#mykyta

God fucking damnit.

Of course my mom's upset at me. Again. I did nothing. All I did was tell her I didn't want to be in a picture with my stupid fucking sister. And I can still hear her angrily mumbling in the kitchen.

I'm so fucking done with this stupid house. And you know what? Maybe what she said about me is true. She's right. I should be dead by now. She even wished I was.

I slammed my door and sank onto my bed, shoving my head into my hands. What was wrong with me? With her? With this stupid fucking family?

Why was my sister the point of all attention? And what was so wrong about me that my mom had to remind me how much she wished I was dead?

I grabbed a pack of cigarettes from my drawer. My mom didn't like the smell of cigarettes, but she never liked me anyways, so it's whatever if I do one more thing that she despises.

I lit one, and brought it to my mouth. The smoke filled my lungs and my head felt light after a bit.

You know what. Maybe I should just take care of the work myself. So my mom won't have to kill me. I'll just do it myself.

I'll fulfill the wish she's prayed for since I was 7.

I got up and yanked an old Lidl bag from the corners of my room, and dumped all of my personal things into it. The bag crinkled under the weight, and I headed outside my room.

As soon as I came downstairs, I spotted my mother and she immediately locked eyes with me, and an angry scowl painted onto her face.

"And where do you think you're going, brat?"

"Somewhere you'll never see me again." I hissed, yanking the car keys from the table.

"If you're going out that door, don't think you're coming back i-"

I slammed the door. Yeah, right. As if I was planning to come back to that shithole.

I forced my mom's car door open, threw the bag into the backseat, and got inside the driver's seat. Sure, I had no license, but who gave a fuck? It wasn't like I'd be alive for prison to take me. I lit another cigarette, throwing my other one out the window, and shoved the keys into the ignition. The engine roared to life as I turned the keys and I pushed my foot onto the gas pedal. The car turned out of the driveway and began driving down the neighborhood.

My plan? Well. There was a highway not too far from my neighborhood. That highway will be the last thing that sees me.

I never cared about my life, anyway. If my mom wanted me dead so much as she says, which happens to be every fucking time I did something wrong, then so be it. So I'll steal her car and crash it into the water.

Turning out of the street, I pushed down on the gas pedal harder, the speedometer's pointer slowly reaching over to 200. It didn't even feel that fast. My thoughts were blank, set on my objective. I swerved onto the highway and-

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What am I doing? Why am I doing this?

There was a sudden spike of anxiety in my chest. What was happening? I- I just wanted to- Fuck. I slammed my foot onto the brakes, but the car didn't stop. Shit. Fuck. Mom did say she never got the brakes fixed on this thing.