I Got A Room Only After I Attempted Suicide

1 Everyone called me the luckiest in our blended family, the only child shared by both parents. No one saw behind closed doors. Missing kitchen money meant Mother’s slap across my face while my step-siblings went unquestioned. Father “forgot” my allowance, leaving me with their discarded hand-me-downs. Their fights made me the punching bag. “Too young for depression. Stop dramatizing,” Mother sneered at the scars on my arm. I did the chores, endured the abuse, then cut my wrist one Tuesday night. That finally rattled them. For the first time in seventeen years, I got a room, a cramped study with a mattress. Privacy, however small. Until Logan and Amber fought. Next day, my room was stripped, my things dumped in the living room. Mother’s tone was flat. “Their rooms are too close. Logan’s gaming keeps Amber awake. Be reasonable, Jesse. We humored your suicide act long enough. Don’t make things difficult.” This time, numbness settled over me. I didn’t scream or cry. I couldn’t hear them anymore. I wanted nothing from them. … As I turned toward the study, my mother lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. The moment her fingers brushed the thick, raised scars on my skin, she recoiled as if she'd touched a live wire. "Did you not hear me? That room belongs to your brother now! He needs his gaming space!" With a sharp click, she slammed the door shut, as if even my gaze would defile the space. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my throat. "Then where am I supposed to sleep?" My mother froze, her face flushing with anger. She gestured wildly around the living room as if I were an idiot. "Are you blind? We have a couch! We have rugs! Sleep wherever you want. Stop playing the victim!" Sleep anywhere. Like a stray dog. "Don't I deserve a room of my own?" My voice was barely a whisper, but it triggered my father. He stormed over, looking like he'd reached his absolute limit. "You have everything in this house! You have both your biological parents under one roof! Why do you always have to fight your brother and sister for every little thing?" "Logan's dad walked out on him. Amber lost her mother. You have us both, and yet you are the one acting like a spoiled brat!" "They manage to be happy, while you walk around with that miserable, depressing face all day!" A mountain of guilt crashed down on me, crushing the air from my lungs. The words I wanted to scream died in my throat. I had heard variations of this lecture for seventeen years. If I ever stood up for myself, I was labeled selfish, ungrateful, and toxic. I was terrified of that label. Amber walked in after her shift, her heel catching on my pile of luggage. She stumbled, her brow furrowing instantly as she spotted me. "What is it now?" My mother sneered, her voice dripping with mock-exhaustion. "He is throwing another tantrum because he wants his own room. Never lets us have a moment of peace." Amber let out a dry chuckle, her lips curling into the exact same condescending smirk my mother wore. "Kids these days and their privacy." She said it so casually. She completely forgot that when she moved in at six years old, she was immediately given the master guest room, a brand-new computer, and a weekly allowance. Back then, everyone had to knock three times before entering her room, or she would scream the house down. Yet here she was, mocking my despair. "That's enough of this nonsense," my mother declared, shoving a heavy hamper of dirty laundry into my chest. "Go wash these." "My college placement exams are next week..." "Don't use exams as an excuse! Your brother and sister both graduated, and they never whined like this!" Of course they didn't. They never had to touch a dirty dish, sweep a floor, or scrub endless piles of clothes. My mother wouldn't dare ask Amber because she didn't want my father to think she was being a cruel stepmother. My father wouldn't dare ask Logan because he didn't want to upset my mother. I was the only safe target. Hurting or exploiting me cost them nothing because no one would ever take my side. My silence only fueled my mother's rage. She shoved me into the bathroom. Before I could steady myself, her palm connected with my face. The force of the blow spun my head to the side. Under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent light, her face twisted into something monstrous. "Hurry up and wash them. Your brother needs that shirt tomorrow. Do you think my life is easy? I run myself ragged for this family of five, and you, the luckiest one of all, do nothing but work against me!" "How am I lucky?" "What did you say?" Her voice pitched so high it practically rattled my eardrums. I blinked back my tears, staring at her through the throbbing heat on my cheek. "Does getting beaten every day make me lucky?" "You wouldn't get hit if you weren't constantly defying me! You bring this on yourself!" But the old, submissive Jesse was gone. I looked her dead in the eye. "Maybe I don't bring it on myself. Maybe you are just a coward who only picks on the weak." She froze, the color draining from her face before rushing back in a wave of hysterical fury. "I might as well just die!" she screamed, clawing at her own chest. The bathroom door burst open. My father stormed in, his face darkened with rage. I couldn't stop the primal shudder that racked my body. He stared at me for a fraction of a second before his boot slammed into my ribs. A sharp cry tore from my throat as I was launched against the cold tiles. My face reflected in the glossy wall, distorted in agony. Then came the slipper. He whipped it off and began striking my face, over and over. "How dare you talk back to your mother! We raised you, fed you, and this is how you repay us? You are nothing but trouble!" Behind him, my mother