Never Cherished

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Chairty Moore was raised by her mother her whole childhood growing up, and they had a close relationship. Due to Chairty's father being a deadbeat, he wasn't in her life and never has been and she was perfectly fine with that. In fact, she was more than fine with that-- all she needed was her mother who was actually more like a best friend to her. But things started spiraling out of control after she watched her mother die in an unexpected car accident when she was just eleven years old. Since she no longer had her mother, she had nobody to take care of her, and so her long-time-no-see father was sent to watch over her until her aunt Ruby was able to take her in. But when her father starts being a jerk and she didn't feel safe around him anymore she became depressed, insecure, and not able to trust anybody except one person and that person was her forever best friend, Jarred. But what happens when.......... DUN DUN DUN.
Read the story to find out more! :)

Submitted: June 07, 2014

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Submitted: June 07, 2014

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** Chairty Moore was raised by her mother her whole childhood growing up, and they had a close relationship. Due to Chairty's father being a deadbeat, he wasn't in her life and never has been and she was perfectly fine with that. In fact, she was more than fine with that-- all she needed was her mother who was actually more like a best friend to her. But things started spiraling out of control after she watched her mother die in an unexpected car accident when she was just eleven years old. Since she no longer had her mother, she had nobody to take care of her, and so her long-time-no-see father was sent to watch over her until her aunt Ruby was able to take her in. But when her father starts being a jerk and she didn't feel safe around him anymore she became depressed, insecure, and not able to trust anybody except one person and that person was her forever best friend, Jarred. But what happens when.......... DUN DUN DUN. **

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Never Cherished

My story is a very sad, intense one indeed.  It sort of just puts me back into another big depression telling you all about it, but I just felt like sitting down here in this big comfy spin around chair and writing my life story down onto paper and then typing it out and sharing it with all of you amazing people.  Why you ask?  Well, because everybody has something that they need to get off of their chest—and this is my weight that needs to be lifted off before I can ever attempt to be happy again. I think that sharing it with you guys might help my self-confidence and lift the whole world off of my shoulders once and for all—so here goes nothing!

Not that any of this matters, but my name is Charity Moore and I am currently nineteen years old.  I am not in college, and I do not plan on going anytime soon. For your information I do know how lazy and irresponsible of me that may sound (if you were a nice person, however, you wouldn’t make assumptions about me or judge me) but the truth is that I do not want to be around people whatsoever, I’d rather stay locked away in my bedroom for the rest of my life and stay clear from all of the stupid people in this cruel, hateful world. Now you all probably think I’m one of those “people haters”—but to be honest, all people do is hurt me and let me down and I REFUSE to let that happen to myself again. So, what have I done to make sure that my heart doesn’t get ripped out of my chest and stomped into the ground for the thousandth time? Well, I did the only thing I could do, which was shutting myself out from all people except for my two year old cat, Peanut Butter.

One late night, a couple months back, I was walking home from the Super Target store here in Colorado, when I began to hear a faint cry out for help pierce though the quiet night air. The crying (or, what sounded more like whimpering) grew louder with every second that passed by. Finally, after about five minutes or so I finally worked up enough courage and decided to go check out who (or what) needed help.  Even though in the back of my mind I was terrified to go investigate the sound for fear of my life because there were all kinds of crazy people that lived up here—but my heart wouldn’t let me just turn around on my heel and walk away.  If somebody needed help, I was going to help and that was that.

I knew what I had to do.

So here I am walking down the street with my head held high and my “I can do it, I’m not scared” mindset pounded into my brain. I’m not scared.  I’m not scared.  I had to keep telling myself that because if I didn’t I would be terrified out of my mind.  I think the thing that kind of put me off ease the most was the fact that I didn’t know what I was walking towards, for all I knew it could have been some vicious man eating animal or murderous person. Halfway down the street, and standing next to the stop sign I look over to my right and spot something small but round laying on the ground. I could still hear the thing laying there whimpering more loudly than ever. One step, two step, three step, four. All I needed to do was take a couple more steps to reach it. You can do it, Charity. I had to keep encouraging myself to urge myself forward towards whatever it was that was crying out. Put on your big girl pants and take a few more steps.

