1st 5 Pages July Workshop - Murphy Rev 2

Julie Murphy
Young Adult
I Hate My Life

Lexie squatted by the cabinet and pulled out the gift box that held her razor blades. Eyes closed, she told herself, don’t do this; the relief doesn’t last. Her fingers itched to reduce the pain.

Overwhelmed by the sadness inside her, Lexie looked at the bathroom door and wished for the millionth time that it locked. She held her breath and let it out in a big whoosh.The sadness was so deep she didn’t know how far down it went.

Lexie held the razor blade tightly in her left hand and looked at her soft inner thigh. She made a tentative scratch. No blood came. Her breath came in jagged gasps. The only way to make the sadness stop for a while was to make the cut hurt.  She stuck the point deeper into the flesh. The scratch began to bleed. Lexie focused her eyes and concentrated on the small drop of blood. A warmness started in her stomach like a swallow of mom’s hot chocolate. She half grimaced and half smiled. The pain from the cut felt exhilarating. She timed it. After five minutes, the feeling of warmth and exhilaration faded.

A noise came from the bedroom; Angel’s whiny voice intruded.

“Stay out of the bathroom, Angel. Don’t you dare open that door.”

“I just came to get my Princess Belle doll. Don’t be such a big grump.”

Lexie hurried to clean up. She looked at the bathroom door. Quickly she wadded up the bloody toilet paper, checked the cut once more and flushed the paper down the toilet. This was the deepest cut she had made in two months. Lexie didn’t like to cut that deep; she didn’t want scars, just scratch marks.

Angel’s footsteps faded away. Lexie groaned when shame and despair flashed through her in jagged bursts like the lightening from the winter storm outside.

Lexie walked to her dresser, opened the third drawer, and reached under her underwear to grasp a parquet box. She lifted its lid and picked up the old newspaper article on top. It was dated March 3, the day after her birthday. The front-page headline read: Baby Girl Abandoned at Local Hospital. Lexie unfolded the creased paper. She slid her fingers over the page, pausing over the crinkles to smooth them out. The words blurred. She fought back tears. Oh my God, the sadness rolled over her like a really big wave at high tide on Folly Beach. Lexie folded the paper, laid it on top of her baby cap in the box, and returned the box to its safe place.

Lexie sat on the green and yellow bedspread. She picked up her iPhone. She played this game with herself where she typed in random numbers, pressed Send, and waited for a response. She prayed some pervert would get the number and come kill her. She wished she had never been born. Lexie confided in Kelsey several times in the last few years that it bothered her that she didn’t look like she belonged in her  her family. Every time, Kelsey’s responded, “that’s silly.” Lexie kept her feelings to herself.

Lexie surveyed the mess of the room she shared with her sister, Angel. Angel moved into Lexie’s room after Damon came to live with them. Lexie uncurled her legs. Pacing the room, she glowered at the chaotic debris Angel left. Scattered crayons, random papers, and Angelina Ballerina books littered the desktop. Lexie shuddered when she looked into the open door of the closet: cluttered shoes and sweaters and dresses never hung up. She crinkled her nose and sniffed. It smelled like dirty sneakers and baby powder. How can a seven year old have smelly feet? She hated a messy room.

With increasing agitation, Lexie stuffed the crayons into the pencil box, gathered all the papers and threw them in the trashcan, stacked the books on the top of the book case jam packed with Lexie’s book, and slammed the closet door.

Lexie found her drawings from art class under all Angel’s books and mess. Mrs. Anderson really liked the picture of the blue heron flapping its wings and the the sunset over the marsh. She thought touching up the background trees might lighten her mood. Lexie held the drawing in her hand and made no move to bring out her art supplies safely tucked away in her back pack. It was too much trouble. The drawing rejoined the others that needed work.

Lexie stopped her frenzy of restoring order to her room, brief though the order would be. It seemed so unfair that Angel took over her bedroom. Mom didn’t make Angel do her part. She was too busy with Damon and work. Kelsey had a boy friend, and didn’t have time for her anymore. She wished the unfinished space over the garage would be finished. Mom and Dad promised her that construction would start in January. She fantasized about her new suite: bedroom, art studio, and bathroom with hot tub.

Overwhelmed her by pain and numbness, she thought about her life: adopted, didn’t look like her mom, dad, and Angel, their precious biological baby. She had no privacy. Kelsey, her best friend, was involved with Logan. Feelings of loneliness, anguish and self-pity swept her like a brief but powerful summer thunderstorm swept through the Lowcountry. She could not bear this pain anymore.

Mom’s voice intruded, “Alexis, supper is almost ready. Come set the table.”

“Why can’t Angel ever do any chores. She’s old enough to set the table.” She walked into the kitchen.

“What did you say?” asked her mother in a sharp voice.

“Nothing.” She grabbed four plates.

She stopped at the high chair to greet Damon, her adopted baby brother. “Hi, Bubba,” she cooed at the two-year-old who looked back at her with solemn eyes. She rubbed his thick wavy hair, and then patted down her own bushy dark hair.

Damon burst into a chorus of gibberish, gestured to Lexie while she placed the plates and silverware on the table. She handed him a spoon and he began to bang on the tray of his high chair. The puppy darted from under the table and ran into the other room. She grinned at the laughing baby. “Baby Bro, when will you learn to speak English so we can understand you?”

“The people at the orphanage spoke only Haitian Creole to him, so it may take him more than two months to learn English.” Mom laughed. “By the way, I have a doctor’s appointment for him on Wednesday. I need you to watch Angel for me when you get home from school. It’s so hard to take her with us.”

Mom added chopped up tomatoes to the growing bowl of salad. “Get the blue bowl for the corn, please.”

Lexie stood on tiptoes to reach the bowl. She dropped to her feet, slammed the cabinet door, and banged the bowl on the granite counter top. She winced at the loud noise and glanced toward her mother. She quickly dumped the corn and placed the bowl on the table.

Mom chopped the carrots with such force that ends flew off the cutting board. She grabbed them and threw them in the sink. Not