So this is my first fanfic. Its based a lot on my life and what I dream of, the doctor picking me up. Bits and pieces of the main character are also from friends of mine so its not just me. I know a ton of people who would love a teen companion and a ton of teens who would love to be a companion so here ya go! Enjoy and please review! (it means a ton!)
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, or any of its thingies. I am just making a fan made story. But, a lot of this is my own work so please respect that. Okay? Okay.
TRIGGER WARNING: There is some self harm, as well as a lot of depression and low self worth.
Lets go!
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Grudgingly I get out of my loft bed, and hit snooze on the alarm. Too lazy and tired to walk back up the ladder, I put my hands up and feel through the darkness until I find my bean bag in the corner of my room. I curl up on it into a little ball holding my knees to my chest, freezing from the cold- we no longer can afford to keep the house heated unless it's extremely cold, seeing as its only early December its off. I'm too tired to have the cold matter too much anyways, and I fall asleep. It's a deep heavy sleep. Just black. I don't dream anymore. I have nothing to dream of.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
I shake around. I guess I could hit the snooze button again, but why? It's not like I have good sleep anyways, or a happy dream to go back to. I just like to sleep. It's like not actually being alive, and having to deal with the pain, but not having to die. I would want to die, but it's just not worth it. I'm not worth it. I wouldn't kill myself, but if a car was heading in my direction I wouldn't get out of the way. I'm so numb, I don't even think I would feel it.
I walk around with my hands stretched out. I stroke the wall feeling for the light switch, once finding it switching it on. The light is blinding. I stumble around and head towards my bathroom where I am conflicted with the first hardship of the day, the mirror. I hate what I see. Deep dark circles under my eyes, bushy eyebrows, wide fat hips and tiny breasts, and let's not even mention my stomach. I turn to the side and look at myself, lifting up my shirt and sucking in my stomach to the point that my rib cage sticks out. That's how I want to be. Skinny, lovely, and beautiful. and happy. Why aren't I happy?
I brush my teeth and wash my face. Getting dressed takes forever. At least its winter and okay to wear sweaters. I almost don't want spring to come, because I'll have to hide my scar ridden arms under sweaters in the heat. Maybe I should just try my thighs next time. Once finally deciding on a pair of black leggings, a baggy sweater, and dock boots I grab my bag and leave the house. I skip breakfast. I probably won't eat until dinner, since school lunch sucks. Mom doesn't know that though, I let her get her sleep in the morning. She rarely sees me, now that she has to work two jobs (one being night shift) since my father... I'd rather not thing of that.
At school I don't talk. I don't move. I don't do anything to stand up. I'm too scared of having any attention drawn to me. It's usually negative. Walking down the hallways people look at me and laugh. I catch a glimpse of my best friend, Al, doing the same. I'm not really friends with him anymore, but I still cling onto the memory. I don't have anyone so I guess something is better than nothing, right?
At lunch I sit alone, staring at the wall. I don't eat. I just wait for this 30 minute period to be over. It's some people's favorite part of the day. Lunch. When they get to sit with their friends and giggle and laugh and gossip. It's the part of the day I dread. I sit alone. Doodling on a piece of paper some song lyrics and things that I actually enjoy, like an impala, or just repeatedly the words "hold on till may" until it fills up an entire sheet of paper. But today I'm not. I just write down again and again "Why, Why is everything so hard? It used to be so easy. So fun. It was so much better, then". I've filled up half of the page when the bell rings. My savior. Temporarily, until it rings again tomorrow to sentence me again to lunch.
I look at groups of kids at school like a documenter for animal planet might look at a pack of zebras. I almost stare at them, the ones who always look so happy and are always laughing and talking and I wonder if they have problems. They have to. Everyone does. But they look so happy. all. the. time. and they get good grades, and date, and hang out, and aren't constantly made fun of. They have to have problems how could they not? I know everyone has insecurities and flaws and struggles. I feel most alone when I'm in groups of people and I feel most myself when I'm alone. I just want to lay down in bed and read all day. I want to sleep my life away. I want to hurt. But still, when I look at them laughing and so happy at lunch I almost get jealous, but mainly angry. This rage and envy builds up inside me and it all pulls back down to something a toddler might say; "it isn't fair"
But it isn't Why do I have to deal with self harm and depression and loneliness and uncontrollable anger? Why did I have to have to have a dad tell at me when I was little and parents who fought and no friends and deal with being the weird kid and not ever have the chance to say goodbye and always look everyone close to me? Why? When they get to be so happy. It's not that I want them to be like me. I wish no one had to be like me. I just wish I could be like them. I wish I could be someone else. someone I'm not.
