A/N:this story could be it is to you please don't read it. you're all beautiful and I hope you enjoy the story.
I slid my last bracelet over my left wrist before looking in a full length mirror that stood against the lavender wall of my these bracelets on was a part of my morning routine.I had four of them-one was pink,blue and I white thread I had braided together,two came in a set I got for my birthday that was a black thread and a white thread with a silver charm on each,and the last one was thick with orange and yellow bracelets were very kept my reputation exactly where I wanted it.I didn't want people to know how weak I was or how sad I covered what they needed to cover people would call these things that go around your wrists'friendship bracelets'but I didn't consider I had no than half of the school was afraid of me.
I f anyone were to see me walking down the street who didn't know about me,they would have had no idea about my bad attitude towards everything and my ability to take down girls at once.I was short with medium length dirty blonde hair and green eyes-the exact opposite appearance of someone of an intimidating talked to me once,they knew not to mess up with me.
That's why I had no friends because with just one conversation,they would already have an opinion on course,some people scrounged up my remarks from others one cared to get to know the real me,and I didn't care to let anyone find out.
The person looking back at me was someone I had never been truly pleased with.I wanted to look like Miley Cyrus or Demi Lavato or one of the Kardashian's-but I was from it.I just looked like -well,Natalie.I was a mixture of two people whom I hated more than anything in this world:my mom and my they were no longer in my lived back home in New york while I lived up in Stratford,Ontario with our family friend, was my dad's best friend in high was more like a father to me than my real took me in after the police came to my house one night because someone from neighbourhood called them after something happened that I never dared to talk about again.
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It was a warm night in July and I was sneaking back inside from a concert I went to with a girl who was kind of close to me at that time.I'm only 15 years old.I know my parents would be knocked out cold somewhere in the house from their never ending drunken nature,but I still had to be quiet in case they heard me.
Slowly,I pushed the front door open and cringed at the familiar scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke.I gently closed the doors and shut my eyes tightly,hoping and praying to god that they would be I opened my eyes I saw the living room illuminated by the light of small dad was sprawled out on his recliner chair with a can of beer practically dangling from his cold,clammy mom was sitting on the couch with her head leaned back and mouth gaped open hands lay beside her one didn't know about her alcoholic tendencies,they would think that she was dead.I knew she wasn't,though.A part of me wished she was both of them, actually .But then I would think about what life was like when I was younger.I had the perfect parents.
Seeing them now,they looked like totally different dad's thick hair was now thin and had dark circles under his now red and bloodshot button down shirts quickly transferred to white hanes T-shirts with stains of who-knows-what on them while his work pants turned to distressed Levi jeans.
As for my mom,I was practically afraid of light blonde hair was always straightened and given the perfect amount of volume,but now it was slightly frizzy and green eyes turned in to a cold,hard grey lips were thin and brittle,her teeth possessing a grey outline due to years of smoking.
All I knew was that I couldn't even call these people my parents anymore. They weren't the same ever since my mom had a miscarriage with my little sister. As soon as she did, she was sad all the time and she turned to alcohol, thinking it was the only logical way out. My dad and I were sad too, but we both knew that drinking was not the answer to problems like that. My mom seemed to have taken it the hardest, which I completely understand. I was most definitely hurt, though. But now that I think about it, I'm happy she's not here. Because then she wouldn't have to deal with this like I do. I wouldn't wish for anyone to go through anything like this.
"I promise you, things will get better." He would always say to me for reassurance.
He was the one I trusted, the one I counted on. Now, I hated him more than my mom because he ended up being just like her in the blink of an eye. He even quit his job, saying it was because he was going to "look after my mother." All he did was pick up the bottle just like she did.
Neither of them ever gave me a problem. Sure, they would yell, but never did they dare to lay a hand on me. I was so thankful for that. The only one I could see trying to hurt me was my mom, seeing that she has been this way the longest and I was closest with my dad before he started this whole thing.
I slowly proceeded towards the staircase that led to my room. I was the only one who really even used it considering the only time those scumbags would move was if they were out of liquor, which would be like the apocalypse for them. I stepped onto the first step, avoiding the spot that I knew made a creaking noise from past experience. I bit my trembling lip as I lifted my left foot to move to the second step. As for the third, it creaked all the time. I slowly brought my right leg over that one to avoid it completely. My foot landed on the carpeted fourth step and made one of the loudest noises I'd ever heard. I knew there was no turning back now. I booked it up the stairs, not caring if my parents heard me or not. I could easily lock my bedroom door and push my dresser in front of it.
The only hard part was actually getting up the stairs without them catching me.