With four more large, spaced out steps farther I finally found the (so I called it) “vicious” animal that was in need of my help.  Taking a closer look, I saw that it was just a poor, helpless, hurt kitten. You were afraid of a little kitten, Charity—get a grip on yourself, you big baby. The kitten was grey with a white tiger-striped face. The most adorable kitten EVER. I immediately spotted blood that was gushing buckets out of its back left leg, and then soon after that I noticed a small portion of its leg bone sticking out. So, that is where the blood must have been pouring out of, duh! I also noticed that the poor cat’s jaw seemed to be broken, how sad. But the thing that popped out the most was that there were (or, what looked like) tire tracks across this kittens body. How rude and coldhearted could somebody be to run over a baby kitten? Gosh, freaking idiots!

Wiping away the few tears that had ran down my cheeks, I then gently scooped the injured, uncomfortable, bleeding baby kitten up into my arms and quickly ran as fast as I could back to my aunt’s house while I kept looking down at the baby kitten along the way and making sure it was still doing okay. I couldn’t help but to look down at the innocent, young baby kitten and whisper the words “You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” Finally, after what seemed like forever, I finally reached my aunt’s house. Her house was made from red bricks on the outside, and very spacious and gorgeous on the inside. I flung open the door with a swift, hard push. Running into the living room with the limp baby kitten in my arms, I grabbed the phone off of the charger and dialed the local vets office.

I explained to them how urgent this was, and that the baby kitten needed to get there NOW. There was no waiting, there could be no waiting. Once at the vet’s office he had confirmed that this kitten had indeed been ran over by a car, and that it was lucky to have survived. He put a small cast on the kitten’s broken leg, and snapped its jaw back into place. He also informed me that it was a little boy and that he was roughly ten months old. I had saved this poor kitten’s life. After a few weeks the miracle kitten was back to his normal self. I couldn’t give this kitten away, I just couldn’t.  I was too attached to it after rescuing it and nursing it back to health. He was mine, all mine. I decided to name this little cutie Peanut Butter (I decided this just because of the fact that I absolutely loved Peanut butter) and he has been my best friend ever since. Through all the rough times, he has always been the one to stick by my side. He made sure that I always felt loved by him even when I didn’t feel loved by the ones who should have loved me the most.

This is the story of how I wound up with my little furry friend. Now, onto my crazy, tragic story. I grew up in a small town called Crested Butte in Colorado and I came from a broken home. I only ever lived with my wonderful mother, Lillian. My father, whose name was Don, was a man with no mind. When I say this, I mean it sarcastically—he actually was just immature and took no responsibilities and lived his life as if he was still a teenager instead of a thirty-some year old man with a child. Don (I don’t usually call him my father, because he means nothing to me) is what you’d call a “deadbeat dad”, and I mean nothing to him as he does to me. He couldn't have cared less about me, and I haven’t seen him since I was one year old and still in diapers. Since it’s been so long that I’ve seen him I don’t really know what he looks like (besides what he looks like in his profile picture on Facebook—but for all I know he could of just put up some random picture of some other guy and pretended that it’s him) and since I look barely anything like my mother (besides having her ears and lips), I probably look a lot like him. I am ashamed to say that I look anything like him, because I do not want to be anything nor look anything like that idiot. He can go fall in a hole and get trapped down there forever for all I care. He is and never has been nothing to me. But hey, look on the bright side… it’s his loss, not mine, so it’s all on him. Let’s forget about Don, because I want to tell you about my amazingly amazing mother.

There are not enough words in the world that I could even begin to try and use to describe her. She is most definitely one in a million. I have no idea how somebody like myself was so incredibly blessed to be given somebody like her as a mother. She was tall, thin, and had brown hair that fell a couple inches past her shoulders. She usually wore her hair in gorgeous, bouncy, big curls that made everybody ask her how she got such perfect curls (and you could tell just by their faces how jealous they were), but on other days she just threw it up in a lazy bun on top of her head. My mother may have liked to make her hair look nice most of the time, but she never wore any makeup. She didn’t need any, either, because she was just naturally beautiful. She didn’t even have to try to look good. She was so beautiful. She was always there for me, always. She did my hair for me for school each and every morning, and she also picked me out a cute outfit and laid it out on my bed. She always packed cute little notes into my lunchbox and they were always inspiring. Even though I was only  eleven years old, I understood what every single one of those inspirational quotes meant. I was smart for my age, actually too smart for my age. My mother and I watched cartoons together, and she always took me out to do my most favorite thing in the whole wide world, which was bowling. She always won, of course, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that I was there with my favorite person in the world having a blast. That was one of the best things about my mother—she didn’t just let me win like some parents do, because she always taught me that if you really want something in life you have to work for it.