crossed her arms, a look of smug satisfaction washing over her features. "Hit him harder. I've had it with his attitude these past few months, acting like he owns the place just because he spent a night in the ER." The corner of my mouth split open. Dizzy spells washed over me, and the muffled sound of laughter echoed from the other side of the wall. Logan and Amber were chatting in the living room. They knew exactly what was happening. They just didn't care. It didn't affect them. I curled into a ball on the cold floor, closing my eyes as the world faded away. My mother called me out of school for five days. My face was too bruised for me to be seen in public. On the third day, my friends came to check on me. When I opened the door, they froze. The swelling had gone down, but the mottled purple and yellow bruises were still painfully obvious. Humiliation washed over me, but before I could explain, my mother pushed past me to usher them in. "Don't just stand there, Jesse. Go get some sodas for your friends." "Mom, let them just..." "Oh, so now you care about looking bad?" My mother laughed, eager to expose my shame to my peers. "Since you are Jesse's friends, I won't hide it. He didn't take sick leave. His father had to teach him a lesson. If I hadn't stepped in, his father would have beaten him to a pulp." My friends stared at me, their eyes shifting between pity, confusion, and horror. At school, I was the quiet, straight-A student. At home, I lived worse than a stray dog. "He brought it on himself," she continued, warming up to her audience. "We give him everything, yet he treats us like trash. He even screams at his own parents." "Mom, please stop..." My head hung low, my voice cracking with unshed tears. But my plea only made her louder. "He thinks he is a prince. We ask him to do a little housework and he throws a tantrum. What's the point of raising such an ungrateful brat?" My father took the sodas from my hands, setting them down with a warm, deceptive smile. "We are the only ones who could ever tolerate him. Even his brother and sister walk on eggshells around him. Does he act like this at school too?" He smiled, trying to bait them into validating his narrative. I stood frozen, trembling from head to toe. My friends looked at me helplessly, unsure of what to say. One of them looked like she was about to cry. My desk-mate, Mason, gathered his courage and stepped closer to me, grabbing my hand. "Come out with us to get some fresh air. It's Dylan's birthday today. We are going to celebrate." "He's not going anywhere. He has to make dinner," my mother snapped, her face darkening. Seeing that she wasn't getting the agreement she wanted, her patience evaporated. "Actually, it's getting late. You all should leave." "Ma'am, can't Jesse just come out to relax for a bit?" Mason asked, taking a deep breath. My mother stared at him as if he had spoken in tongues. "Relax? From what? We are the ones who need to relax!" Her anger boiled over, and she whipped around to glare at me. "What did you tell your friends? What lies have you been spreading about us?" "We didn't mean that, we just..." my friends stammered, terrified. But my father cut them off with a cold wave of his hand. "That's enough. Get out." He shook his head with mock sorrow. "Jesse has already corrupted you. Stay away from him, or you'll turn into ungrateful brats just like him." The tears finally spilled over. I snapped, screaming at the top of my lungs. "Why do you have to do this to me in front of my classmates? What did I ever do to deserve this?!" "Oh, look at him! He is showing his true colors now!" My mother shrieked with glee, pointing a finger at me. "See? I told you he is insane!" She looked so thrilled, so vindicated. It was as if driving me to madness was her greatest achievement. Unable to bear the tension, my friends bolted for the door. My mother watched them run, turning to me with a triumphant smirk. "See? Even your friends can't stand your crazy behavior. That shows you how messed up you are." "It's you they can't stand!" I screamed, shoving past her and running out the front door. I barely made it to the hallway before her heavy footsteps caught up to me. She grabbed me by the collar, pulling me back. "You stop right there! What did you just say to me?" Her lips trembled with rage. She raised her hand to strike me, but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted our neighbor stepping out of the elevator. Her hand froze in mid-air. Instead of hitting me, she brought her hand down hard across her own face. "What did I do to deserve this? Why is God punishing me like this?" she wailed, collapsing to the floor. The neighbors rushed over to intervene. "Calm down, Susan! Don't hurt yourself!" Susan wept hysterically, playing the martyr. "He tortures us at home, and now he brings his friends over to join in. He makes his father and me look like monsters. I don't want to live anymore. I've sacrificed everything for him. If it weren't for him, I would have divorced years ago!" My father wrapped his arms around her, glaring at me with disappointment. "He is driving us to our graves. We only want him to be happy and healthy. Why is that so hard?" The world went quiet. The murmurs of the neighbors lecturing me, the dramatic wailing of my parents, it all faded into static. I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my chest. I started sobbing, slapping my own face repeatedly. My parents watched cold-eyed, showing no concern. To them, it was just another act. Suddenly, a sharp ringing filled my ears, and the ground rushed up to meet me. When I opened the eyes, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose. I was in a hospital bed. Through the glass window of the door, I could see my mother on her phone. "I know, he is throwing another