"Natalie!" A raspy voice called from down the stairs. I knew this was my time to take it to the next level.
Leaping up two steps at a time, my heart was racing and my body was shaking with adrenaline. My hands gripped onto the rotted, wooden railing in hopes that I could push myself up the stairs faster. I wanted to stay away from them. I needed to stay away from them.
My arms pumped back and forth as I made it down to the room at the end of the hall- my safe haven. I clutched the round, metal doorknob in my sweating palm and threw the wooden door open to my room with all of my might. I almost tripped over my own feet trying to get in there, only stressing the fact that you are more clumsy when you can't afford to be. I made it, though. I slammed the door shut and locked it, quickly making my way to the other side of my dresser where I could push it in front of the door. I did just that- pushing the heavy mass that held books and other random things that I had.
Once that was complete, I slumped down and leaned my back against the dresser. I bent my knees and crossed my arms over them, letting out a heavy sigh of both exhaustion and relief. I knew I was safe now, but I definitely wasn't expecting the outcome I'd received.
"Did you let her out of the house?" The same voice from before yelled with an additional slur.
"No, I didn't!" My mom yelled. "She's not my responsibility!"
"Well, she sure as hell ain't mine either!"
"Oh, please! I know you both are secretly planning to abandon me. I've seen you!"
What is she talking about? I wondered. I haven't held a conversation with my dad in weeks. I guess that just shows what alcohol can do to someone.
"Maybe I should find somewhere else to go and I'll leave you with that daughter of yours!" Dad threatened.
"I don't want her! You take her! I can't afford to have her in my house!"
And it just kept escalating from there. The yelling got so loud that I had to cover my ears at one point. Not only was it loud, but it hurt to hear my own parents say things like that about me. Usually parents fight when they want full custody of the child. They acted as if I was a burden.
Maybe I am. I thought to myself. It would be better if I wasn't here. It's clear that no one wants me.
I brought my foot up to my hands, removing the black, worn out Converse from both feet and throwing them over by my closet. I picked myself up and walked over to my desk that held notebooks, pencils, and sheet music- some used and some completely blank. I threw the drawers open, looking for something- anything I could use. But I couldn't find anything no matter how frantically I searched. I threw my hands up in frustration and heaved out a sigh. That was when my eye caught something.
There was a glass vase that sat on the top of the desk next to the window, a couple of flowers held inside. Tears formed in my tired eyes when I actually realized what was running through my mind. Things had gotten so bad for me that I was honestly contemplating this. It was kind of like the "devil and angel on your shoulder" scenario. A part of me knew it was so wrong, but the other part knew that this could make me feel better. I'd never done it before, but I'd heard from kids at school that it helps.
I gripped the flowers in my hand and tossed them on the ground, my hand attracting a few droplets of water. I rubbed my hand on my denim shorts and then reached for the vase. I dumped the water on the white carpet, not caring about what I'd just done. It was only water.
The vase trembled in my right hand. I looked at it, wondering to myself if I should really do this.
They said it works. I won't be sad anymore.
And with that, I smashed the vase on the edge of the desk, watching it shatter and shards of glass fly everywhere. I shielded my eyes by putting my face in my hands quickly. Slowly and carefully, I pulled my hands away from my face to examine my arms to make sure no glass had buried itself in my skin.
I didn't see any, and that's when I picked up a large piece with an angled edge. I looked at it, fondling it in my hand. I inhaled through my nose deeply and shut my eyes tight.
"I don't care what you do with her! Just get her out!" My mom yelled, reaching her loudest volume yet. I opened my eyes and felt a tear sprint down my cheek.
That was the trigger I needed to run the glass over my wrist. I flinched at first, but then exhaled heavily knowing that I would be too busy mending the wound that I wouldn't be worried about what they were saying downstairs anymore.
The next thing I remember is hearing a knock at the front door, looking out the window, and seeing policemen in their cars with the red and blue lights brightly flashing at the top. I vaguely remember running down the stairs and feeling blood trickling down into my hand as I reached the bottom step. The man in uniform was holding a gun, pointing at my dad who had his hands up in defense.
My mom was doing the same. The man looked at me, tears running down my face now. He pointed the gun at me and I felt my heart stop. Slowly, he lowered it and looked at me with a concerned expression.
"Please get me out of here." I begged, my voice cracking. He called in another officer with his eyes still attached to mine. I figured someone called the police to report the yelling at my house, and I was so thankful for that person. A woman who was also in uniform ran in and grabbed my right hand, pulling me out the door. I didn't look at my parents or even bother taking in the scent of alcohol and smoke that I knew would haunt me for the rest of my life.