I just got home. I drop off my bag. I don't waste my time even thinking about homework, I guess that's why I'm failing half my classes. it's not like it matters. I'm here alone. Today I've felt like shit and on my walk home I couldn't stop thinking about cutting myself tonight. Mom's working the night shift so I'll definitely be able to in the shower. Honestly, I don't even want to cut. I just do it. I just want my dad. I want him to hold me. I want to be able to cry again. I can't. I wish I could. Tears cleanse, they help. I think I've run out of tears, and what did I waste them on? Stupid things.
In the shower I popped out a blade from a brand new razor. I let the water run and bit my lower lip while I carved little lines into my skin. On my thighs this time, so that they won't be seen, and by my hipbones. I wash off the blood and the soap stings the cuts. I smile in a twisted grin and then break into tears, laying down on the cold hard tub of my shower. At least I don't feel numb, right?
When I drop my head on my pillow I cry until I sleep. What have I become?
I wake up in hot sweats, crying loud. I'm so tired of these bad dreams, these flashbacks to that day. I can't live with it anymore. That was the day that started all this. I know it has to be. It's been six months and the pain is incredibly fresh. I need to get out of this. I want to go home. Back to the past. When we were one big happy family, in one small minute where we were. I want to live infinitely in that one minute. Of pure joy. I want to be somewhere happy. I want to see Dad. I miss him so much. I forget what he sounds like. How can I forget what he sounds like? My own fathers voice?! He would be so ashamed of me. I need him. He always knew what to say. Why did he leave me? Why now? It's not fair! It's not okay! I'm alone and betrayed and I need him and he left me. How could he be so selfish? I just need him to hug me. I need him to tell me it will be okay, even when it isn't. I need to cry on his lap and have him hug me and let me cry. But he's not here. I scream and punch my wall, hurting my knuckles and leaving a hole in the plaster.
I toss and turn, no blankets, blankets, no pillows, pillows, in a ball, flipping pillows, I try every position I can think of. But I just can't sleep. Mom's still not home. I'm still alone. I go downstairs and head out the house, right after checking the time. 11:45pm.
I ride my bike for what feels like hours. Moms probably home. She's probably scared and looking for me. It doesn't matter. I can't stop. I just start biking and I can't stop. I go up and down rolling hills, past office buildings, a loud bar with drunks pouring out, the library, my school. Eventually I don't even know where I am. I should have brought my phone. Or my keys. I'm so stupid.
I stop when I see a big bridge. On the top I look around. I then look down. It's too dark to see the water but I can tell I'm high up. The railings aren't that high either. They're short enough that I could climb over them and... I don't even know what just happened but I'm on the other side of the railing holding tight telling myself I'm not going to do it but being so scared and just knowing I have to. I have to. The wind whips around my hair and I smell the smell of salt water and I feel something in the back of my head tell me "Do it"
"Do it"
"Do. It."
"Do it!"
"DO IT" I yell at myself
"Don't" says an unfamiliar voice that is shockingly calm in comparison to mine. I feel strong arms holding me by the chest. They lift me up over the railing and onto the other side. It is then that I am met with a handsome man in a tan pinstripe suit with thick eyebrows, and big brown hair. His eyes look so sad and old and he grabs me and holds me in a tight embrace. He presses my head into his chest and I inhale deeply. He smells of clove and musk. He smells like my dad. It's when I hear him say again with a cracking voice "Don't" that I break down into tears. He does, too. He holds me until I stop crying and it's in these arms of a stranger in the middle of the night on a bridge in a place that I don't know that I feel at home, that I don't feel alone, that I feel like someone cares.
I realize he is still holding me as tight as he was at first. I loosen my grip and he does his. Its then that I look into his eyes. I see how deep they are, how sad he is. They look so much older than him, I wonder what he has seen, what he has felt, knowing it has been allot. His lips tremble, and it is then that I realize it has to be me to break the silence. I think of nothing I could say to this man, except maybe thank you.
"Thank you" I whimper. I then start to cry again, despite having had stopped.
"May I just ask you why" he asks. British.
"You just wouldn't understand how lonely I am"
"I bet I would"
Suddenly I feel so bad. Like I've offended him. I realize that's what I saw in his eyes. Incomprehensible loneliness. Myself.
"I just want to run away from everything, to escape"
"I know away for you to escape", he smiles "and trust me there will be a lot of running".
He does an about face and walks away "Follow me!" he shouts behind him.
I don't know this man. He could be a serial killer or rapist. This is so stupid. This is the shit people pull in the first 5 minutes of Supernatural. But his eyes. He understands. I know he does. I saw it. This man saved my life. For some reason I felt this great trust and emotional connection for this strange British man in a tan suit. He definitely does not belong here in suburban America. But then again, neither do I. So I follow him.
I smile and begin to cry happy tears, I'm such an emotional wreck. I sniffle and he turns around from his two (long, might I add) stride gain on me and puts his arm around my shoulder, and we walk.
