Here is the next chapter :) Not much is happening in this chapter but i'm hoping to upload the next one soon which is a little bit more exciting. I hope you like it anyway :)


Calypso's POV

It felt like someone was stomping on my brain. My arms and legs were weak and unresponsive. Dried up blood covered my arms and clothes. My eye's screamed at the harsh light seeping in through the curtains. There was one word to describe me: Hung-over. What day even is it?

I check the calendar on my phone and…oh crap…it's Sunday. That means I must have slept through the whole of Saturday?! I think to myself in a sudden panic. No wonder I'm so hungry! Half of the weekend is now wasted! I practically live for the weekend.

'I swear I'm never drinking alcohol ever again.' I groaned into the pillow. Mr Bojangles looked at me with an 'I told you so' expression on his furry face.

'Okay…well maybe but completely but I'm never drinking excessively.' I said, but honestly, I know I will be like this next birthday. Birthdays were always a rough time.

I stumbled to the kitchen and ate a couple of slices of un-toasted bread and chugged down some orange juice. I topped up Mr Bojangles' cat food and cleaned up the empty bottles of alcohol from the living room. I felt slightly better, asides from the killer hangover, because I felt more normal; more like myself again.

'Right, Mr Bojangles, I think a shower is needed.' I said, inspecting the dark, dried blood which covers my arms like a sleeve. The cuts I made on my wrist had already sealed and dried and would probably soon scar, adding to the others.

Mr Bojangles meowed in protest. 'Not you, silly. I meant me.' I laughed and tickled Mr Bojangles under his neck. Mr Bojangles is my best and only friend in the whole wide world.

The one good thing about living alone is that I can sing in the shower as loudly and as badly as possible. I turned my iPod docking station up to full volume so Frank Sinatra blasted around the bathroom.

The hot water felt good against my skin as it washed away all traces of the night before. If social services found out that I'm drinking and harming myself, they might send me back to care…If anyone is brave enough to let me back. Or they could send me back to therapy. I used to have to go 3 times a week and it was possibly the dullest thing ever. It was full of questions like: 'how do you feel about that?' and 'What was going through your head?' I used to enjoy making life difficult for the therapist by taking a vow of silence some lessons or spend other lessons spinning around on the chair.

After the shower I went to the mirror and brushed my hair until it was silky smooth. I then pulled on some clothes: black jeans and a red blouse.

'So Mr Bojangles, what shall we do today?' He meowed in reply.

'Maybe…bake a cake?' I suggested and gathered together the money I would need.

I always like to go out on a Sunday since everyone in the town goes to church, meaning that it is empty. I let myself into the food shop in which I work, gather up the ingredients I would need, leave the money in the till and lock up behind me. On my way home I saw a car pull up in the deserted house on Bellmore road; a family of two parents and three children got out of the car and carried their luggage into the hallway of their new house. Weird…we don't normally get visitors.

Back at the house Mr Bojangles was waiting patiently for me to return. I weighed out all the ingredients and started mixing them together according to the recipe book.

'Since I slept through yesterday's meal times, I guess I'm allowed to eat excessively today.' I said, grinning at Mr Bojangles.

I love weekends. It's the only time when I'm actually happy. No one is around me to bully me or send me disapproving looks. Mr Bojangles is the best company in the world.

While the cake was in the oven, I got out my homework to finish. Mr Nickerson, who teaches chemistry, is my favourite teacher since he is the only teacher who actually likes me. He says that I'm truly gifted in chemistry and he gives me extra work to stretch my abilities. Not that I mind, I actually like doing homework since it keeps me occupied.

The oven timer beeped a little while later and I got the golden sponge out, preparing to decorate it. That took most of the afternoon since I like things to be done to perfection. Then, once I had all finished, I started preparing dinner: Spaghetti bolognas since I was starving hungry. For desert I had a large chunk of cake and it really was delicious.

After eating, I settled down on the couch with Mr Bojangles on my lap, flicking through boring reality shows. Dread filled my stomach as I knew I had school tomorrow. Monica would undoubtedly make some mean comment, teachers will treat me unfairly and I will be ignored.

Mr Bojangles purred against me, nuzzling his head against my chest. I think he is relieved to have me back to my usual self. I think I might have scared him on my birthday since I am haunted by the memories of all my dead loved ones.

'You know what, Mr Bojangles? I think I'm going to have an early night tonight.' I decided and made my way up the stairs in the deafeningly silent house. It was school tomorrow and I really didn't want to fall asleep in class. Maybe the boy I saw moving into the house with his family would be in my class. He's new he so he might not judge me like everyone else in this town. That's what I'll do. I'll make friends with the new kid.