I remember one of the quotes in particular, it said “Don’t ever take anything for granted, because you never know when it’s going to be too late.” Well, I should have listened to that one that day because if I did, everything bad that has happened in my life wouldn’t have happened and my mother would still be alive. I was normally a straight A student with a great reputation, but it was in the third to last week of fifth grade when I came home with a big fat flunking F on my one hundred point test. That test was such a big deal, and I completely failed it big time.  It had brought my grade down a great deal. Needless to say that when I walked through that front door to my house and my mom laid eyes on that test, I already knew that I was in insanely big trouble. My mother cared immensely about my grades and always made sure that I was doing well in school. Seeing this grade made her eyes get big and wide and made her mouth drop open in shock. You could just see the hurt and disappointment pouring out of her, and I have to admit that I felt bad about how terrible I had done on that test. It was all my fault. I should have focused more. Quickly enough her hurt and disappointment turned into anger and rage as she came charging at me and ripped my paper out of my hands, angrily examining it up and down. I swear that I could see steam rising out of her head because that’s how mad she was.

“What have you done?!” She demanded, raising an eyebrow at me.

“I’m so sorry, mommy. I just forgot everything when the test was laid in front of me. I just got so nervous!” I confessed, with an embarrassing look spreading across my face.

“I studied with you for this test over and over and over and over again, Charity! I cannot believe this!” She said, shaking her head in disappointment.
“I’m sorry.” I said again, it seemed that that was all I could manage to get out.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it this time.” She scolded.

“Well maybe you should stop being so hard on me!” I screamed, with the built up frustration bursting through me.

“I’m not hard on you, Charity. I just care about you and I want you to do well in school!” She told me, raising her voice.

“Well,” I urged myself on, “Stop it! Stop caring so much! I hate you!” I screamed loudly with anger.

“You don’t mean that.” She said, with a frown forming.

“Yes I do! I swear to God I do!” I screamed again, trying to sound convincing (even though I didn't actually mean it).  

“Get in the car, NOW!” She screamed back, using an outstretched finger to point towards the front door.

And with that, she put me in the car, slamming the car door shut so hard behind me that I felt the vibrations. She then hopped up into the driver’s seat and quickly put the key in the ignition, revving the car up. She put the petal to the metal and slammed on the gas hard, rushing me to my grandmother’s house because she was too angry at me to even look at me. She didn’t even tell me to put my seatbelt on, so I started for the seatbelt to buckle it myself when I seen an unexpected car pull out in front of mom. I screamed at her, telling her to stop the car but she either couldn’t hear me or she was just blocking out anything that I said. Going as fast as she was made the impact harder than it should have been and within seconds she was thrown through the windshield and laying on top of the other person’s car. I had gotten knocked unconscious from the hard blow to my head after slamming it against the dashboard, but when I awoke they already had my mother in the ambulance and were rushing her to the hospital. One of the paramedics came over to me and asked me a few questions about what happened. I told them all I could remember, and then he told me that one of the police officers was going to drive me to the hospital to make sure that I didn’t have a concussion and to have me get checked out for any other possible injuries.

Nobody ever told me anything about my mother until later that day after I got back home. While being home alone (well, besides the cop who was outside my door standing since I couldn’t be alone all by myself because I was only eleven years old), I heard three faint knocks on the door. I thought about answering it for a second, but I then decided not to answer it because my mother has always told me not to talk to strangers. My mother’s voice popped into my head and I could hear her telling me “stranger danger”. Three even louder knocks later, I finally opened the door to see the ambulance driver standing at the doorway with a concerned look on his face. Let me tell you now, that I was never prepared for what that EMT told me that sad afternoon.

“Hi, I’m sorry to be the one to bring the bad news but your mother died in that car accident.” He said, slowly and carefully with his words.

