All alone, in a white room, padded walls, padded floor, padded door. My father doesn't talk to me anymore, he said it was too hard, I don't care anymore. There are bandages, up my forearms, the door doesn't have a window anymore. I had to get more than eighty stitches, it hurt but I didn't care, why should I?

I don't know if my father thought it would be a good idea, I don't know what he was thinking. He put me in a cell, in his house, because it is his house since mum died. Our family has a history, and it is not a good one, it is not a history that anyone would want.

My mother threw herself from a cliff, I watched her go, I watched her and didn't try to stop her even though I could hear my father running towards us. I knew what she felt. My mother jumped to her death, she jumped off a cliff holding her stillborn child, my never living sibling.

The stitches tug my skin when I stretch my arms, it is not the first time I have had stitches. I have so many scars I don't even bother to count, I have scars across my wrists, I have scars up my arms, I have a scar on my neck where I was interrupted, I have a scar on my stomach where I didn't cut deep enough.

The stitches came out slowly, my father was not in the room.

The doctor left the door open, he looked at me as he did it, it was not an accident. I quickly snuck through it, I followed the doctor as he went into the living room, my father was there. The doctor told him he was finished, my father thanked him and the man left.

My father cried, he sat on the couch and cried for so long.

He left the room and it was my chance, I darted to the door and opened it. I didn't bother to close the door as I ran. I ran from my cage, a cage my father had built, I ran so I could stretch my wings, so I could be free one more time.

The air was cool and I was hot, I had run all the way here, to the last place I had seen my mother.

I was standing on the railing when my father arrived, panting even though he had driven here. He pleaded, but why else would I have come here. He told me I was all he had left, but it was no use, he could find something more.

I smiled at him and stepped back, because despite all that had happened he was my father, which meant a lot, but not enough. There was a lurch and I knew a second of regret, but it was out of my hands now.

I remembered my life as I fell, because what else is there to do, it did not flash before my eyes, a montage of bad memories. I remembered when my mother had been diagnosed, I remembered when I had been diagnosed but most of all, I remembered how the baby had not cried.

The sky was blue and clear, and the clear sky cleared my mind.

I didn't look down as I fell, because it didn't matter what was there, I didn't need to care anymore.