Author's note:I DO NOT OWN THE SONGS I WAS INSPIRED BY. THEY ARE OWNED BY MELANIE MARTINEZ AND WARNER MUSIC GROUP
I sit in class, unable to pay attention to the history lecture. My notebook is open, filled with random doodles. I try to make it look like I'm taking notes, but I can't. I've never liked history class. So boring. I sit in the very back of class so it's not like I can understand what she's talking about. I didn't get much sleep last night considering listening to my parents screaming at each other all night. I pull up my black hoodie and doze off into a light dream. I see my mother, passed out on the couch with a empty bottle in her hand. I kneel down beside her, feeling tears well up in my eyes. "Mom? Mom! Wake up! Please wake up!" I scream, hot tears now streaming down my cheeks. Horrible thoughts race through my head. I run upstairs to my room. My nostrils burn from the scent lingering around my brother's room. I flop onto my bed, sobbing loudly. A knife glimmers silver on my dresser. I slowly walk over to it, and stare for a bit, making a decision.
I pick it up, my grip tight, yet my hands shaking. I poke it slightly into my skin, blood dribbling out. "Melanie, honey." I hear a faint voice in front of me. "Mel, wake up." I jerk my head back so fast it thumps on the wall behind me. I blink open my eyes, realizing it was a dream. It seemed all so real. I noticed students staring at me. The teacher had woken me up because I had been screaming and crying in my sleep. I hear snickers and whispers at the front of the classroom. I grab my binder and clutch it tightly to my chest as I run out. Fingers point at me and student laugh and tease. Hot tears well up in my eyes once again and I try blinking them back. I couldn't hold it back anymore and starting crying big, loud, sobs. "Crybaby, crybaby!" some girls at the front joke. I push myself out the doors, the chilly wind hitting me in the face. I don't want to go home, so I run to the nearest Exxon convenience store. I search for some loose change in my book bag and find 89 cents. That could buy me a small snack or a drink.
I walk into the store my face red and my eyes puffy from crying. I pick out a 50 cent package of powdered donuts. I walk up to the cashier and pay for my snack. He obviously sees that I've been crying. "Are you ok, miss?" he asks in a country accent. I stumble over my words but manage to spit out, "I'm fine, thank you." I walk out and sit on the sidewalk in front of the store to eat my snack. I find a small knife in my bag. I know this won't make anything better but I do it anyways. I roll up my ripped skinny jeans to the shin and carve the word "Crybaby" in spiky letters. I blink back my tears of pain, since they are easier to stop than at other times. I can't just stay here; I'll have to go home at some point. I start walking home, taking the long way so I have more time until I have to go back into my hell of a home.
I finally get home, dreading having to go inside and reminding myself how jacked up my family is. I unlock the front door, closing my eyes and tensing my body. I open my eyes to a surprise. No, this is impossible. My mom and dad are smiling, arm over each other watching a movie. My brother sits on the chair next to them laughing at the movie. Then it hits me. It doesn't take me long to realize the girl he's with is too young to be my mom. She's not my mom. My brother isn't laughing because of the movie, he's laughing at nothing because he's high. I have to pinch myself to realize it's actually happening. This isn't a dream. "Daddy? Wha, what? Who's she?" I ask, already knowing the answer. She's some whore he brought home from the bar. "Go away, Melanie. Go upstairs and check on your god damn mother." My jaw drops open in shock. He wouldn't say that to me, would he? I run upstairs into my mother's room. She's draped over her dresser, sitting next to empty and spilled bottles. "Mom! Mom please wake up! Mom!" I yell. I've never been so terrified in my life.
I take the bottles downstairs, about to do something I've never done before, or even thought of. I get about 8 feet behind the couch where my dad and his slut are sitting. I throw the bottles at the television, the couch, everywhere. I scream insults, making the room even louder. Glass shatters everywhere. I love the sound of it. I stand back, my father running into his room with the girl, my brother just throwing his head back in laughter. I stutter backwards, breathing heavily. I feel….powerful.
AN: I know this is short. It was inspired by Melanie Martinez's Dollhouse and Crybaby. The next one will be Mad Hatter :3