I just slammed the door in his face, turned on my heel, and ran into my mother’s room. I felt guilty. I was the cause of my mother’s death, I killed her. I killed my mother. I am a murderer. If only I wouldn’t have failed that important test and made her mad, she would still be living. I jumped up onto my mother’s huge waterbed bed and sprawled out across it, crying puddles into her velvet pillow.  The bed smelled of her lavender perfume, so I just laid there crying my eyes out and screaming at God for taking my mother away from me. I didn’t really believe in God back then, because I was only an eleven year old girl who only believed in monsters that were hiding under my bed and in my closet, but I still needed somebody other than myself to blame for my mother’s death. Blaming myself was way too heart wrenching and depressing, so I blamed him. I thought to myself, “If he was any God, he wouldn’t have let any of that happen! He would have saved her, she did nothing wrong to deserve that!” I eventually ended up falling asleep there, but when I woke up my face was sticky from all of my dried up tears.

Ring. Ring. Riiiiiiiiing. The telephone was ringing off the hook. I wondered, “Who in the world would that be calling this early?” Slowly, I managed to eventually drag myself off of the comfort of my mother’s bed and as slowly as I could, I walked towards the phone. I wish Jarrod was here. I picked up the phone, wiped away my tears, and calmed myself down so the person on the other end couldn’t hear the sadness or crackling in my voice. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anybody, but then I heard a familiar voice on the phone. It sounded like my mother.

“Mom?” I said, even though I knew that she was dead…or was she?

“No, honey, this is your Aunt Ruby. I’m so sorry about your mom. I loved her too.” She explained, you could just hear the love and sorrow in her voice.

“Oh.” I said, remembering all of the times that I had with my mom. “Yeah, everybody loved her.” I continued on.

“Sweetheart, listen… your dad—“ She started, but I cut her off before she could continue talking.

“My dad what?! I don’t want to hear about that stupid man right now!” I screamed, with tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

“Well… honey, he is coming to watch over you and take care of you until I am able to.”  She told me, sounding desperate for me to be okay with all of this.

Silence.

“It will all be okay, Charity. It’s just for a month, I promise.” She said, with an “I’m sorry but this is my last option” voice.

“Bye.” I hung up, angry.

Take a deep breath, Charity. Just relax. I took a deep breath in, held it, and then let it back out. Gosh, at that moment I couldn’t believe that lowlife whom I haven’t seen since I was one year old was coming to watch over me like he was some kind of “responsible adult”! Who bribed him to come watch his daughter whom he hasn’t seen in ten years? Because he sure as heck didn’t decide to do that all on his own! Honestly, I didn’t even care anymore that he was coming. I could have cared less. He was a person who was going to be here to make sure that I didn’t get into any trouble, nobody special. Nobody special at all. He was just going to be like a bodyguard or something. In order to calm myself back down, I sauntered into my mother’s room and went over to her walk-in closet and slammed the closet door shut.  I sat there wrapped up in one of her old fuzzy blankets that she had packed away for the winter. It calmed me down by knowing that I still had a piece of her with me at all times. She had a special place in my heart and I also had cut a little section off of her shirt and put it in my pocket. That piece of her shirt remained in my pocket for me to take out whenever I got uncomfortable, sad, or if I just needed her comfort. I would rub it and calm myself down. I wish I still had the piece of her shirt with me today.

I still couldn’t believe that my mother, my best friend was… gone.

She was gone.

Gone.

Forever.

Never to return.

Sitting in that closet, it finally sunk in that she wasn’t here with me anymore, and she never would be ever again. I’d never see her face again or feel her arms wrap tight around me in a loving hug when I was sad. I would never have her taking the time out of her morning to put pretty curls in my hair for school, and that I’d have to start picking out my own outfits from now on. She wouldn’t be here to tell me that there are no monsters under my bed or in my closet, nor would she be here to lend me a shoulder when I needed to cry. We wouldn’t be able to watch movies together anymore, or go bowling. I’d never get to watch her come to my school performances, or anything else in school for that matter. I missed her more than ever. I whispered softly into her blanket, “I love you mommy.”

Just then, my long-time-no-see jerkoff of a father swung open the door to my mother’s closet. I yelled at him and told him not to touch the door handle, because it was moms and it didn’t belong to him. He just rolled his eyes and shot me an annoyed look that said “I’m the adult here, child.” Little did he know that he was more of a child than I was. That immature jerk had no right touching any of my mom’s things. I stayed where I was in the closet, and I refused to move from my spot. There was no way that I was going to be anywhere near that man. He walked away, slowly, laughing, and then shut and locked my mother’s door behind him, leaving me in there.