fit. I've suffered so much because of him... But what can I do? He is still my son... Yes, thank you for caring about me." She hung up, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. Seconds later, she dialed another number, my Aunt Sarah. "Sarah, you have no idea. I just want to end it all... I did everything for him. He is the only one with both biological parents in that house, and yet he is never satisfied... My heart is breaking." She went on and on, soaking up the sympathy pouring from the receiver. Finally, she exhaled deeply and hung up. When she turned and saw me staring at her, the warmth vanished from her face. She walked in, her movements slow and cold. Under the harsh hospital lights, she looked like a stranger. "Jesse, acting crazy isn't going to work anymore." I kept quiet. She looked down at me. "Since your mental state is so unstable, you won't be taking your college placement exams this year." My eyes widened, horror gripping my chest. A cruel smile played on her lips. "I'm doing this for your own good. If you go to college in this state, you might hurt someone." With that, she turned on her heel and locked the door from the outside. I cried until my throat was raw. But somewhere in the darkness of that night, a cold clarity washed over me. I figured out a way to escape. Completely. Starting the next morning, I became the perfect, obedient son. I did everything without a word of protest. A week later, she brought me home. The moment we walked through the door, I was greeted by a mountain of dirty dishes. "Go wash those. No one's helped me since you left, and I'm exhausted," she muttered. I didn't say a word. I just walked over and started washing them. Next was a basket of laundry, filled with delicate fabrics that had to be hand-washed. As I scrubbed, Amber opened the door and tossed two more shirts into the tub. "Jesse, thank God you are back," she said, her smile genuine. But it wasn't because she missed me. It was because she finally had her servant back. Once she stepped out, I heard my mother's smug voice in the hall. "People like him just need to be put in their place. See? He is much better now." She didn't even bother to lower her voice. I remained quiet, playing the part of the meek lamb. But my mother had no intention of letting me return to school. She wanted to teach me a lesson I'd never forget. Three days before the exams, Mason secretly slipped me my admission ticket. I hid it in the absolute bottom of my backpack. That evening, while we were watching TV, my mother cast a calculating look my way. "Everyone else is preparing for the exams. Are you jealous?" "Yes," I murmured. She smiled, thoroughly pleased with herself. "Well, you'll just have to deal with it. You brought this on yourself." I said nothing. On the morning of the exams, I kept my eyes on the clock. The second they left for work, I grabbed my bag, called a cab, and headed straight for the testing center. I had already booked a cheap motel nearby for my luggage. By the end of the first day, my phone was ringing off the hook with fifty missed calls from my parents. "Where are you? Did you seriously go to the exams?" "When will you ever learn to obey?" "I told you that you aren't mentally fit for this! Get back here right now before I come find you myself!" I ignored the messages and spent every second cramming for the next day's subjects. But the next morning, as I approached the testing center, my parents were waiting. Their eyes locked onto me like predators spotting prey. But I was faster. I slipped past the security gates just in time. My mother looked ready to explode, glaring at me through the barrier. "Jesse! You just wait!" My heart hammered against my ribs, but I didn't look back. I ran toward the examination hall, toward the only escape route I had left. I poured everything into the papers. I felt like I was flying. But by the afternoon of the final day, my luck ran out. I thought I might actually make it. But they caught me right outside the exit. My father clamped a hand over my mouth, twisting my arm behind my back to drag me toward their car. My mother struggled to keep her anger in check, whispering fiercely, "When will you stop causing trouble?" The other parents waiting outside watched us, hesitating to interfere. Seizing the moment, I bit down hard on my father's hand. He yelled, releasing his grip, and I screamed with every ounce of air in my lungs: "Please let me take my exams, Dad! I don't want to drop out and work in a factory! Mom, I promise I'll make money and take care of you! Please just let me finish my exams!" Within seconds, a dozen parents closed in, their faces tight with fury. "He is just a kid! What is wrong with you people?" "This is his future! Whatever problems you have, let the kid finish his exams first!" "Let him go right now, or I'm calling the police!" My mother's face turned white, then red. "Don't listen to him! He is mentally unstable!" But no one bought it. "You look like the unstable one," an older man barked. "What kind of parents try to ruin their own kid's future?" Intimidated by the crowd, my father let go of my arm. "Run!" a woman in the crowd yelled. I bolted back inside the school gates. My parents could only watch helplessly as my figure disappeared into the building. For the remaining exams, they didn't dare show their faces. But the moment the final bell rang, the real nightmare began. My parents, accompanied by Logan and Amber, showed up at my motel. My father slammed his hand onto the front desk, holding a thick coil of rope. "Which room is my son, Jesse, in?" They had come prepared to tie me up and drag me home. The exams were over; there would be no crowd of angry parents to protect me this time. They thought they had won. But the receptionist's next words made their faces turn pale.