This is me...

6:00 am.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I slowly slip into consciousness and my hazel eyes shoot open.

Sprawled out on my twin bed, I lazily roll over to the other side.

My covers are hanging off on the right side and my room is like a meat locker.

I'm only in my black bra and zebra printed shorts and a chill is immediately sent up my spine.

I quickly grasp the green polka dotted blanket and wrap myself up under the warm, soft sheets.

Underneath, I squeeze my eyes shut and say a prayer to myself for this day to go by quick.

I don't know really know if there's a God or not, it just gives me something to believe in.

Idly, I sit upright and throw the covers off me, sending them to the edge of my bed.

I swiftly turn to my other side to turn that crazy alarm clock off at my bedside table and magnage to bring my tired, achey body to hunch over the side of my bed.

Again, I close my eyes, and the events of last night slowly come to mind.

The physical and verbal abuse, that is, happens almost every week, it's hard to forget.

All because I forgot to pick up the drugs...

The drugs for my Mom.

So yeah, that stuff, crack cocaine, you name it.

Ever since I could remember, she did it front of me.

And when alcohol mixed, just forget it.

The slightest thing would set her off, it's scary.

No way to protect yourself if you have a knife ready to slit your throat any minute, from the person you think is supposed to love and nurture you.

You forget about everything but your life.

I rub my fingers furiously through my jet black hair.

The ways I cope with it aren't as good either.

I know enough than to do drugs, so I cut myself, occasionally I'll drink with my friends too.

I know what you're thinking "Just kill yourself already, pussy."

I probably would, but I want to meet my Dad one day, my real Dad.

Phil Brooks is his name, he left my Mom and I when I was 2.

They had me young, around 18 or 19.

It's hard being a teenager and a parent, so I understand.

It was because they fought a lot, mostly getting physical with each other, and also because she started doing drugs and alcohol right after I was born, and he didn't like that.

She went out a lot, and being a teenager she was influenced, and so he had to take care of me.

I don't think it's because he didn't care, he must think of me sometimes...

Whenever I asked my Mom about him, she said we have the same hair and eye color, which I think is cool.

She gave me a picture of all three of us, and so every night I kiss my Dad goodnight and keep it under my pillow.

I wonder what he's doing now, I hope something he enjoys.

Sometimes I have dreams of running away and trying to find him, but Chicago's pretty big anyways...

Besides, what 14 year old in middle school does that?

Stupid wish I know...but I can't help it...

I groan and bury my face in my hands.

Gotta' go get ready for school...

I bring myself to stand up and turn on my cheap phone.

I walk over to my small closet, and open the sliding door to reveal my clothes.

My Mom's job, being an "exotic dancer", the cash flow or whatever you call it gives us just enough for us to survive.

When people ask me what job she has I just say she's a stay at home Mom.

She works from 8:00 pm to around 3:00 am, and so most of the day she's passed out on the couch from drinking.

Swiftly, I grab the oversized grey sweatshirt from the white hanger and throw it over myself.

I kick the zebra shorts off at my feet which land near the bedside table, and throw on the first pair of jeans I saw on the floor while walking towards my closet.

They were my favorite pair, they were dark and ripped, which I did myself.

I love designing and drawing, so you could say art is an escape from reality for me.

I don't have much clothes, but I love that store "Hot Topic", I'm not all into that sort of "emo" style, but they have pretty cute stuff there, "Hollister" is way cute too.

Also you could probably only walk like four steps in my room.

The purple paint on my wall from when I was little is cracked and slowly peeling ; about my room...

The first thing you see when you walk in is my bed.

It's twin sized, It's white color is chipped but I still like it with the flowery pattern on the edges.

My closet slash dresser thingy is on the far right side, it takes up most of the wall, it's pretty ancient looking, but neat.

The whole floor is covered with old carpet, the only thing I don't really like about my room, it's hard and moldy looking.

Lastly, I have my desk, on the left side, where I spend most of my time at just drawing and designing. I got it a long time ago, it's the only thing that's not chipped or cracked.

My one window is near my bed, kinda cool looking I guess with the lime green curtain.

My most favorite part of my room is the one bedroom wall I have, it basically describes me and has my favorite memories. It just has a bunch of junk and shit of my favorite bands, things I like, and pictures of myself and my friends.

My favorite picture is me and my best guy friend Chase, he's a real cool guy, he basically knows everything and anything about my life and what I'm like.

He's the one person I can count on in this shitty world.

I love him like a brother, we've known each other since we live on the same block.

His Mom doesn't mind that much too whenever I go to his apartment, at least I think.

Even though he's a senior in high school and I'm still in eighth grade, he thinks I pass for a sophomore or a junior, so nobody really knows or cares how old I am.

We have so many memories and stuff, it's unbelievable.

There's this one time, Me, Chase and his three friends bought a "Fudgie the Whale" cake from Carvel, and once we bought it we trashed some girl they knew car's with it, fucking hilarious...

He's kind of like me, personality wise, we like the same bands and stuff, and our lives are similar too.

He's basically what you would call like "skater", but I don't like labels, just trying to describe him.

I'm wasting time, I have like 10 minutes till the bus comes...

I throw on the socks I got from my closet, and my favorite pair of Converse I got for my thirteenth birthday, Chuck Taylors to be exact.

I walk over towards my black rolling chair and sit on it, looking at myself in the mirror.

My hair is a total mess.

I look in closer, and try fixing the massive length of jet black bangs from the left side, which I haven't cut in like a year...

I take the light blue brush already in my hand and furiously try to get the huge knots out of my hair.

I try taming my split ends and frizzies which are very noticeable, and bring my hair into a long side ponytail like I always do, and bring it over my shoulder.

Well woopity freakin' do, I'm ready for school, like I give a rat's ass what I look like anyway...

I forgot about my prized possesions, my phone which doubles as an "iPod," and my checkered backpack, which has everything and anything I need for school.

So I pick those up, turn on my phone and open up the door an walk towards the kitchen, which is only 2 second walking distance from my room.

My phone vibrates, and I assume it's a text message so I ignore it.

But this time it was vibrating multiple times, so someone was calling me at 6:40 in the fuckin' morning.

"My God, who the hell is-" I say out loud while taking out my phone, then realizing Chase is calling.

I laugh and roll my eyes, wondering as to what he wants.

I flip open my phone, and put it to my ear and laugh "Mackenzie isn't here right now, please leave a message!"

"Haha hilarious..." I hear the deeper voice from the other line in a annoyed tone.

"I'm parked outside your apartment anyway." He says.

I scoff. "Yeah alright, and I don't live in a shithole."

"Check outside smart ass."

I do as he says, pushing the brown curtain aside from the kitchen window and yell harshly "Why the hell are you here?"

I rub my temples, curious as to what he'll say.

"I'm getting you out of here."

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