I jumped up, and ran to the door banging hard on it. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Let me out of here, Don!” I screamed, desperately.

“Are you done acting like your mother?” He asked, sarcastically.

“Oh, and what is that exactly supposed to mean?!” I asked, getting mad.

“Nothing…” he replied as he unlocked the door.

I pushed the door open, murmuring terrible things under my breath about how much I despised him. After that I poured myself a glass of water, and then sat down at the kitchen table. Don came to the table and sat down across from me, noticing how much I looked like him. I hated that, I absolutely hated looking like him. I wish I looked like my beautiful mother instead. He opened his mouth to say something, but I just shooed off his words. I didn’t care what he had to say. I could have cared less about anything he said or did. But, he ignored me anyways and started talking.

“So, don’t you like—have school or something?” He asked.

“Oh crap!” I started, “What time is it? I completely forgot!” I said, in a state of panic.
 “You don’t have to go, your mother died. That’s enough for one day.” He said, laughing.

“I hate it when you say that it like that.” I said, angrily.

“Well, she did die! Face it, Charity! She’s dead, D-E-A-D!!” He said as he spelled it out like I was some kind of three year old.

I got up and walked over to him all smoothly so he didn’t see anything coming, and then dumped my freezing cold ice water all over him.  He deserved it. That idiot deserved it. Then I threw the glass down and stormed into my room and plopped myself down into the corner of my bedroom by my nightstand. As the tears started rushing down my cheeks faster than the speed of lightning I took out the piece of my mother’s shirt and wiped away my tears with it. At that moment it was if I could feel her looking down on me, surrounding me, comforting me.

As the weeks passed, my dad began getting more and more aggressive.  He began to beat me, and lock me in my mother’s closet for days at a time without food or water—the only thing I had to keep me sane and calm was the piece of my mother’s shirt. I got a call from my aunt telling me that she was not able to take me in for another two months due to a work overload. The only place I had to get away from him was at school. School was like heaven compared to being stuck home with that abuser. School was fun because I had Jerrod. I also had my good friend, Patience, but we were never as nearly close as Jerrod and I were. Jerrod was my best friend, and he has always been my best friend. We met on the first day of kindergarten and instantly became inseparable. My mom loved Jerrod, and always took us out to do things together. He was tall for his age, and he was not fat but he was not what you would call “skinny” neither. He had dirty-blonde, wavy, scruffy hair. He knew everything about me and I knew everything about him (or at least I thought I did). Being eleven years old if somebody picked on you it meant that they liked you and Jerrod always picked on me—but I thought that he did it because that was just what best friends did. So, what did I do? I teased him back of course.

In school, the guidance counselor seen my bruises all over my body and when she questioned me about it I made up a lie on the spot and told her that I was clumsy and that I fell a lot. She seemed skeptical, but she took my word for it. The only reason I lied to her and didn’t tell her the truth was because Don threatened me that if I ever told anybody anything about him I would be “dead meat”. I went over Jerrod’s house every day after school, and stayed there for a couple of hours afterwards.  Jerrod allowed me to do so because of the situation with Don. He knew how uncomfortable and scared I was being around him, so he kept my mind off of it. Jerrod was such a great friend.

Over the years I began to feel more and more unsafe around him which caused me to fall into a deep, dark depression.  I began to cut myself to take away some of the pain and stress. After hearing him call me many horrible names each and every day of my life I began to feel insecure about myself and I could not trust anybody at all. There was no trust left in me for anybody except for one person. That person was of course my forever best friend, Jerrod. Jerrod knew everything that Don was doing to me, and he was just as upset as I was. He comforted me and let me know that everything was going to be alright. He always told me with a smile “Just stay strong, it’ll all be over soon.” But little did I know that “it’ll all be over soon” had a completely different meaning to him than what I thought.

