She looked down at the blood. It hadn't washed off the concrete. It resembled a semi circle, reminding her of a broken life line. Joleen thought, this time it could work, should work. And might be her ticket out of this miserable place. She raced back into the house. It was dark but she knew her way around. Inside the bathroom, she trailed her fingers against the wall for the light. She turned the hot water and washed her hands. There were several letters that needed to be mailed. The most important one was to her father.

He would be so disappointed in her leaving like this. His eyes saw potential in her that she knew did not exist. Joleen remembered sitting on his lap as a child. The supportive words and encouragement were a comfort for a while, yet he always looked so sad when their conversation ended. It was as if he knew something was not right, but could not put it into thoughts or words. She'd smile because she never wanted to hurt him. He was the only one she ever cared about. But this time she had to hurry. This time it had to work.

She removed a towel from the closet and dried her hands, paying special attention to the fingernails that were jagged from her constant knawing. Her dream was about to come true. She could feel sweat form on her upper lip when she opened the cabinet.

Then she heard a noise. It was coming closer and closer. She was familiar with that particular sound. It was the sound of heavy footsteps. Joleen dropped the towel and covered her ears. The noise grew louder and echoed in her brain, until it pounded like a sledgehammer.

"No," she shouted over and over. " Not again."

Joleen fell on her knees, crouching like an animal. She tried to cover her hands, but The door to the bathroom opened. Her father's body silouettted in the doorway. He flipped on the light and screamed at the sight of his daughters slit bloody wrists.