Disclaimer: I do not own Glee (If I did it would be SO much better... FABERRY FTW!)
Pathetic. The one word that describes my life; my appearance and my reason for leaving the house crying at eleven o'clock at night, clad in only my dressing gown, pyjama shorts and slippers. Yeah sure, I'm Beth Fabray and all that. Whatever. She's gone, stripped from my life; exposing Beth, just Beth. The vulnerable, tender one. The one who's unpopular and shy. And honest. She trusts her friends and relies on them. That was why, that was my reason.
I was lying in bed at 10 o'clock, my kindle had just been snatched from me by my Daddy, Sam. It was my most favourite birthday present in the whole wide world, my only one from Dad. My parents don't have much money you see, they like to pretend they do though. The last couple of years have been tougher than most but we manage, get by. I love my Kindle, it's like my third hand. You might be thinking 'How strange, she constantly reads books!' but don't worry, I don't. It's this little thing called Facebook, which most kids my age practically live on. It's fourteen by the way, my age I mean. Anyway, back to the story. I waited until my dad and Santana, my step mum had retired to their room and then I crept out onto the landing, as stealth-like as a fox. Then I scowled, God #!*% ! They'd taken my Kindle into their room. I sighed, about to retreat unvictorious back to my bed, when I heard them talking.
"It's utter bollocks," I heard Dad say, I strained harder to listen, "She's saying she's a lesbian!" I froze, the sound of my heartbeat throbbing in my ears.
"It's just..." trailed off Santana, seemingly looking for a word. Was she sticking up for me?
"Bollocks," finished my dad for her and she mumbled her agreement. Apparently not, she wasn't sticking up for me.
Okay, here's what's wrong with that:
1) They're reading my Facebook conversation with Rachel Jnr. Hudson, which was SUPPOSED to be private.
2) I'm bi and I said that in the conversation so that, my father is the definition of bollocks.
3) I was telling the truth.
Ugh! If it was bollocks would I have tried to kill myself, just two nights ago? Would I self-harm? Would I cry myself to sleep every night because I'm ashamed of myself? Ashamed of who I am. And why am I quite so ashamed? Well maybe it has to do with the fact that I'd get that kind of #!*% .
Back to the point. I broke down, right there on the landing, my stomach convulsing with every breath. Hot, salty tears streamed from my tired, bloodshot eyes down my pasty and lifeless face, dripping from my chin to the floor creating a pool of sadness at my knees which eventually soaked into the carpet leaving no trace of my heartache. I can hardly describe how that feels. Your own Dad, the man you should trust the most out of any that reside on this godforsaken earth, for him not to believe you deepest most tender feelings, belittle them even. Those feelings which almost ended your life, he just didn't care.
At this point I couldn't take it. I had to see her; the girl I was talking to Rach about. I need to see her smile and feel her tight warm embrace as I sob into her soft delicate chest and smell her delicious scent which warms my heart. Most of all I needed her gentle and sweet voice telling me to hush and that everything's going to be okay.
I obviously didn't get that, and everything's obviously not okay. That's a teeny bit of an understatement. I wrapped up in my dressing gown and cozied my feet in doggy slippers then stealt into the night, quiet as a mouse. It took no less than two minutes of scurrying around in the bright lights of the lampposts for me to realise that I looked like a total prick. What kind of knob goes out at half ten at night in a dressing gown? Well, I can answer that, this knob. My chest was taught, causing my breath to shallow. Oh god, I thought, not again. I generally have panic attacks a lot so this came as no surprise, just a nuisance. I pondered over sitting on the kerb and calming down before I continued however I came to the conclusion that someone I know is more likely to see me if I did that and so I decided against it and soldiered on.
I got to her house and peered around. I must have looked a total stalker. No lights were on, no windows open. I chewed over the options in my head but decided on one as it seemed the best considering my chest was closing in on me, threatening me. Before I could change my mind, I rang the doorbell and then checked for any sign of life in the seemingly deserted house. I could see none. Without thinking I hastily rang it again and instantly regretted it. God #!*% ! Why am I so stupid? What if they're all in bed, what if I just awoke her parents? They might hate me and then I won't be able to see their precious daughter ever again. I was nervously nibbling my bottom lip as I overthought my actions. I was all ready to bolt off and pretend I never came, when I heard a sleepy voice calling her name. I instantly recognized it as belonging to her younger brother, Ryan. My heart thumped precariously as I waited to see her. She appeared at the top window, her beautiful face lined with tiredness and then frustration, frustration with me. I was just a stupid child who took too many pills and clung to her like sticky tape. The problem with sticky tape is that it's very much one-sided, unless it's double-sided sticky tape of course but let's not get technical because our relationship was most certainly not double-sided. I was torn from my thoughts by her voice, strained and moody.
'Beth, go home!' the words stung like rejection had just come up and gave me a smarting slap,' My Dad's in bed,' she explained, my breathing got worse and I couldn't feel my head. She noticed this and added more softly, 'talk to me on Facebook.' I mumbled something which resembled 'I can't,' and bowed my head to avoid her gaze which pierced through me, embarrassment burning me to my core. Then I trudged off, tail between my legs and I didn't look back.
As I look back on this now, I realise the layout of me talking to her. It was like she was Juliet, high up on her balcony and I was Romeo, on the ground wanting nothing more than her soft cherry lips to latch onto mine. I can never be her Romeo, but she will always be my Juliet.
Author's note: Please review and favourite!