For my seventeenth birthday I was awaken to Don dragging me out of bed and letting me fall down against the cold, hard, wood flooring. He had an evil look in his eyes as he stared at me and coldheartedly said “Hey fatty, are you ready for your seventeen smacks plus one to grow on?” As I lay there, unable to move from the terror, I closed my eyes and pictured my mother in my head. But just as I slowly started to calm down I felt him smacking me severely rough with a hard, metal object. Each time I got struck with the object, I could feel the pain stinging all throughout me. Next thing I knew, all I seen was black. Blackness all around. Stars. Stars were forming.

All of a sudden I felt Don shaking me. He was speaking but his words were too drained for me to make out what he was saying. I felt like I had been poisoned, but instead he had beat with a metal baseball bat until I fell unconscious. As soon as I was able to open my eyes again I seen that he had the piece of mom's shirt enclosed in his right hand and a pair of small, dark blue scissors in the other hand. No, lord. Please, no! He can’t—he’s not—he won’t. Oh my God!

I tried to reach for the piece of mom’s shirt but then he held the scissors up to my throat and said “I will shove these scissors so deep into your throat and then I will make you watch yourself bleed to death while I laugh in your face”, so I backed away and let the tears roll down my face and watched them splash down onto my lap. I turned away because I could not watch Don destroy the only piece of mom I had left. I just couldn’t. But, he made me turn around and watch him destroy a piece of mom. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever watched. He cut the piece of her shirt up into little tiny pieces that were smaller than a grain of sand. It was all too much to handle. This was all way too much.

I got up, and kicked him in his you-know-what, and then ran for my life. I ran faster than I had ever ran before. With every step I took I could feel my heartbeat beating out of my chest. My feet and my legs were shaking and I felt as if I was about to collapse at any minute but I couldn’t let that happen. I had to keep going. It wasn’t just my legs or feet that were shaking, every single bone in my body was quivering with fear. The fear was that he was going to come after me and hurt me. Hurt me badly.

I finally reached Jerrod’s house and began banging on the door as loud as I could, desperately in need of some comforting and protection. About thirty seconds later he finally swung open the door and a look of concern washed over his face as I barged into his home and slammed the door shut behind me. I quickly locked his door in fear that Don might have watched where I went and that he was going to hunt me down. I needed to stay away from that psychopath for today. I just needed to get away from him. Away.

Jerrod made me some hot tea and then came and slumped down beside me on the couch. His calm blue eyes looked into my hazel ones, and we stayed like that for a moment. He then broke away by asking me what was wrong. I explained to him how Don had pulled me off of my bed and beat me unconscious and then the worst part of all which was that he cut the only piece of my mother that I had left into little tiny pieces and then I told him (while forcing a smile) about how I kicked him where it hurt and ran for my life. He gave me the thumbs up and then wrapped me in a comforting hug like he always did. I couldn’t have asked for a better best friend than him. This guy was definitely what kept me going strong.

About an hour later after watching a movie with Jerrod he turned to me, smiling, and then looked away, embarrassed. He never did that, I wondered what was going on. That was weird. I put my two hands on his right shoulder and turned him towards me, laughing. He asked me why I was laughing but I just shrugged off his question and then quickly put on a serious face. I couldn’t help laughing, though, it might have been rude, but it was just quite funny to see Jerrod look embarrassed. The only reason I thought that it was funny was because both of his cheeks turned as red as an apple. He looked like a clown (but in a good way of course!).

“First off, happy birthday! Second, would you like to maybe go out on a—” He cut himself off, and shied away.

“Thank you, thank you! What were you going to ask?” I said, urging him on.

“Okay. A date? Would you like to go out on a date with me, maybe?” He asked, awkwardly.

“Where is all of this coming from, Jerrod? You’re my best friend. And that’s all I see you as. And that’s all I’ll ever see you as.” I told him, honestly.

“Oh. Well, maybe like a date as just friends?” He asked, trying once more.

“No, if it means anything more than that to you then no. I’m sorry.” I told him, being straight forward.

“Please? I really like you. I mean, you’re my best friend and I’ve grown so close to you over the years. I’m seventeen now and so are you.” He asked, now basically begging me.

“No, for the second time.” I told him, strictly.

“Charity, pretty please with a cherry and whip cream on top?” He said, while forcing a smile.

“If I agree, will you shut up and leave me alone about it? Promise me that it’ll be just as friends and as nothing else.” I asked him, not wanting too—but agreeing just to get him to be quiet about it.

