"Just look at her! All confused and doesn't know where to go..." someone screamed.
My eyes met their gaze and everyone was laughing. I quickly turned around, hoping to run into someone I knew. And I did, but I bumped into the wrong person. Nick turned around and grinned."Need help, New Girl?" he laughed. I burst out crying. I sprinted towards the door, but the entrance was blocked by a couple of ninth graders. I tried to get out, kicking and screaming until I lost my voice and past out on the ground. Everyone threw things on me, and I was hopeless. I fainted. I woke up, at home, in bed. I could still hear the laughing - and Nick's voice. I officially hate school. I sat up, only to find an ice pack on my forehead. I peeled it off and examined the blood. Holy crap. Why me? Just because I moved here two days ago doesn't give anyone the right to abuse me. "Sweetie are you okay?" my mom whispers, close by me. "Yeah, mom," I lie, "I'm fine. What happened?"
"Some kids at school said you ran into the vending machine, I guess," she explained. But that story was false, and I know it.
"Oh." I say, not knowing what else to say.
I slowly got out of bed and headed towards my bathroom. I dug around in my cupboards until I found what I needed - the pocket knife given to me by my dad before he died in a train wreck a few years ago. I slid into the bath tub and turned on the hot water. I peeled off my clothes and stepped inside, also. The water surrounded me like a warm, comforting blanket. No one would miss me if I killed myself. It seems to me like everyone has forgotten that my dad has died. I grabbed the pocket knife, and I slit my wrist slowly and carefully. The blood dripped down into the water and swirled around until it mixed my water into a light orange color. The pain was excruciating but it felt good to let it out on myself.
I got out of the bathtub and put on my clothes. My wrist was still bleeding, so I wrapped a bandage around it and covered it with my sports wristband. I pulled the plug in the bathtub as I watched the water slowly slide down the drain.
I felt numb, and soon after, cutting became my addiction. As did drinking, but it was harder to find alcohol than my pocket knife. I began cutting myself at school, at the store, even while watching tv. I had cuts on my arms, my legs, and even my neck. It became easier over time to "explain" about my injuries. My legs are the easiest to cover up because I wear jeans every day. I usually wear a jacket for my arms, and my long, fiery red hair covers up my neck quite nicely.
"You better get ready if you don't want to be late for school!" my mom encouraged me. Poor Mom. Unknowingly sending me to a literal living Hell. "What if I don't want to go to school? I don't even care anymore!" I screamed, letting my anger slip for the first time in three years. "Miley, what has gotten into you, lately? You never want to see me anymore and now you're screaming at me!" she accused. I took a deep breath. "Nothing, Mom. I'm fine. I have to go."
I sprinted towards the bus stop until I couldn't see my house anymore. It was then and there when I decided to run away. My life was torture. I couldn't stand it anymore. I took a left instead of my usual right and headed downtown. My mom's voiced echoed in my ear. "Miley, what has gotten into you lately?" I know exactly what has gotten into me. Hate, not love. Denial, not encouragement. Ridicule, not help.
The laughing didn't bother me, but Nick did. He was always there for me before I moved away. I move back and he goes along with the crowd, pretending not to know me. That hurt the most. I did fine at my old school. But now my life is in ruins. I hate it and I want it to end. Maybe if I'm lucky, a pedophile will kidnap me and rape me now. Or I'll get hit by a bus. Please, God (if there is a God), just choose one and get it over with.
I walked into a bar (I'm eighteen, but I can pass for 21) and asked for a glass of beer. I don't care about my life anymore, I just want it to be over. I drank at least five glasses before feeling dizzy and ready to upchuck. I headed to the backdoor near the garbage cans and vomited all over the green grass. "Miley?" I could hear Nick's voice. Shit, why me?
"Why aren't you at school? Laughing along with the others?" I screamed. "Miley calm down!" Nick whispered.
"Why should I?" I shouted, "WHY?"
"Listen. I'm sorry that I didn't stick up for you. I regret that, but Miley! That was a month ago!"
"Your point being...?"
"I'm sorry. I'm a jerk, I know it. But, a lot has changed before you moved back! I've made new friends, new enemies, and stuff."
"And that means you have to be a bitch to me?" I screamed. Nick was about to say something, but then I threw up. "Miley, Why are you drinking?" he grabbed my arm, and my jacket sleeve moved, showing my injuries. "Oh my God," he murmured, examining my cuts. "is this... My fault?"
I nodded slowly, fighting the tears. His fingers felt cold as the slid up and down my arms. "These scars will never go away..." Nick whispered, "and they'll be a reminder of what I did. I am so sorry..."
I sighed and looked directly into his eyes until he met my gaze. "Nick," I began. "We use to be best friends. Now you ignore me. Why?"
"Just between you and me," he leaned in closer, "Guys always avoid the girl they love."
He grabbed my face and cupped it in the palm of his hands. My lips touched his in a matter of seconds, but our kiss lingered for what seemed like forever. It was that exact moment that I knew I had forgiven him.
THE END.