emerald. And the my brain suddenly turned itself on to the night I ran away three years ago. The alley . . . that boy. I gasped.
"Oh my god, it's you." I said, slightly breathless. He just looked at me, knowingly and smiled.

Chapter Two: Flashback

His name was Marcus, and he was perfect.

He made me laugh. Like honest to God laughing, not the polite giggle you do so people don't feel bad if their jokes aren't the slightest bit amusing. I swear I could feel my heart sing and a hole was torn down in my wall, sunshine beginning to peak through just a bit. It was a little, but it would be a lot in the long run. He was sweat, giving me a simple compliment that lasted in my heart through the whole day. Was he my sign?

I gave him my number to call me. Days went by and I still didn't hear from him, not a word. And it was torture, he was all I