“Yes I will and I promise, just as friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” He squealed, over excited.

“Okay.” I told him, reluctantly.

“So, the date is not tomorrow but the next day and I guess I’ll pick you up around about four!” He added, smiling.

“Sounds good!” I told him, as we walked out the door and started heading towards his car.

I hopped up into his passenger seat while he got in the driver’s seat and began starting up his car. On the drive home we were jamming out to Pearl Jam. It was a pretty fun ride home. Then actually getting home was the unpleasant part and far from fun. Don spotted me, oh crap. Before I could even blink, he started to run towards me. Thinking quickly, I darted towards my bedroom but he chased after me. I made it into my bedroom and slammed the door shut in his face, locking it and plowing dressers and stands and very heavy objects in front of the door. I did anything to keep him out. Breathe, Charity. In and out. Wiping the sweat off of my forehead, I leapt into my rock-hard bed and grabbed my laptop off of the floor beside my bed. I turned it on and went to a website that had record of every criminal ever. My goal was to find out if Don had any kind of criminal background whatsoever, but instead I found something much more worse.

In front of me, I seen the name "JERROD ANDREWS" in big, bolded letters. My immediate reaction was just shock. All I felt was shock. My heart began thumping hard and I began to feel like I couldn’t breathe. I honestly couldn’t believe my eyes! My best friend, that I’ve been best friends with since freaking kindergarten has murdered a teenage girl by running her over with a car?! What? No, it wasn’t true, it couldn’t have been. He would have been locked up in jail and behind bars by the time I found out. Nobody ever gets away with murder. Nobody. It’s just not humanly not possible. Just then, my cellphone went off and the screen lit up. Beeeeep.

I flipped my cellphone open only to see a text from my good friend, Patience. What was on the screen in front of me completely terrified the life out of me. The text message read: “Get out, now. Run. Hide from Jerrod. He is on the run from the cops and is planning on taking you on a “date”, but it’s not actually a date! He is going to kill you, Charity! I’m telling you... get away now! Your father, Don, is in on it as well! Escape! HURRY!!” Let me tell you that was a huge shocker. I swear I felt like I was going to faint at any second. I thought that he was my best friend, how could he ever do something like this? But most of all, how could Patience actually know all of this? I never knew how she knew about any of this and I never will know because that night I grabbed my cellphone and jumped out of my window (which was far from the ground, but I didn’t care at that moment) and ran. I ran for my life and I never looked back once. I made it to a safe place, which was under a bridge. Out of breath, I sat down on a hard, big rock and as quickly as I could dialed my aunt Ruby’s number.

My aunt Ruby came and picked me up that night and I am still living with her to this day. She never did tell me the reason why she never came for me like she said she would, but none of that matters now. She probably just got busy. I rarely ever see her though, because (like I said in the beginning of this story) I have locked myself in my bedroom away from all people. I am never coming out of this room ever again. I'm safe here, away from everybody in this harsh, evil, hurtful world. I do not trust anybody and I will never trust anybody ever again. My best friend who I’ve been best friends with forever killed a girl by running her over a girl with his car and he was also planning on killing me (his "best friend") on our date.  Now that was some crazy stuff. Who in their right mind does that to their best friend?! Nobody, that's who. As for both Don and Jerrod, I have no idea what happened to either of them but I hope that they are both sitting behind bars in jail right now.

They can both rot there for all I care. They deserve to sit and rot for the rest of their coldhearted lives. They are filthy, heartless, evil people. Nobody actually ever loved me after my mother died and I found out the hard way that I was all on my own. I’ve only ever been on my own. But, i'm not complaining because I’m completley fine on my own because at least I know that I’m safe when i'm by myself. But, do you know what? I'm actually not by myself because I have Peanut Butter and I love him to pieces! He is my world, my everything, my best friend in the whole wide universe. After writing this and telling you all about this, it feels as though the world has been lifted off of my shoulders a little bit. I feel better now, much better. I have had a terrible life, but I stay strong and I keep on keeping on. Peanut Butter is my only friend, and it is going to stay that way for the rest of my life. He and I, cat and human, together forever. I guess that it’s safe to say that after my mother died I was always lied to, taken advantage of, and I was definitely never cherished.


© Copyright 2017 KW156766. All rights reserved.

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